They're Not Zombies

Despite its problems, and there are some, They're Not Zombies deserves credit for accomplishing a difficult feat. Writer-director–production designer Leif E. Gantvoort's staging is at times genuinely scary. It's also claustrophobic, partly because we are "forbidden" to leave the tiny theatre once the 70-minute production begins. Even in that short running time, Gantvoort's script is repetitive and occasionally loses track. Also, the performances range from adequate to misguided. But the mounting is creative, risk-taking and original. And that deserves praise—or, in zombie language, a hearty groan.



The theatre has been configured into a church, the stage situated between a pair of risers with open space at both ends of the room. Things get started with a bang that shocks us even if we know it's coming. A resounding pounding on the entrance door comes from Kyra and Karl (Amy D'Allessandro and Freddy Douglas), who have narrowly escaped from danger. The couple finds a drunken, comical priest (Keith Birkfeld), who believes that the apocalypse has begun. The gathering increases with the arrival of a bitchy woman (Stacey L. Miller) and a cop who rescued her (Jeremy Luke). Later, Judith O'Dea (Breanna Startzel, whose character is named in honor of the actor in Night of the Living Dead), a barely dressed stripper, makes it to the church. That's it for the normal folks. Everyone else, depending on which character you believe, is a brainwashed Chinese super-solider, a genetically altered human, or a flesh-eating zombie.



The realization that we can't leave without totally disrupting the play has a stifling effect, as does the constant banging and scratching at the front and rear doors. There's not much to the dialogue except for arguments about how to stay alive, or drunken jokes by the priest, so there are many lulls. But the zombie moments are exciting and often unexpected. The acting is classic horror-movie style, dominated by screaming and frantic movements—except by Startzel, who as the ditsy stripper seems to be in a burlesque show.



The real star is Gantvoort, who smartly puts the audience close to the action, and whose use of loud noises, a good makeup artist (J.C. Wendel), and a terror-filled ending has set a standard for zombie theatre.







Presented by Theatre East at the Lex Theatre, 6760 Lexington Ave., Hollywood. Thu.-Sat. 8 p.m. Oct. 19-Nov. 25. (323) 957-5782.