It’s just your typical night for Allie (Gabrielle Lott-Rogers). She’s
invited some college friends over for dinner. Things are going fine; people
like the soup. Suddenly, a rift opens in space time. Evil physicist
roommate Eamon (Greg Wenz) starts stalking Allie across eternity, even
tampering with past traumas to harass her retroactively. Meanwhile,
putrefied zombie copies of her pals (their “echoes”) claw at the front
entrance with half their faces blown off. Score one for the sadists at
WildClaw Theatre, who with this spooker by Paul Foster mark ten years of
lavishing gothic thrills on a niche market that presumably loves them
rabidly.

And yet, and yet. H. P. Lovecraft wrote in an essay that “natural
explanations” could screw up even the eeriest atmosphere. True fear is fear
of the unknown. If I’m less enthusiastic about this show than others will
be, it’s partly because there’s only so many times I can listen to Eamon
lecture Allie on Schrödinger’s cat. Who cares? A solid hour of quantum
mechanics for dummies, whatever it purportedly explains, utterly squelches
whatever mystery the show might have had going for it. The horror factor is
nil already, however, thanks to design blunders and poor direction: because
the wings are wide open in John Ross Wilson’s floor plan, we can see ghouls
entering minutes before they register onstage.

I could also have done without the shrillness of Eamon’s never-ending vows
to be less of a dweebus around Allie than he was during undergrad. No means
no, you revolting gargoyle.   v