Playwright: James Valcq
At: Backstage Theatre Company at the Athenaeum Theatre, 2936 N. Southport
Phone: 312-683-5347; $18-$20
Runs through: Sept. 2
BY CATEY SULLIVAN
The cast shows evidence of tone deafness, but that doesn't dampen the gusto with which the Backstage Theatre Company dives into the new musical Zombies from the Beyond. A send-up of 1950s sci-fi flicks that calls for broad-as-a-barn acting, James Valcq's intentionally ridiculous tale of evil Russian spies, lovelorn secretaries and wide-eyed ingénues is also too long by a good 30 minutes. This is fluff enough to support a 90-minute show, at most. At two hours, Zombies wears its welcome thin.
Aspiring toward no more than supreme silliness can be noble, and it's clear that director/choreographer/musical director Megan E. Frei has successfully whipped the large ensemble into enthusiastically, energetically embracing of Zombies' light-as-a-feather antics. But for all the gamely high spirits on stage, Zombies quickly grows grating for those in the audience. The primary problem lies in the cast's inability to deliver Valcq's dauntingly complex and intensely demanding score. It's operatic in scope, and rich with labyrinthine melodies. Too often substituting volume for pitch, the ensemble isn't up to the musical rigors Valcq has created. More than once on opening night, soloists hit their money notes a wincing quarter-tone flat of the mark. Moreover, the final quarter-hour of Zombies is essentially a non-stop shriek-off led by an outer space vixen whose voice is enough to peel the enamel off a new set of dentures.
The story itself is a mildly amusing, escapist riff on a thousand B-Movies. What Zombies lacks is smarts, a component that's needed if you're going to satirize stupid movies. The story is set in 1955 Milwaukee, as a group of scientists is sent into paroxysms of panic after a flying saucer lands on a beauty parlor. The black-and-white film footage that depicts the invasion swings wide of campy and lands with a thud in the realm of dumb. Even so, there are a few laughs to be wrung from the likes of a dinner plate on a stick hovering over a cardboard skyline.
In between alien chorus lines, Zombies throws in a clunky tap number and a romantic subplot involving the winsome daughter of the chief scientist. There's a fine line between campy and over-earnest, 'hey-kids-let's-put-on-a-show' cheesiness being skirted here and, alas, Zombies lands in the land of cheese more often than not.
Yet there's potential in Valcq's brave new work. Nix some of the score's repetitive excess, put the piece in the hands of a group with some serious vocal chops and add just a scrim of subtlety to the spoofery, and Zombies could succeed as winking bit of all-American satire.