REVIEW: Baroness Bianka’s Bloodsongs a Delightfully Grisly Comedy
One always approaches Northern Light Theatre Artistic Director Trevor Schmidt’s new seasons with a sense of wonder. Where does he find these plays? He must spend a lot of time scouring dusty scripts from all over the world because he inevitably finds hidden treasures and spins them into theatrical gold. Perhaps it’s not the plays themselves – perhaps the success lies in the director’s unerring production skills.
A classic example is his choice to launch his new “Confessions & Obsessions” season at his Northern Light Theatre with a play called Baroness Bianka’s Bloodsongs. It runs until Nov. 2 in the Studio Theatre of the ATB Arts Barns.
The tale is loosely based on the life of one Countess Elizabeth Bathory de Ecsed who, some 450 years ago, tortured and killed 650 young ladies to satisfy her lust for their blood. She was not one to sink her fangs into an engaging neck, vampire style, but to luxuriate in the vital liquid itself. She bathed in it – probably to hold off some disability. Aging? Insanity? Inbreeding? Epilepsy? Psoriasis? Her story is the stuff of darkest folklore.
So, of course, in the hands of Schmidt – and as envisioned by Australian playwright-actress-monologist Joanna Weinberg, creator of 14 one-woman shows – it’s a comedy.
In Schmidt’s production, the blood-soaked tale is told by Kristen Johnston – who made her impressive NLT debut in last year’s Origin of the Species. She speaks in some unidentifiable Eastern European accent that seems to have arisen from somewhere deep in the vaults of Castle Dracula.
“Ewerybody has a leetle addiction,” she breathes.
The tall performer, sheathed in a form-fitting black dress topped off by a towering film noir blond hairdo, is not to be trifled with.
She warns, “If you want to leawe – the door is ower there.”
There is a mighty clap of thunder and a flash of lightening as she shrieks, “The door is locked!”
Calling herself a haemophiliac, Bathory recounts a tale that is half blood-soaked medieval legend and half the sad story of a young girl’s compulsion.
And no, you won’t have to watch any blood baths or eviscerations, although some of her tales may make you a bit queasy. The Baroness is a connoisseur, and like a wine epicure can identify anyone’s blood type by merely sniffing. As a teenager, she cut herself. She was attracted for a while to religion – you know, “Blood of the Lamb” – but that didn’t take. She’s a Catholic because as a child she was fascinated by the dark paintings of flayed and impaled saints. We certainly don’t want to go into graphic detail about some of her sexual proclivities.
“We went with the flow,” she says.
The Baroness makes her living as – guess what? – a nurse.
Johnston not only tells a great story, changing character and accent in a split second, but sings a medley of pleasant, catchy, if not exactly memorable songs. In a bow to ‘60s satirist Tom Lehrer, his mordant and hilarious The Masochism Tango is exhumed to telling effect. The actor is flat-our hilarious, has a lovely voice and shows a real comic ability, blending words and music seamlessly while creating an immediate and infectious chemistry with her audience.
Apparently, Johnston also learned to play the accordion so she could accompany herself for this show – and quite well, too. She had some help from music director (and ace accordionist Darrin Hagen) who was also responsible for the terrific arrangements.
If all this still sounds a bit grisly for you, I hasten to assure that it’s done with a light touch. You don’t have to search very far to find a genuine effort to come to grips with any common compulsion in what comes off as a plea for healing and acceptance.
Schmidt’s fingerprints are all over this one. From a stage that looks like a huge grinning mouth (filled with a massive full set of teeth) – to the neat movie horror tropes throughout, he plants his tongue firmly in his cheek to deliver a sleek, fast moving cabaret. The director brings the play in at a brisk 70 minutes – and it’s a good thing because, by the end the premise had become slightly anemic.
