THRILLPEDDLERS' SHOCKTOBERFEST (2002)

Reviewed by AMIR SHADI for THEATREWORLD MAGAZINE
November 4, 2002

There are times, we admit, when, weary of the virtuous boredom of the serious theater, and oppressed by the shrillness of new voices on the fringe – which, like all newly born voices, seem capable only of screaming – we want to see a play that is hilarious without apology, and appeals to our other, more animal instincts. In such cases, nothing could be better than the two short plays in Thrillpeddlers' Shocktoberfest.

The first piece is “A Visit to Mrs. Birch,” described, with admirable precision, as a “Victorian school-girl spanking drama.” If the play does not enlarge upon this premise, it has the merit of being a very rich premise. The claim is made that the play was published in London in 1888, and until now there have been no performances of it recorded. One might add that it is not the kind of play which, if performed, one would feel inclined to make a record of. It is written and acted in a curious style. Characters are perpetually narrating and commenting upon what is happening. “Now she is lifting up her dress,” reports Sally, the maid. “Why are you pulling me across the desk?” asks one schoolgirl, as if the motive was shrouded in obscurity. This technique calls to mind the tragedies of Seneca. The audience enjoys it immensely.

The acting is exaggerated and mannered; but we will not call it camp: “camp” being a term so ill defined and contradictory, it is consequently used by many critics as a universal solvent. We will not call it a burlesque: which may be generically accurate, but implies inferiority. Rather, the play bears the same relation to naturalism as the friezes of the Parthenon to freestanding statuary. The Greeks would have adored it.

The Greeks would have adored “A Crime In A Madhouse” as well. The play, we are told, is adapted from a classic of the Grand Guignol, and delivers its promise of horror. There is an unscrupulous nun, a mendacious medical man, three madwomen and a doomed ingénue. It is the kind of play some critics will decry simply because it ends in an eye-gouging. But Oedipus Rex ends in an eye-gouging; and Sophocles adds incest. So, depending on one’s values, “A Crime In A Madhouse” is comparatively wholesome. Yet what is most admirable is not the titillation but technique. The Grand Guignol knew its business. The parts of the play join with a smoothness and cunning that would delight the ancients as much as it should shame our contemporaries.

Lillian Oglesby is spanked in the first play and blinded in the second, and performs these twice a night as well as can be conceived. Treacy Corrigan is spectacular. She is ridiculous in the first play, and pathetic and horrifying by turns in the second. She could play Lady Macbeth superbly.

Emblazoned on the program – which is in the shape of a paddle, in case one leaves the show inspired -- is the motto: “Sissies Stay Home!” Everyone else, however, should go. If these plays were not the ornaments of a past theatrical age, they will now certainly adorn the next.