THE REVENGE OF KALI-RA

Valerian Ricardo, author of the fabulously trashy adventures of the beauteous Kali-Ra, Queen of Doom, died years ago—even the copyright on his Edgar Rice Burroughs—esque fantasies has lapsed—but they’re back in the news again now that fairy godmother Nadia Wentworth, the bankable Hollywood star of the opulent bustline and limited vocabulary, has discovered them and decided that she was born to play the Queen of Doom. But soft! Is that Lila Ricardo, the author’s ancient, grasping widow, rushing to Nadia’s side to talk herself into a controlling consultancy over the script nominally credited to British veteran Duncan Blaine? And aren’t they all being joined at the Villa Vera by Professor Glen Pendergast, the world’s leading (and only) authority on Ricardo’s oeuvre; by Quentin Smith, representing the shadowy racketeer who claims he holds the copyrights that have returned from the grave; by Nick Iversen, a collateral relative in town to present Nadia with a copy of Lila’s overblown memoir of her soulmate; and by Callie Cunningham, a California bunny who attached herself to Nick before he realized she just might be the reincarnation of Kali-Ra? With such an overripe cast and setting, liberally garnished with excerpts from the Kali-Ra chronicles, fans of Beck’s earlier farces (We Interrupt This Broadcast, 1997, etc.) can expect screams in the night, masquerades and dark secrets, minor characters discovered bound and gagged, and a host of other equally inconsequential cliff-hanging chapter endings. Not much more suspense than its Fu Manchu models, but a broadly comic Midsummer Night’s Penny Dreadful—or, as one cast member sagely dubs it, “an uplifting story of madness and wellness.”