The horror of Nearly Naked Theatre’s "Monster" has nothing to do with the macabre action of Mary Shelley’s Frankenstein, the story on which this play is based. It hasn’t anything to do with the inferior production, the sluggish acting, the slow and dull-witted direction. The real nightmare here is how much "Monster" looks like what one might expect to find at some theater other than this one.
Not every Nearly Naked production has been flawless, to be sure. The company, which last week launched its 17th season, has had— like any other small company— its share of missteps. But even its blunders have looked like something bigger than just another low-budget play draped in torn sheets and covered in paint splatter. For nearly two decades, Nearly Naked’s artistic investment has been greater than what it could afford. Until "Monster," which made me wonder: Am I sitting in a converted storefront in a Glendale strip mall?
This production is so lifeless and flawed that criticizing it seems churlish and unkind. Its story hews closely to Shelley’s original, in which the monster is thoughtful and more human than its maker, posing questions about the existence of God and what it means to be alive. Bell’s adaptation resides in its own shadow; he’s written a play about quiet emotions expressed in ghoulish settings. First-time director Kenneth Anthony might have honored Bell’s subtle intentions with a cast of experienced actors, but he’s filled his stage with amateurs for whom nuance is a new challenge.
There are no performances in "Monster," only attempted performances. It’s clever, and hopefully intentional, to have Frankie Marchi play Victor Frankenstein with silent film star bravado. His bug-eyed responses and soundless emoting recall the mute Frankenstein created by Boris Karloff in the 1931 movie version. The creature in Anthony’s version is played by Matthew Wetzell, whose handful of better moments are overshadowed by his senseless body make-up.
Lousy productions happen to decent playhouses, but anyone aware of Nearly Naked’s consistently far-reaching past work might worry about the company’s artistic future. One hopes this former stalwart ditches its new affection for first-time directors and under-talented casts, and returns to its former glory.
Robrt Pela’s reviews appear in the Phoenix New Times.