Theatre in Review: Dracula: A Comedy of Terrors (New World Stages)

	James Daly. Photo: Matthew Murphy

The spirit of Charles Ludlam lives again in this brand-new travesty of everyone's favorite creature of the night. I confess to attending Dracula: A Comedy of Terrors with a certain skepticism, wondering if anyone could wring another drop of blood out of material that, in recent years, has been done to undeath. Only a couple of seasons ago, Kate Hamill's satiric take suffered from a kind of humor anemia. And many of us are still scarred by memories of musicals like Dracula, Lestat, and (shudder) Dance of the Vampires. Really, it seemed time to leave the Count in his coffin for a long, long rest.

But don't underestimate what can be accomplished by a couple of witty, wiseacre playwrights and five gifted, nimble actors. The tone is struck at the top, when we are told, "Rest assured, you will be horrified. One way or another." After that, merriment prevails, thanks to a company willing to deliver the ripest nonsense with the straightest of faces while leaping in and out of assorted roles like decathlon runners. Not since The Mystery of Irma Vep has the supernatural been taken for such a wild comic ride.

The central joke of Dracula: A Comedy of Terrors is that the title character is not some brooding, Byronic prince of darkness but, rather, a gym-toned, pansexual club kid with puppy-dog eyes, a mass of floppy blonde curls, and a six-pack you could bounce a quarter off. He's an equal-opportunity bloodsucker, practicing his bodice-ripping ways on women and men alike. James Daly, who plays him, manages a deft balance of the dashing and the ludicrous, shamelessly applying an oily charm to everyone in his orbit. He also has an accent that wanders from Transylvania to North America and back; I can't tell if this is a deliberate wink at the audience or if remedial sessions with a dialect coach are indicated. Either way, this is an attention-getting performance.

Daly is abetted by a quartet of cast mates adept at swapping out characters at a moment's notice. Jordan Boatman applies her considerable technical skills to Lucy Westfeldt, whose shapely neck drives Dracula crazy with desire, and Kitty, a haggish, kleptomaniac maid. Lucy is far braver than her milquetoast fiancé Harker, whose guilty pleasures include a tidy desk, a mild cup of tea, and hand sanitizer; Andrew Keenan-Bolger makes the most of Harker's mousy qualities until, after a necking session with Dracula, he is transformed into a chest-baring sex god. He also appears as a trio of suitors, courtesy of an amusing puppetry effect from set designer Tijana Bjelajac. The evening's most sustained double act is Arnie Burton, wrapped in mountains of Victorian ruffles and curls, as Lucy's sexually frustrated spinster sister and, looking a bit like Roald Dahl's Miss Trunchbull, as a female Dr. Van Helsing. Continuing the cross-dressing theme is Ellen Harvey, who, as the deranged asylum inmate Renfield, leaps out a window, only to return seconds later as worried physician Dr. Westfeldt (father of Lucy and Mina), a feat that gets one of the biggest laughs of the night.

All five actors gallop through Gordon Greenberg and Steve Rosen's scenario, which adheres to the general narrative of Bram Stoker's novel while larding it with sight gags, plenty of throwaway bits, and cheeky contemporary references. "Welcome to my house," Dracula says. "Please note that you have entered under no duress and of your own free will." "Isn't that a unique greeting?" asks the nonplussed Harker. "Liability issues," purrs the Count. Mina, chiding Lucy and Jonathan for "canoodling," adds, "I'm not a prude or anything. Quite the opposite. I've been riding horses for years." Some gags are positively vaudevillian. When Dracula insists he loves Lucy "without reservation," she snaps, "You don't know the meaning of the word." "Reservation?" he asks, puzzled.

Under Greenberg's direction, the cast maintains a frantic pace, earning laughs by playing everything for keeps. The producers have sprung for a surprisingly plush design, starting with Bjelajac's set, featuring gothic appointments and walls that project out like bat wings. Embedded in the latter are lines of color-changing LED tape that, turning red, look like veins. Tristan Raines' costumes are inspired, whether spoofing overelaborate Victorian couture or outfitting Dracula and Harker in leather pants and revealing tops; Ashley Rae Callahan's quick-change hair and wig designs add to the fun. Rob Denton's lighting calls up thunderstorms, blinder cues, and candlelit interiors with equal aplomb. Sound designer Victoria Deiorio supplies thunderclaps, horses' hooves, and wolf howls along with sinister underscoring, throbbing club-music beats, and a bit of "La Vie en Rose."

Of course, this kind of entertainment tends to be a bit scattershot, and to be sure, there are occasional quiet stretches or gags that don't land. But this is the steadiest ninety minutes of laughter to be found in New York right now. If you're looking for some Halloween-themed hilarity, give it a bite. --David Barbour