Dance of the Vampires
Minskoff Theatre, NYC - Jan. 6, 2003
Reviewed by John Kenrick
This travesty doesn't suck -- it sips.
Like most spectacular flops, Dance of the Vampires tries to go
in too many directions at once, and consequently gets nowhere.
However, those who are calling it another Carrie are completely
off the mark. Carrie infuriated audiences because it alternated
idiotically misconceived numbers with moments of dazzling, wasted
potential. Dance of the Vampires offers no brilliant highs or
wallowing lows – just hours of relentless tedium.
There isn't
much to the plot, but here goes: according to an ancient prophesy, if the Carpathian
vampire Count Von Krolock succeeds in seducing the virginal maiden Sarah
at midnight on Halloween in the year "1880-something" (that's
how the script puts it), vampires will take over the world. Professor
Abronsious, an idiot who has
inexplicably succeeded in ridding the world of every other vampire, attempts to save
Sarah. Of course, the professor's handsome young assistant
Alfred falls in love with Sarah, and Count Von Krolock's gay vampire son Herbert falls for Alfred. So the question is
(pardon the expression) who will be
sucking whom before the final curtain?
A disaster like this
always begins when people who should have had the sense to say
"no" go against their judgment and say "yes."
The first culprits are producers and backers, who can only blame
themselves for the millions they'll lose on this one. What ever made
them think this mish-mosh could work on Broadway? The idea of
turning Roman Polanski's quirky 1967 film The Fearless Vampire Killers
into a musical had genuine potential, and this stage version by
pop composers Michael Kunze and Jim Steinman was a hit
in Germany.
But one has to wonder if the various New York producers (most with impressive track
records) ever bothered to read the script or listen to the score. If
they had, it would have been painfully clear that this show is a mess. It cannot make
up its mind what it is trying to be, teetering between a Les Miz-style pop operetta, a Rent-style
rock musical, and a Urinetown-style spoof. Vampires might have
succeeded had it stuck to any one of those approaches, but trying to be
all three at once amounts to stylistic self destruction. The score lacks so
much as one memorable musical number. Even the pop hit "Total
Eclipse of the Heart" fails to enliven things. And none of it
is enjoyably bad – its just mind-numbingly blah.
The talented members of the creative team certainly forgot to say "no."
Urinetown director John Rado cannot breathe life into
this undead show. Now and then a giggle sneaks in, but it is almost always
one of embarrassment. Many who enjoyed Urinetown thought John
Carrafa's galumphing dance routines were clever comic
creations – but his almost identical dances here make me wonder if
this is all the guy has to offer. Ken Billington is one of
Broadway's finest lighting designers, but I was appalled by the way he
opened the proceedings with a prolonged and blinding light-rape of the
audience -- physically painful and a waste of major bucks to boot. Perhaps
Billington hoped to mercifully blind everyone to David Gallo's
clumsy sets and Ann Gould-Ward's ugly costumes. Broadway projects
being few and far between these days, I realize it is hard to resist a
check – but all of these talented people work often enough to avoid
such an obvious clunker.
The cast appears a bit demoralized (small wonder), with several barely walking through their roles. Michael
Crawford has waited fifteen years to return to Broadway, and
it's a pity he didn't wait fifteen more -- or at least until a decent
new project came along. He has a thankless role as the
bloodthirsty count, and aside from a pretty note here and there, gives a lackluster
performance. He looks so stiff that one wonders if he isn't suffering from
a back ailment. The usually hilarious Rene Auberjonois is surprisingly
lifeless as Professor Abronsious. Thanks to the witless script, he is unable
to win a single decent laugh. Mandy Gonzalez and Max Von Essen sing
capably enough as the young lovers, but both lack any hint of star quality – in fact,
they look and sound like understudies in a low-budget regional theatre. As the Count's
son, Asa Somers offers a mincing gay stereotype that is far too mean spirited
to qualify as comedy. Instead of being merely tacky, it's outright offensive.
But of all the people who did not have the good
sense to say "no" to Dance of the Vampires, the
ultimate blame rests with the audience. At the performance I attended,
most of the sparse crowd stood and cheered at the curtain calls. Shame
on them all. Anyone willing to cheer for this garbage deserved exactly
what they got.
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