Off Broadway

Zombie

 (Theater Row/Studio; 55 seats; $21.25 top)

By SAM THIELMAN

Bill Connington plays an amoral serial killer in one-hander 'Zombie'

A Razors Edge presentation of a solo show in one act, written and performed by Bill Connington, based on the novella by Joyce Carol Oates. Directed by Thomas Caruso.
 
Quentin P_ - Bill Connington.
 

Some free advice to anyone going to see "Zombie": Sit in the back. Bill Connington, who adapted the solo show from Joyce Carol Oates' novella, perfectly counterfeits the experience of sitting in a room with a serial murderer, which is even less comfortable than it sounds. The show's 75 minutes are best spent as far away as possible from the actor, whose ingenious performance gives the skin-crawling piece such an authentic texture that the artificiality of the light and sound changes are a welcome reminder of the outside world.

Connington's adaptation is not quite perfect; there are moments in which the descriptions of physical violence are so extreme, they feel a little too stylized. But those moments are the exception, not the rule. Connington is not interested in performing a whodunit (he did it, after all) but in re-creating a truly evil character down to the last detail. Thus, for the entire play, the actor seems to be channeling the weirdness of an utterly amoral psychopath.

The question ultimately becomes whether it's worth it to spend time with somebody as disturbed as Oates' invention -- sexually stunted killer Quentin P_, who dreams of having a "zombie" slave, which he believes he can create by giving a kidnap victim a prefrontal lobotomy with an icepick. For the faint of heart, the talkback afterward is highly recommended, if for no other reason than to see Connington revealed as a friendly, nice-seeming guy who's unlikely to chase you down 42nd Street after the show.

Probably against Quentin's will, "Zombie" is the story of his victims. True to character, Quentin couches his tale as a series of failures to maim someone into the concubine he thinks he deserves, but that's not what the audience perceives (we hope). Between Quentin's lips and our ears, the story turns into a tale of five ways someone can abduct and damage another human being.

Representing that human being is a mannequin, its arms and legs bent at the elbows and knees in an unnatural way, its Styrofoam head and incongruous, lifelike hands held on with electrical tape. It frequently wears a Detroit Tigers baseball cap. Believe it or not, Quentin leaves the mannequin alone for most of the play -- it just sits there as a silent reminder of the way he views the rest of the people in the world and, of course, the audience.

Horror onstage is a tricky business. When it succeeds, it reminds you that theater can't really be called a medium, since there's nothing between you and the action. "Zombie" is scary in a different way than a movie like "Hostel" or "Hellraiser," because there's so much separating the filmgoer from what's in the film and because the theater has some special effects all its own, like direct address. When Quentin turns to speak to the audience, we really feel we're in the presence of someone morally empty.

What puts "Zombie" in a category separate from scary theater like "The Seafarer" or "Sweeney Todd" is that there's nobody else there to mitigate the rage of the murderous lunatic. It's just him and you in a very small space.

This may or may not read as a recommendation, but it's hard to overstate the effectiveness of Connington's unblinking gaze, weird cadence and surprising, off-kilter swearing. Impressive, too, is helmer Thomas Caruso's direction, which evokes the other people in Quentin's life without ever letting him seem to break character in telling us his stories. The play's merits as a study in evil are debatable, since there's nothing good with which to contrast Quentin. But the character's snakelike, hypnotic quality is not.

Set, Josh Zangen; lighting, Joel E. Silver; sound, Deirdre Broderick. Opened, reviewed Feb. 21, 2009. Running time: 1 HOUR, 15 MIN.