Here’s a look at two shows in this year’s IndyFringe:

“The Stetson Manifesto”

The Old West still kicks up dust and a few road apples on the paved highway to the future in “The Stetson Manifesto,” a play by John Hamilton from Happy Holler Productions of Lebanon.

A bitter comedy pitting the passing cowboy scene against corporate ranching, the work is slightly hobbled by the way it imposes somewhat stagy speaking styles on otherwise believable characters.

Aging Catfish (Bill Becker) soothes himself with Tennessee Ernie Ford records and hard liquor as he watches the ground shift beneath his feet. His younger buddy Rory (Ryan Powell) is uncertain how loyal he should be to old cowhand values when he’s computer-literate and sensitive to the new work environment, including human resources departments that issue safety directives and track personal misbehavior.

The latest mandate requires helmets on all employees who herd cattle. Having emerged on the losing end of a personal injury lawsuit by a disgruntled misfit, the company wants to take no chances. In the New West, you can bet your bottom dollar only on the bottom line.

It’s the last straw for Catfish, who knows precisely when and where he acquired each of the three cowboy hats he’s owned. The Stetson becomes the symbol of his futile resistance to the new megaranch world, represented by the officious Billie (Carrie Fedor), an executive in spotless jeans who’s had Catfish in her withering glare for some time.

The actors’ evident rapport keeps the action vivid and entertaining, but Billie’s lines in particular seem to have emerged from some overworked speechwriter’s laptop late at night. The rhetoric is as thick as a prairie blizzard, and only the actors’ ease with the material makes it seem that real people could have uttered these words.

Nonetheless, “The Stetson Manifesto” presents a true clash of values through appropriate action. So, bless its little ol’ pea-pickin’ heart.

Last performance: 3 p.m. today, Theatre on the Square.

The Cool Table

Sketch comedy used to call for longer attention spans, didn’t it?

I don’t know. True dat, I guess. Whatever.

The Cool Table of Chicago seems to calculate its presentation to fit our 21st century habit of skittering on the surface of everything like water bugs across a pond.

Friday’s program, reviewed here, won’t be what you can catch tonight. The five-person troupe prides itself on offering different stuff each time out.

The style is likely to be the same: down and dirty, a pack of shaggy dogs on the run. The blackout is Cool Table’s best friend. Some sketches are barely longer than a tweet.

A little development never hurt, however, even in a sketch. An Amish jerk (that’s not exactly what they call him) is announced in a TV-series style voiceover. He then has his way with an older, hard-working farmer, playing outrageously on his gullibility and simple faith.

And a bit of duration is required to let a hooded teenager appear terminally bored and uncooperative when she turns out to be an on-camera dud unwilling to help a TV host, who had anticipated a zesty show of volunteer spirit and planting a tree for the “Green Team.”

Before the show and to warm up the audience, one member of the troupe solicited “Mad Libs” suggestions, asking for a place, an adverb, a celebrity and so on. With the submitted words dropped into a text undisclosed until the last sketch, Cool Table had a surefire silly finale.

The preshow game was the one thing that wasn’t fast-paced. The troupe could hardly be blamed for the audience’s slow responses, which often revealed a shaky knowledge of the parts of speech. A plan to do the shortest, grossest sketches in the repertoire may have formed right then: Hey, let’s wake these folks up!

Last performance: 10:30 p.m. today, Comedy Sportz.