Theatre Bizarre up and disappeared last year from the State Fairgrounds area under a cloud of scrutiny worthy of a contemporary fantasy novel: illicit political dealings, a counterculture group in protest, angry law enforcement. Or so the tale goes, the way I heard it.
They magically reappeared a week before Hallowe'en in 2011 at the Masonic Temple, a more auspicious location for the grand celebrations of the "Initiation." Luxurious tickets were handed out for a hefty penny, and visitors to the masque encouraged to come one, come all, come masked and costumed in your glorious finery to the extraordinary midnight show that is the Theatre Bizarre, aptly named, uneasily described.
All subcultures du noir made their appearance here: Renaissance lordlings and French courtiers, roaming undead and romancing anime otaku, the goths and the leather-clad S|M crowd and maybe even a barbaric Goth, corseted vixens and neo-Victorian steampunkers. Incarnations of Doctor (Who) wandered, while the most spectacular costumes of the night may well have belonged to the Stone Angel and the white-faced clockwork from the Ghosts of Versailles episode, especially given the powdered-wigged maiden in question was 7'+ tall on stilts and a pannier dress. Wonders never cease.
As much circus as surreal spectacle, the Theatre sprawled over seven floors. Two were turned over to dancers and a stage; the top had a ghost train traveling through enough dry ice to dissolve shapes into nebulous forms capering in the smoke. Grotesqueries ruled one room, while another played film reel public-service-announcements and high school documentaries straight out of the 1970s. For half the film crowd, it was time to giggle; for the others, a horrifying flashback from early childhood. Performers roamed at random: acrobats sprang onto tables, while robed inquisitors gently turned aside the revelers from reaching areas they shouldn't.
Absurdity, frightfulness, and oddity rule the night rather than expressions of beauty and grace alone. Burlesque dancers strutting their way down the catwalk to an admiring crowd were not all gorgeous peacocks; there was a spirited, strutting brunette little-person (dwarf? What does one properly use in this situation) who earned thunderous applause for a seductive dance of the Salome variety. A room over, hideous masked mens wandered around, leering and looming over the patrons, but never quite touching. The days of bearded ladies, Siamese twins, boneless men and other attractions You just can't miss! Astounding wonders! Natural horrors! abounded.
Of course, the Masonic temple's glorious architecture and breathtaking monumental scale provide the perfect backdrop. Dark hallways emerge into small rooms, while meeting chambers evocative of Parliament in London or Ottawa sport carved thrones and high galleries. The mezzanine wraps jealously around the stone lobby, all stamped with the mythical heraldry and esoteric symbols of the Masons themselves. Moody atmosphere oozes out of the cracks and through the doors, its own living, breathing shadow coming alive as the night wears on.
But as with all spectacle, eventually pantomime grows dreary, the magic can be revealed as paste gems, flash, and trickery. The exorbitant rate for wine and beer ($10 a glass) cut to the quick, especially with an absence of places to sit or settle for a time. Food on the bottom floor was limited, priced in a manner to cause fewer swoons.
Bombardment from all sides by impromptu exhibits and performances worked well, except for a total lack of clarity on event schedules and locations. Some form of map or directory for the sideshows would have altered the aimless wandering from floor to floor. Fellow attendees, many of them repeat visitors, spoke of a show or a musical guest that the beau and I would have enjoyed seeing if we knew about it. If being the magic word: we felt like we missed out on a substantial amount of the content because we essentially had to rove from place to place when one show ended. A poster on the ground floor is a necessity for next year, one I hope gets included.
Parking was $10 in a monitored lot across the street. Signage, security, and ticket checking was one smooth process from the front of the building. The Theatre earns props for having things start in a timely fashion and getting patrons into the madhouse under the Masonic roof.
5 hours of sashaying about and observing into this hellish carnival of bent mirrors and psychotropic smoke did it for me. I walked away dazzled, disturbed, and at some level disappointed from by a lack still difficult to identity. Was it the absence of clearly orchestrated events or knowledge of my options, what was going on? I instead felt like I wandered through a cloudy dream, capturing only handfuls and snatches, before the clock rang and I woke up with a fitful start, the taste of belladonna and absinthe on my lips, perspiration on my brow, and a longing in my heart I could not name. read more