Blood Countess

Annex Theatre, 1110 Pike St., 728-0933, annextheatre.org. $5–$20. 8 p.m. Thurs.–Sat. plus Mon., Nov. 10. Ends Nov. 22.

Feeling anemic? Luckily it’s easy to take iron-supplement pills these days. Back at the turn of the 16th century, one had to be more creative for a cure—like drinking virgins’ blood, which Hungarian countess Elizabeth Bathory allegedly did by quaffing from 600 young women. In Kelleen Conway Blanchard’s stage version of Bathory’s life, the countess first starts killing as a means to sexual arousal, then later to stay young and beautiful, like a Dorian Gray vampire.

Though it suffers from the episodic nature of many history-based bio plays, Blood Countess is a lot of fun. As the countess, Terri Weagant’s unconventional looks and excellent expressive range are riveting—until you realize that she’s just not that scary. Director Bret Fetzer has her focus more on the black comedy than on freezing your blood. Indeed, two other characters in her entourage are far more freaky: a deranged, id-like provocateur named Fitzco, played with nearly boundless perversity by Erin Stewart; and a priest, played with chilling, sexualized placidity (and heavy eye makeup) by Martyn G. Krouse. Bathory’s violence-loving libertine husband Ferenc (James Weidman) is another unctuous delight. In Bathory’s grim castle (a simple, black-walled, portrait-adorned set by Susannah Anderson), victims progress from birds to a parade of neighborhood girls (all winningly portrayed by Sarah Windsor).

This entertaining Halloween show is studded with graphically vulgar details (like boar-blood enemas and dismal congenital diseases), but there’s a trifle too much of it. At 140 minutes including intermission, the play has a good half-hour of adipose that could’ve profitably been trimmed and fed to Fitzco. No one cares much when the countess meets her inevitable demise; in today’s context, the vain, youth-craving Bathory could more responsibly serve her obsessions at Sephora and the plastic surgeon’s office. But canny performances and a wacky, Wikipedia-confirmed bite of Hungarian history make the Bathory vein a worthwhile draught.

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