If Halloween were an existential holiday, it would take the form of Neal Bell's "Monster." Opening tonight in the Balch Arena Theatre, the play elaborates on Mary Shelley's classic Frankenstein tale by illuminating both the beauty and the horror of human existence.
The story follows Victor Frankenstein, a man intent on discovering a remedy for death and an explanation for life. Through his curiosity, he awakens a creature into a world of pain and longing, where the
environment is hostile and human connection is rare. Actress Jess Bauman describes the show in terms of, "man trying to become God in conquering death." The play explores man in the role of God as well as monster, animal and sexual object, treating the audience to uncomfortable scenes of murder, deprivation and romance. The result is brilliant and haunting.
Most of the show is told as Victor Frankenstein's flashbacks. He opens the story with a kind of warning, saying, "Then, maybe I should tell you my story because I think I can make you afraid." The play uses powerful prose, specific acting, and unnerving physicality to create gripping fear within its audience.
In describing the emotional dynamic of the show, director Laurence Senelick said, "There is something going on that makes you terribly, terribly nervous." Indeed, "Monster" is an anxiety-producing thriller in the way it blatantly and unapologetically confronts the common human fascination with death, and the things that may or may not lie beyond it.
At the same time, the play is not reduced strictly to horror. Instead, the story is riddled with themes of death, sexuality, aggression, and spirituality that bring to life a kind of psychological thrill-ride through the raw parts of the human mind.
To embody Frankenstein's monster, actor Christopher Bonewitz draws upon the script's themes of, "loneliness, isolation, and the need for people to make a connection." These characters range from the sad, violent monster to Victor's sexually ambivalent best friend Clerval. As a result, none of the characters in Bell's script invoke apathy from the audience, yet none are entirely familiar either.
The play is highly technical, deliberate, and distinct in its design. The stage itself is stark and elegant, like one might imagine the world of Jane Austen's nightmares or the psyche of Salvador Dali. It serves as a ship, a desolate landscape, a home, a cellar, and a forest. The disjointedness of its design instantly evokes tension and uneasiness. Shroud-like fabric hangs from the top of the arena as the stage funnels into an off-centered grate.
To quote Neal Bell's script, it feels as though, "no one could live here." As the actors play out their convincing reality, the world of "Monster" comes to look like a Victorian palace that has long since descended into the sewers.
Over the next two weekends, "Monster" hopes to deliver a disturbing performance, possibly revealing life to be just as inescapable and overwhelming as death. "Why does the spark go out?" asks Victor Frankenstein. Only "Monster" knows.
