Review: WITCHING HOUR SOCIAL CLUB at Burbage Theatre Co

Horror, they say, is a mood rather than a genre. With the right twist, even a romcom can evoke fear and revulsion. And the Burbage Theatre's world premiere of James Lucey's "Witching Hour Social Club" proves that point with an elegant layering of the macabre, absurdism, and self-aware humor.

Local playwright Lucey’s first full-length outing centers on a group of high school friends who, years later, attempt a reunion in the same campfire-lit forest where they once gathered to tell spooky stories into a tape recorder. Only two members show up, and while they wait, they reminisce and play old recordings, which the ensemble acts out.

There's a smart theatrical device here: director Allison Crews brings the transition to life with a toss of magic dust onto a flickering "fire," followed by a fog-machine-and-scrim transition to the downstage world of the story. It's simple stagecraft, but highly effective.

In the five eldritch episodes that follow, Lucey slickly spreads the horror across genres. We start out in everyday domesticity: two guys find an unfamiliar box on their kitchen table. A box that moves. One guy sticks his arm in. Hijinks (and hemoglobin) ensue. 

You'll see the pattern pretty quickly as the tape recorder turns: A trio of werewolf hunters scan their trailcams on a cloudy night. Who is that new guy they don't really know that well? Then, are the man and woman fleeing a serial killer in a deserted factory just what they seem? (The victim who staggers in and unloads a ropy armload of intestines might be the most over-the-top Grand Guignol moment of the show...) In the next segment, a pair of ghouls hire a brash young idiot for a "graverobbing" gig that turns out to be a feeding scheme for a vampire-like creature. (Okay, if we're voting on the grossest bit, maybe the severed head trailing spinal cord might win...)

The final story is the most ambitious and most interesting. Two bored corporate drones spend their day reanimating the dead so they can pay their medical debt, while casually discussing that woman from HR's birthday party. There's a brilliantly dystopian training video they play for the newly reborn that totally nails bureaucratic horror.

The dozen-member ensemble all turn in solid performances, taking things just seriously enough that each scene's grotesque turn lands with impact. Trevor Elliot's set --a moody bank of trees flanking the upstage fire pit -- frames the action nicely. Grey Rung's props and Riley Nedder's costumes bring just enough realism. One nice touch: the audio shift from hearing the story on the tape recorder to the house speakers as each tale begins is subtle but potent and particularly well executed.

Eventually -- maybe -- we do find out why only two members of the Witching Hour Social Club have returned. It's a final twist by Lucey that's both inevitable and satisfying. Throughout, Lucey shows a knack for offbeat detail: furries, pedialyte, and the Zodiac Killer all get name-checked in ways that surprise and delight.

This is not a show for everyone. While the simulated gore may not bother Cronenberg or Argento fans, squeamish theatergoers might blanch at the blood spray (which is, tbh, more Monty Python than Tom Savini.) But for those who like their Halloween fare with guts -- both literal and theatrical -- Witching Hour Social Club is a promising debut from a local voice with a flair for the fearsome. Recommended.

"Witching Hour Social Club" by James Lucey, directed by Allison Crews, at the Burbage Theatre Co., Thurs-Sun 10/23-26, 10/30-11/2, 7:30pm. Tickets: $35, at https://www.burbagetheatre.org/witchinghour; contact: info@burbagetheatre.org. Content advisory: Simulated gore with occasional blood spatters.

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