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closeThe real mystery of 'Irma Vep': How can anything be so funny?
By Candace Chaney Herald-Leader Contributing Writer
As you walk into Natasha's Bistro to see the Balagula Theatre's latest production, it is immediately obvious that something is different about the funky, eclectic space. For one, the adjoining boutique is surprisingly just ... gone. In its place is an expanded space devoted to housing Balagula's expanding theater offerings.
Cozy restaurant tables spill into this space and onto the floor of a newly constructed black-box theater and bumping up against a sprawling, intricate set. Looking up, I see that the ceiling is rigged with full lighting equipment rather than the Bistro's usual makeshift lighting.
During dinner before the show, a soundtrack of what sounds like Halloween music wafts among the diners. The music foreshadows the eclectic oddity that is The Mystery of Irma Vep, Charles Ludlam's ridiculous, clever, enchanting romp of epic absurdity. Drawing from TV themes like The Addams Family, Twin Peaks and even Days of Our Lives, the music evokes a kind of spooky kitsch. The set is an artfully designed blend of old manor-house creepiness and unusual allusions to hieroglyphics that, like the music, leaves the audience wondering, "What the ...?" To be fair, that question is not far from everyone's mind even as the show starts, even as it careens toward its ending, but the tone of its asking is one filled with hyperbolic delight and giddiness.
For you see, The Mystery of Irma Vep is of the funniest and most cleverly produced shows I have ever seen. Ever. What's more, the quality of the performances, direction, and technical achievements result in sophisticated silliness that is hard to pull off, and for the audience, impossible to resist. A proper plot synopsis would be more confusing than it is worth, so let's just say the story involves hilarious takes on clichéd mystery stories, all centered around dear, deceased Irma Vep.
Actors Shayne Brakefield and Ryan Case play eight roles between them, deftly switching characters with impressive speed and accuracy. Case is particularly striking because his range of characters is so disparate. He first appears as a grizzled, dirty, lecherous, peg-legged hunchback, only to re-enter the stage moments later as the lithe, lovely lady of the house, Enid, whom Case plays with retro panache. He and Brakefield share incendiary chemistry and sharp timing. Plus, they both wear a mean dress.
We have seen Case and Brakefield in drag before, in both silly and sizzling roles, but this is so much more than straight camp or quirky drama — this is, and I mean this in the best possible way, pure, fascinating, captivating lunacy. The story doesn't so much unfold; it gallivants toward an intoxicating insanity that leaves you wanting more. Each act trumps the other in sumptuous, un expected twists of wildly enchanting character revelations, full-moon tinged hysteria, and gut-busting, high-energy, intentionally overwrought physical comedy. Watching the show is like opening a set of Halloween-themed Russian dolls, each one more mesmerizingly bizarre, funny and striking than the previous one.
It is also kind of like being inside a lucid dream — a surreal late-night mélange of old black-and-white horror films mixed with a host of wry and ironic nods to our collectively clichéd literary consciousness. The script is copiously peppered with influences including Shakespeare, Poe, Hitchcock, the Brontë sisters and modern soap operas. Part of the fun is the narrative guesswork the audience gets to do. Just when you think you've got a handle on the show being a ghost story — bam! — it is about vampires, or werewolves, or ancient Egypt, or murder mystery, or romance.
Just in time for Halloween, Balagula's first fully realized production is accomplished and irresistible, the first must-see show of this theater season.



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