From the Short Story by Edgar Allan Poe

Monologue by Dave Robb

Directed by Flavia D’Avila

Up high, high in the dark Belfry: the familiar but eerie twangs of a fiddle are strung.

And as the grand clock tower at the centre of Vondervotteimittiss rings thirteen o’clock, atrocity strikes the dour and dull residents like nothing they could have foreseen.

But that’s getting ahead of the tale – a story which finds the humblest of folk, Handel Fledermaus, travelling the length and breadth of the land to spread a tale: one of a supernatural visitor, no, invader, who has ensnared the serene and corrupted it into chaos. The issue is, no one believes him, until now.

Though, a tale consisting of a floating fiddle-playing daemon, a horde of ravenous pigs, cabbage stews and enormous clocks is a rather tall tale, indeed. One orchestrated into a fantastical and hysterical monologue by performer Dave Robb, from the legendary weaver of the gothic tale Edgar Allan Poe, which follows the beats of the short story – embellishing elements, but staying significantly true to the spirit, the gruesomeness, and even the jabbing humour of Poe’s 1839 tale.

Principal performer and writer Robb has central investment and consideration, evident from the onset. There’s a degree of respect performed throughout, one channelled in their stance and characterisation. The Devil in the Belfry may be a tale of the phantasmagorical, but it’s treated with reverence (and just a touch of farce). There’s an astutely conservative usage of space, and if anything, Robb’s performance by-and-large benefits from the more intimate nature; dread building much quicker from the audience when they have nowhere to run.

There are moments of audience participation – usually a mixed concept, though works well in the more intimate setting of the show. We’re invited to take on the principal role for a spell for Robb to metamorphose into an additional character, something they do with tremendous effect. But the audience never feels threatened. Well, maybe a tad. It’s a personable show, one that unfolds directly in front of us, storytelling which creeps under your skin and shudders the spine with how deeply the story transitions from performer to audience.

It’s in no part a singular success story, Flavia D’Avila’s direction plays a significant role in ensuring Robb’s performance is pitched at the correct level, the plucking of the violin and pacing all measured well enough to ensure the audience don’t turn or are a touch too uncomfortable with the mischief unfolding. It’s a perfect balancing act from D’Avila and Robb. In moments, the performance dips into depravity – a sinister one where physicality becomes contorted, and just as suddenly Robb is back to standing upright, toying with our senses another way.

The Devil in the Belfry leans hard into a target of satire than Poe’s original. As the crowd turn upon Handel Fledermaus, it is their bigotry and distrust of ‘outsiders’ which ring the production through to contemporary times – as he, and indeed the devil hiding up in the tower, become scapegoats for the town’s shortcomings. Easier to find an enemy from the outside than admit your own shortcomings, Robb’s writing comes to a pristine and sharp point. One which lacerates like a scalpel, homing in on clear targets.

It comes to a powerful conclusion, though one initially not seen as such. It involves the audience once more – but is, if anything, a remarkably gentile and simplistic request comparatively to things we may have been asked before. While The Devil in the Belfry may be plucking the strings, the short-sighted townsfolk below may be just as guilty. Perhaps even more so. Robb’s monologue comes over as well-structured, and exceedingly well-performed – channelling both a seductively cruel gothic streak, but a pleasant enough journey and charm to keep stomachs from turning sour.