You Make Me Sick!

In a dark performance space converted from somebody's large Mission District apartment, a stage adaptation of the Brian DePalma movie "Dressed to Kill" is about to begin. The male actors put finishing touches on their wigs and makeup. But in this version, the murderous transvestite turns out to be Wayland Flowers and Madame, a gay ventriloquism act featuring a wisecracking papier mache dummy who stops to tell some risqué jokes before hacking up her victims. Rumors of theater's demise have been greatly exaggerated, but it has undergone a major transfusion.

"It all started in kindergarten when I played Peter Rabbit in the spring play," recalls Tony Vaguely in his droll, self-effacing manner. "While running from Mr. McGregor, I slipped and cut my eye on a cardboard cabbage." Knowing the show must go on, Vaguely got up and resumed his role, hopping around the stage with blood dripping down his face as cast and audience freaked out. This warped sensibility led Vaguely to grow up and form The Sick and Twisted Players, a San Francisco theatrical group that performs bizarre spoofs of trashy cult classics such as "The Poseidon Adventure," "Burnt Offerings" and "The Stepford Wives;" and hybrids that merge horror flicks with TV shows resulting in titles like "Texas Chainsaw, 90210," "A Facts of Life Prom Night" and "Alien: Starring Josie and the Pussycats in Outer Space."

Created in 1991 for a 10-minute, open-mike-night improvisation for 35 people sitting on the floor of the club, the low-budget, high-concept troupe has developed a cult following and a mailing list of more than 1,000. Five years into the game, and 28 full-scale productions under the belt, Vaguely & Company are exposing their "art" to new audiences in bigger venues, such as the 150-seat New Conservatory, for longer runs, proving that determination, good ideas and a sense of humor can go a hell of a long way. And as founder, writer, director, actor, set designer, sound engineer, lighting technician, financier and PR man for the group, Vaguely, 28, is gaining a reputation as the Orson Welles of campy crap.

But the director who comes to mind most while viewing a Sick and Twisted production is schlockmeister William Castle, known for devising bizarre gimmicks to lure horror movie audiences during the '50s and '60s. Vaguely can't resist a cheap gimmick either: "The Omen" featured "Satanavision," a corny effect viewed through special glasses; in "A Brady Bunch Friday the 13th" an "X" was placed under one audience member's seat each night, and that lucky person was dragged off and killed during the performance; "'Carrie Kits" armed audience members with lunch bags containing plastic crucifixes and tampons to throw at the title character, played by Vaguely, while shouting "Plug it Up!" during the pivotal locker room scene; "The Exorcist: A Dance Macabre" featured "Retchorama," which projected pea soup at the audience. But nobody gets dirty-during messy productions, the audience is given garbage bags for protection. "The worst part is cleaning up the mess," Vaguely says. "Especially 'Carrie,' with all that blood and gunk on the floor."

The group revolves around a core of about 15 actors-many of the amateur performers joined because they were friends of friends or knew each other from nightclubs. "I acted a bit in high school and college," says Gary Fembot, 30, who takes his stage surname from the evil girl robots on "The Bionic Woman," "but I [joined because] Tony's boyfriend asked me to be in a play." This was in 1993, and Fembot is still with the group. "I played a priest in 'The Exorcist'-I seem to play a lot of authority figures," he says. The most fun shows were "The Cool Ones" because he "got to do wild go-go dances," and "The Facts of Life Prom Night" in which he played a thug that got his head chopped off.

A Sick and Twisted production usually involves a bit of improvisation, with cast members flashing the audience and playing jokes on one another. Sometimes it's not intentional. "This guy, Jack Spittle, vomited onstage during 'The Exorcist,'" Fembot recalls. "He was playing the old priest and he was fake coughing so hard he actually threw up." Vaguely laughed when recalling the incident. "We had a cast party with devil-themed food and he ate too many deviled eggs," he says. "This long, stringy white stuff spewed out of his mouth." This "method acting" was captured on videotape.

A typical performance starts after Vaguely comes up with an idea and quickly cranks out a script. To raise the $500-$600 needed for the production, he borrows from friends or dips into any profits from the previous show. The money goes into promotion via the mailing list and renting the performance space. A cast is assembled and everyone gathers to view the original movie. The group spends one to three weeks in rehearsals, during which time they learn the script, block scenes and devise effects. The actors are responsible for their own costumes, hair and makeup. When a show is successful, the run is extended. Profits go into slightly more elaborate sets for future performances and toward paying the cast.

Risqué elements and drag performances-male-to-female and vice versa-along with a reliance on an audience that will participate and understand the silly, arcane references make this a phenomenon tailored for San Francisco. "I think people here are more knowledgeable about obscure (movies) and horror films," Fembot says. "Also, the drag aspect goes over well." Vaguely agrees, but he says other urban areas would probably get it too. "Over the top things go over better here, and the gay elements might not go over too well in, say, North Carolina," he says, "but I don't like to be classified as a 'gay' group -- half the members aren't."

Vaguely hints that the final curtain call is near. "I'd like to make it to 30 shows," he says, but some official-looking legal missives say he must stop using "Sick and Twisted" because of the closely titled animation festival. And raising funds-the group isn't eligible for grants-is an increasing headache.

But if it ends tomorrow, at least a few shows were videotaped for posterity. Three selections can be rented from Leather Tongue on Valencia Street: "Carrie"/"The Shining," "The Exorcist"/"Rosemary's Baby" and "Texas Chainsaw, 90210"/"Partridge Family Friday the 13th." "The quality is real bad," Vaguely admits, "so I put two plays on each tape."

The audience is anxiously seated, and it's 10 minutes after the show was supposed to start. What they don't realize is that Vaguely has run out of time and he's furiously cutting cardboard props-the same type that nearly put his eye out during his childhood stage debut. The show begins and Vaguely works both sound and lights, occasionally scrambling to the stage to kill somebody before racing back to the control booth. It's a breathtaking pace but sometimes, just sometimes, he can relax and appreciate it. "When I'm up there playing to a full house, and I can see that everyone is laughing and having a good time," he reflects, "it all comes together at that moment."

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