Urbanite Theatre delivers a thrilling monster mash with cinematic timing

Monsters are universal — in more ways than one. America’s movie monsters include Dr. Frankenstein’s creation, Count Dracula and the Wolfman. These homegrown horrors loom large in Christian St. Croix’ “Monsters of the American Cinema” at Urbanite Theatre. But the play’s creature feature isn’t confined to the silver screen.

The action unfolds in the dilapidated Good Time Drive-In outside San Diego. Remy (Jon Joseph Gentry), a gay, Black widower, owns and operates this run-down cinematic relic. 

He inherited it from his late husband, Brian — along with Brian’s son, Pup (Tyler Gevas), a straight, white teenager full of unfocused grief and anger. They live together in a shabby RV on the theater lot, sharing popcorn, old monster movies and a sense of loss. 

Their story begins as a sweet, new-family comedy. Then, like a werewolf under a full moon, it transforms into something darker. Like it or not, Remy and Pup must face the all-American beasts inside and around them.

Urbanite Artistic Director Summer Dawn Wallace directs this monster mash with cinematic timing. St. Croix’s script flips from funny to frightening. She turns on a dime with its many mood swings. The action gets surreal at times. In Wallace’s hands, the characters always feel real.

The actors paint a loving, nuanced portrait of a father-figure and his 16-year-old son. Gentry’s Remy is a thirtysomething, working-class everyman. He’s a movie-lover, politically aware and an occasional activist. He’s no household Hitler, but he won’t put up with destructive teenage nonsense. 

Gevas’ Pup is a smart kid and wannabe filmmaker. Remy gives him a camcorder to encourage his artistry. One gay adult, one straight teen — who bond over old-school scary cinema and 21st century wisecracks. They both could be stand-up comics. But what goes down in Remy’s high school isn’t funny at all. And it threatens to rip their bond apart.

Jeff Weber’s RV set is compact but not claustrophobic — and filled with sharp character details. Remy’s space is neat, but not squeaky clean. Pup’s room is packed with monster movie posters — Universal’s unusual suspects like Dracula, Frankenstein’s monster and the Werewolf. (The Creature from the Black Lagoon is the biggest and baddest.)

Louis Vetter-Torres' creepy sound design gets under your skin with subtle hints of dread. (Or not so subtle.) Lyndell McDonald’s lighting dances between mundane reality and fever dream. David Covach’s costumes are a parade of horror-show, grindhouse T-shirts. (Significantly, Pup’s final T-shirt is “The Exorcist.”)

“Monsters” cuts from America’s imaginary movie monsters to our sickeningly real demons of racism and homophobia. Tough subject matter. A lesser playwright would hit the nail on the head. La Croix doesn’t. He attacks from the side — with inventive dialogue and scene construction. 

Pup and Remy will talk to each other. But they’ll also speak to the audience in alternating monologues. These shards of story, history and self-awareness don’t instantly add up. When they finally come together, the real fear begins.

Without giving too much away, Pup gets sucked into a nasty bit of trans-bashing at a high school dance. He filmed the ugly incident on his camcorder — and Remy found out. What he sees scares the hell out of him.

The teen that Remy loves like a son is a homophobic bully? No.

That’s not who Pup is.

But it’s the monster he could become. Blame peer pressure, blame adolescent insecurity. Pup’s a teen with two dads. That’s weird, OK? 

Like every teen who’s ever been born, Pup wants to fit in. He wants to be normal. Attacking the weird, gay outsider proves he’s just like everybody else.

That’s Adolescent Psychology 101.

That mentality also applies to all-American movie monsters — including bloodsucking vampires, flesh-ripping werewolves,and brain-eating zombies. They’re the horrors we love to hate.

These film fiends are external threats, obviously. But they’re internal threats, too. You’re an upstanding American citizen — until a werewolf or vampire bites you. Now you turn into a monster. You’re an outcast, a threat, on the run from peasants with torches.

The fear of the Other; the need to attack the Other: They’re two sides of the same monstrous coin.

The playwright flips that coin. He never reduces it to a didactic message. But he does show you the battle for Pup’s soul.

In the play’s electrifying climax. Remy wrestles with the unholy hatreds (and self-hatred) possessing Pup. The poor kid’s inner demons fight back. The battle gets ugly. So, who wins?

I’m not saying. That’d be monstrous.

Stick around for the play’s shocking conclusion.

If you dare.