I tried to distract myself from the awkwardness of the lobby by reading Ira Glass' Radio. It didn't work.
“Are… are you here for The Resurrectionist King?” the woman asked as we walked in the theatre doors.
“Yes…” we hesitantly replied.
“Great!” she responded, with a worrisome enthusiasm.
Finding the theatre had taken a bit of work, and we’d started to question why we’d come.
We followed the woman to a desk. It looked like an information counter, with the exception of a piece of printer paper taped to the front reading “box office.” She stepped up to the register and said she hoped we had cash, as they could take credit cards but it wasn’t an easy process.
She then looked at us asking, “are you friends with the cast?”
“Nope.”
“Oh.”
It was at this point I realized I was about to sit through a truly dreadful show.
And it seemed we might be sitting through it alone, given that every other person in sight appeared to work for the theatre.
We needn’t fear – there were 5 other people in the audience.
Four friends of one of the actors and one older gentleman who apparently taught the playwright when he’d been in school.
How had we gotten into this situation?
I’ve been trying to be more on top of seeing local theatre performances, as I’ve had a few accidentally pass me by, so only a week ago I’d sent an email out asking who was interesting in seeing what.
I’d run across a mention of The Resurrectionist King, described as
“It’s 1884 and times are hard at the struggling Theatre Comique. But Vigo Jansen, DC’s most infamous grave robber, is determined to put on a one-man show. An amusing backstage drama about life, death and the theft of our earthly remains. Based on actual events.”
They had me at “actual events.”
Thus I had dragged Lindsey and my mom out into the wilds of Maryland to see a show that seemed to be at the production level of a middle school.
A middle school with a terribly poor attendance.
The lights went down and and the stage lights came on, controlled by the stage manager we could see in the loft above the actors.
Then commenced a truly enjoyable night of theatre.
Evan Crump played Vigo Jansen, the Resurrectionist King, with a believable charm and vulnerability. Jeremy Lister was so good as Dr. Crow, the disgraced physician, that I eventually forgot to think about his striking resemblance to Kevin Smith. The rest of the cast - Dexter Hamlett, Rachel Manteuffel, Brandon White and Megan Reichelt – were equally enthralling.
I never reference all members of a cast, but as each person equally made this show a success, it seemed wrong to slight any one.
Nor should I forget to mention Stephen Spotswood’s writing. I was certainly impressed – I hope his old professor felt the same.
If you live anywhere in the region, I highly recommend going out to see The Resurrectionist King. And if you don’t, then maybe take a night and give a local theatre a chance.
It’ll possibly be dreadful.
But every once in a while, you’ll chance upon a hidden gem.
And it’ll be worth it.
Megan
Lessons Learned From a Resurrectionist (Those Not Involving Hooks)
Tagged as:
I *am* pretentious enough to spell it theatre
