Dracula: The Musical!

No, that's not a carry-over from my post about sequels. I acquired some comp tickets for a preview last night at The Belasco. Imagine the Coppola movie Bram Stoker's Dracula, only with singing every two to five minutes.

The costumes, scenery and music created a wonderfully macabre mood. And they did a supreme job of capturing Dracula's gliding gait, the ability to disappear and reappear an inch from your face and gift of flight. Obviously, a lot of work went into choreographing such feats but the illusion would have been more sustainable if I wasn't in the mezzanine and saw every trap door, moving floorboard and fishing line.

And I think somebody forgot to tell the crew the golden backstage rule, "If you can see the audience, the audience can see you." Also not to wear khakis.

Tom Waits remains the best Renfield, evah. But this Mina showed more tit than that uptight Winona ever would.

Ken The Impaler, as he would now like to be called, didn't know the story and couldn't figure out why Dracula haunted Mina so, especially since he already had hot-ass Lucy and three other chicks at home. That plot point was merely implied once or twice and would not be distinguishable to an unacquainted audience.

But here's what I don't get: I took Ken to dinner and a show and he didn't even give me anal! Just the promise of anal, "Next time," he says, "And you have to get yourself drunk." What the hell, people?!