Zombie Joe breathes life into Poe-Fest

How do you describe a director as strange as Zombie Joe? The shock artist, recovering drug addict, part-time funeral coordinator and born-again Christian is one of the most curious and disturbing personalities currently haunting the Los Angeles theater scene.

“Zombie,” as he is called by his friends, actors and even his fiancee, is the founding artistic director of a small North Hollywood company that specializes in an unusual kind of horror theater. His dramas stitch together Gothic stories and Diavolo Dance-inspired choreography to create a Frankenstein hybrid genre that is equally hallucinatory and athletic -- think of it as a high-impact workout for cadavers, skeletons and golems.

Over the last 15 years, Zombie Joe’s Underground Theatre has slowly amassed a cult following, enabling the company to survive today mostly on ticket sales -- a rarity in the stage world.

This week, the company kicks off Poe-Fest, a series of one-hour dramas adapted from the works of 19th century American writer Edgar Allan Poe. The series features a new production of “The Pit and the Pendulum,” which Zombie calls “the most complicated piece I’ve ever directed.” The play features several actors reciting Poe’s short story as they arrange themselves in increasingly contorted physical permutations.

Also included in the festival are revivals of “The Tell-Tale Heart,” “The Bells” and “The Raven,” the latter of which features a magician trying to escape from a straitjacket.

To understand the perturbed world of Zombie Joe -- and his attraction to the works of Poe -- one must unearth the corpse buried inside the living man. “I’m a private person, and I usually don’t like to talk about myself,” Zombie said during a recent interview at his theater on Lankershim Boulevard.

What the director would reveal about himself is this: He was born J. Cole (he prefers not to reveal his first name) in 1971. He founded his experimental theater company in 1992, borrowing the philosophy of Antonin Artaud, the 20th century French dramatist who advocated a theater of cruelty.

“Everything we did was real,” he explained. “The sex was real, the violence was real. It was hard-core theater.” Audiences would often see actors take speed on stage, perform oral sex and throw each other through walls.

During this time, Zombie was a heavy drug user -- his nickname comes from the semi-comatose state he would fall into each time he got stoned. In 1997, Zombie experienced what he calls a spiritual transformation. “I was really going to die,” he recalled. “I basically locked myself in the theater, and, by the grace of God, I was rescued from the jaws of death.”

Last year, Zombie was baptized a Christian (he was born Jewish), and he now attends Cornerstone Community Church in Simi Valley. His personal rebirth has affected his stage work in crucial ways. Gone are the angry X-rated plays. Today, audiences are likely to see tastefully macabre productions that are safe for teens and up.

Adapting the works of Poe in particular has allowed Zombie to remain true to his horror roots while reaching a wider public. “Whenever I read Poe, I feel as if he and I are very much a part of each other,” he said.

Still, Zombie hasn’t fully renounced shock art. In April, the company will produce a new installment of its adults-only “Urban Death,” a dialogue-free series of ultra-violent tableaux. In previous installments, the imagery has included a man suffocating himself with a plastic bag, a clown sticking knives into his eyes and a bruised woman bound and gagged. Reviewing “Urban Death” for the Los Angeles Times in 2006, David C. Nichols described it as a “fearlessly enacted cycle of grim vignettes, some hilariously creepy, others simply ill.”

Zombie said he struggles constantly with the material the company performs. “Sometimes I’m afraid of what we do -- the shows can border on evil,” he said. “I wonder as a Christian if this is God’s will.”

This season’s Poe-Fest is a landmark occasion in the history of Zombie Joe’s Underground Theatre. It’s the first time the actors are getting paid. “They’re each receiving $7 a performance,” Zombie said. “It’s really a token of thanks. Most of the actors have other jobs, but they work harder here.”

Each rehearsal is a taxing four-hour session that often leaves the cast physically spent. “It’s a wild and crazy place,” said ensemble member Denise Devin. “It’s a workout. We get bruised up sometimes.”

Devin, who is also Zombie Joe’s romantic partner, previously worked as an educational director at the L.A.-based Diavolo Dance Theater and has helped to bring the aesthetic of choreographer Jacques Heim into their productions.

“The Diavolo aesthetic is the ethic of risk and trust,” she said. “We’re taking more risks than we ever had before.”

A typical Zombie Joe production goes from rehearsals to opening night in only three weeks. The ensemble operates with the efficiency of a military apparatus, ready to spring into action when its general issues a command.

When asked about his directing style, Zombie appears uncomfortable and steers the conversation randomly toward his other career -- a funeral director at Mt. Sinai Memorial Parks. His responsibilities include organizing funeral services and acting as a coordinator between the funeral home and the families.

It’s clearly something he takes pride in. “I’m good at it. I’m good with the families.”

For the last six months, Zombie has taken a break from funeral directing to concentrate on Poe-Fest and other productions. “I’m very concerned about quality,” he said. “Our shows have to be great. If we do one crappy show -- it’s like the death of theater. Someone might not see another play for years because of that.”

Spending time with his ensemble, he said, is what has kept him sober and working. “We’re disturbed, talented and we mean well,” he said. “And we like blood and guts. It’s like a family. Some of us are more stable than others. I like to think that we’re all a little, you know, not-all-there.”

--

[email protected]

--

‘Poe-Fest’

Where: Zombie Joe’s Underground Theatre, 4850 Lankershim Blvd., North Hollywood

When: 8:30 and 10:30 p.m. Fridays, 6:30 and 8:30 p.m. Saturdays, 4:30 and 6:30 p.m. Sundays

Ends: March 16

Price: $12 per performance, $18 for a weekend pass

Contact: (818) 202-4120