The fantastical illustrator and writer Edward Gorey's love of the macabre is so satisfyingly conceptualized and immortalized in print, it doesn't surprise me that most of the drolly dramatized skits compiled from the Gorey canon that make up the show The Gorey Details, left me cold rather than chilled. Peppered with songs by Peter Matz that curdle more than they creep, the "musicale," as it is billed, will, nevertheless be enjoyed by those who appreciate whimsy at its most capricious. The show is book-ended by the doleful musings of Gorey substitute Ogdred Weary (Kevin McDermott), who admits to writer's block until he is sparked by a sip from the large urn that has the ambiguous letters Q.R.V. marked on it. Skits that follow comprise characters that are fated to succumb to death in a variety of untimely, unseemly and unconscionable ways. Most of the mirth in this mix of murder and mayhem is provided by a youthful cast able to project both the grimness and the gleeful abandon of their Victorian world.
Considering the overall numbing effect that comes after watching fifteen horrifyingly humorous stories that mostly lead nowhere, have no payoff, or offer any moral or reason (but plenty of rhyme) for their grotesquely arch perversity, Gorey Details had its moments. The more morbid side of me was amused by "The Weeping Chandelier," in which a child (Alison Crowley) after being abandoned by her parents, becomes a cherished member of a family of bats, and "The Blue Aspic," in which a bellowing opera diva (Clare Stollak) is stalked and eventually stabbed by a insanely idolizing fan (Daniel C. Levine).
Under the melodramatic direction of Daniel Levin's, the rest of the company - Allison deSalvo, Matt Kuehl, Ben Nordstrom, Liza Shaller and Christopher Youngman - offer convincing portraits of the certifiably maniacal and manic. Jesse Poleshuck's black-and-white sets homage Gorey, as do Martha Bromelmeier's Gorey-fying costumes. You could call this show the artfully displayed demise of the deranged.
