Writer/director/producer Ansel H. Faraj, in conjunction with Hollinsworth Productions, begins a third season of Theatre Fantastique. The series includes the Rondo Hatton Award-winning "Screening After Midnight" (now accessible via YouTube), "The City of the Dreadful Night" (set for Sunday, June 7), "The Werewolf of Venice" (set for Sunday, July 5) and "Randolph Carter & the Silver Key" (set for Sunday, August 9).
For one's edification, details and assessments of Faraj's offerings are listed below:
"Screening After Midnight" presents an impassioned collector, Douglas Eames' Rick Farnham, who seeks a mysterious man named Mr. Endore, portrayed by David (Dark Shadows) Selby, who claims to possess a copy of Tod Browning/Lon Chaney Sr.'s long-lost London After Midnight. However, as Endore comes to explain, he's merely the movie's caretaker. For Farnham to see the print, he must meet the actual owner, played by the haunting Elyse Ashton, though as Farnham's luck would have it, there's a frightful "cost of admission" attached.
Faraj cowrote the tale with Daniel Titley, the leading historian on the Browning/Chaney production and author of the acclaimed book, London After Midnight: The Lost Film. Faraj and Titley made their tribute "silent" (even though it's capped by a sound portion rendered in the delightful, Edward Van Sloan vein). To accentuate the old-school approach, Faraj enlivened the script with splendid, black-and-white, Hollywood imagery, which is embellished by Geoffrey Burch's spellbinding score, with the film's leads simulating the acting style of the era. Truly, the artistic culmination left me on the edge of my seat, and the ending is unforgettable for its fierce, cinematic twist.
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"The City of the Dreadful Night" is based on Scottish writer James Thomson's famous, Poe-esque poem.
The composition is, as most know, a melancholic one, which dips into existential doom and gloom, but through its doleful annals comes comfort. "The City of the Dreadful Night" performs like a sad song, sharing despair so that one needn't feel so alone.
Faraj's short embellishes this feeling, with dark, soothing images that stream with ghostly abandon before one's eyes, while Douglas Eames whispery voice abides.
Among the nocturnal images, one encounters the anxious twinkle of forlorn, city lights; desperate branches that stretch and sway; water so dull that it shines; empty chambers; forbidding gates; forgotten facades ... and in the fateful end, a disheveled cemetery where sadness forever rests in angelic stone.
The short's Gustav Holst ("Neptune's the Mystic") music is soothing; Faraj's succession of imagery, perfect. Truly, if one has ever endured even an ounce of tremulation, "The City of the Dreadful Night" is a sublime, empathetic gift: an epitaph to revisit whenever life's vexing riddles grow far too hard to overcome, let alone solve.
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"The Werewolf of Venice" is Faraj's supreme, monster-ized achievement, both in writing and directorial pacing.
It takes place in Venice Beach, California, and as such, its black-and-white expanse is at once beautiful yet alarming, with a steady sense of danger rising. One sees Nathan Wilson's Cody stand from the sand and through subtle nuance and narration, he reveals his affliction. It's not narcotics, but rather lycanthropy.
Along the way, he comes upon Bella Mraz's pretty Marie. She offers him some drink, some companionship, but not in the way one might presume. She's a spiritual entity, or so it seems (or so he hopes), and in her presence, his world beams with colors expanding and music swelling. However, with hope also comes guilt, which includes Cody's suicidal option, if, that is, his shaky confidant (Matthew Anderson) can attain the required, silver bullet.
The story, which was coproduced by Wilson, runs about a half hour, and uses famous, werewolf-movie tropes throughout. As such, plentiful traces of The Wolf Man are apparent, but also specks of Werewolf of London and Curse of the Werewolf, with angst and confusion running high for the bedeviled lead. This makes Cody's conundrum identifiable, but while such familiarity is comforting, "Werewolf of Venice" doesn't fall upon a cliched finale. Something quite interesting occurs before the end credits commence, which distinguishes this one from other such fables. (Its choice of music, which includes selections by Mozart, Beethoven, Schubert, Satie, Delibes and Elgar, enhances the narrative, further enforcing its uniqueness among the welcomed motifs.)
"Werewolf of Venice" would work well as a feature, but its existing form suits its concept well. This one will please monster-movie fans or just about anyone with a penchant to howl at the moon.
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For followers of The Twilight Zone and Night Gallery, "Randolph Carter & the Silver Key" is geared to enchant, since Faraj's story reflects such Rod Serling classics as "Walking Distance," "A Stop at Willoughby" and "They're Tearing Down Tim Riley's Bar," even as it pulls its prime inspiration from H.P. Lovecraft's "The Dream-Quest of Unknown Kadath" and "The Silver Key."
In the case of "Randolph Carter & the Silver Key," we're lured by Jerry (Dark Shadows) Lacy's robust narration and Nathan Wilson's woeful countenance, offset by a cheerful one portrayed by Wilson's son, Rowan, who represents his younger self. One could say that much of the juxtaposing between old and young works as a kind of pantomime, but the piece's movement (the way it magnetizes through words and imagery) sets it on a special, emotional plane that doesn't require a conventional, cinematic crutch. The to-and-fro clicks.
Carter's plight further ensures the story's success, as he's a middle-aged man whose grown empty with everyday life, in particular the burden of his monotonous job. He yearns for something more, which exists in his dreams: the sort of carefree, Peter Pan-ish ones he had as a child. (Don't we all reflect upon such sentiments at one time or another?)
A hovering, silver key draws Randolph into his fanciful flights, where scenarios break from black-and-white into full-blown, animated color (emboldened with idyllic tracks by Holst, Debussy and Saint-Saens). These unfolding examples of escape keep mounting, but as much as they consume Randolph, one wonders if he'll find the courage (the desperation) to latch on and set himself free. Ah, there lies the melodramatic catch, and as executed by Faraj and his cast, it works like a charm. In fact, the progression and its outcome were so impactful that I was moved to tears.
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This season's Theatre Fantastique is without question diverse, and yet each installment is a comparable, artistic standout, designed to spark the imagination and quicken the heart. Make it a point to experience them on YouTube, and in doing so, come away enriched.
