A Frontmezzjunkies review: Aerosol mist, exposed torsos, and a five-person cast with a wicked appetite for theatrical chaos.

By Ross

“I wouldn’t scoff if I were you.” A rather ambitious request, really, when you have just invited an audience to spend an evening with a vampire whose idea of subtlety involves an aerosol cloud, a bare chest and enough theatrical self-importance to fill the entire Transylvania countryside. The Grand Theatre has opened its 2026/27 season with Dracula: A Comedy of Terrors, a gloriously cheeky, fast-moving comedy that promises “life, death, and a hot guy who takes off his shirt a lot.” Horrifying, apparently, “one way or another,” and the production wastes very little time demonstrating just how seriously we should take that warning. The story begins, as it should, with a diary entry and centuries of evil and death hanging in the air. This is all before Jesse Gervais makes his grand entrance as the Count, emerging through a spectacularly excessive mist of aerosol spray that may well be doing permanent damage to the ozone layer. We are instructed to “hold your applause,” although that seems a rather unreasonable expectation when Dracula is clearly anticipating the room falling at his feet. “Alexa, turn down the music,” he commands, and soon the children of the night are howling on cue. I have rarely been so happy to surrender my dignity, or my neck, to an evening’s entertainment.

Adapted by Gordon Greenberg and Steve Rosen, and directed by Krista Jackson with a wonderfully feisty feel for the absurd, this is a production that takes its Gothic source material and gleefully bites into a slew of double entendres, wordplay, and outrageous theatrical business. The jokes come thick and fast, often arriving with such shameless confidence that there is barely time to recover before the next one lands. Renfield’s delighted declaration of “it’s my cheat day” after plucking a spider from Mina’s back and eating it is a particularly inspired moment of comic appetite. Mina’s particular combination of flat feet, low self-esteem and a rather impressive sex drive gives Constant Bernard (Theatre Aquarius’s Frozen) plenty of deliciously awkward territory to explore. “Raise your hand if you’re awkward at parties,” Mina asks with a thrust and a grin, and I suspect the response might be rather more enthusiastic than she expects. The production also knows the value of a well-placed local joke, taking some delightfully cheap shots at Stratford and Grand Bend along the way. Those regional jabs land with the added pleasure of recognizing that the production knows exactly where it is playing and isn’t afraid to have a little fun at our expense.

The five-person ensemble is a marvel of comic timing, physical agility, and quick-change wizardry, with every actor throwing themselves into the many characters and outrageous situations that come flying their way. Gervais (Punctuate! Theatre’s Strife) anchors the evening with his deliciously confident Dracula, all seductive swagger, pumped-up torso, and gloriously inflated self-regard. When he tells Jonathan Harker to “loosen up a bit,” the advice is taken with fabulously entertaining consequences. As Harker, Nathan Howe (CanStage’s 1939) hilariously rides in on a bumpy carriage with an exceptionally appealing, straight-laced innocence, before unveiling a whole new level of mischievous sex appeal once the Count has had his way with him. Bringing a whole heap of terrific energy and a wonderfully sharp edge, Reena Jolly (NTS’s Cabaret) finds the essential ingredient to Lucy, while Nora McLellan (Grand’s Godspell) delivers some misogynistic mischief in a whirlwind of physical comedy, quick transformations, and perfectly pitched absurdity as Dr. Westfeldt and Renfield. Bernard, however, is a particular delight with his wonderful comic presence as Mina (and many others). His performance really unleashes the full potential of the play, finding a particularly delicious vein of coquettish awkwardness and sharp comic timing. The cast’s rapid character swaps, entrances, exits, and sudden disappearances through the windows become an essential part of the joke. There is an impressive amount of precision beneath all that apparent chaos, and watching the performers keep the whole mad enterprise in motion is a considerable part of the pleasure.

That sense of controlled mayhem extends into the production’s design, which gives the cast a playground worthy of all this theatrical misbehaviour. Joshua Quinlan‘s gothic set design consistently adds to the misty air of ridiculousness, while Joseph Abetria‘s costumes help the performers spin relentlessly between characters with delightful speed, causing laughter at every turn of the head and every change of wig. Those wigs and costume changes become part of the play’s silly comic rhythm, and Leigh Ann Vardy‘s lighting keeps the action alive as the stage tilts between its many moments of madness. John Gzowski’s original music and sound design add another layer of theatrical punctuation, giving the entrances and bursts of activity just the right heightened flourish. Nothing is allowed to sit still for very long, and Jackson (StratFest’s The Diviners) keeps the whole enterprise moving with a wonderfully mischievous confidence, allowing the cast to lean into the ridiculousness while maintaining the precision that a farce this frantic demands. And while I might selfishly have wished for a little more erotic tension between Gervais and Howe once their characters’ relationship takes its delicious turn, I was having far too much fun watching the whole company work its comic magic to hold that against them for long.

With this review arriving on Halloween, October 31, it seems only right to give Dracula: A Comedy of Terrors a little extra blood-curdling attention. This is a gloriously silly, sexy and wonderfully self-aware theatrical confection, a Halloween sugar rush of hairspray, mist, mayhem and exposed skin that knows exactly how much theatrical excess an audience can happily consume. Beneath all the outrageousness is a playful appetite for desire, identity, life and death, although I wouldn’t suggest arriving in search of the solemn Gothic atmosphere that made Bela Lugosi’s Count such an enduring screen presence. This Dracula has other priorities, and a rather more enthusiastic relationship with the aerosol can. The Grand has launched its season with a production that is thoroughly in on the joke, and the cast’s commitment to every absurd twist makes it a pleasure to be swept along. I may have arrived prepared for a little Gothic horror, but I was more than happy to surrender to this particular brand of Transylvanian trouble. So, if you find yourself feeling a little light-headed on the way out, don’t panic. It could be the blood loss. It could be the hairspray. Or perhaps you’ve simply been having a bloody good time.