When Bite opened at the Stratosphere's Theater of the Stars in September, it frankly sucked. A topless production show about the Lord Vampire's hunt for a new queen was panned by the Sun ("too loud, too pretentious, too vague"), the Review Journal ("jump(s) the track from average to spellbindingly awful") and even the now-dead Mercury ("could use some retooling to help instill some life into a dead subject"). It seems the only publication not to cover the rock 'n' roll musical was the Weekly, and that was only because we missed the media night because we had a cold.
Well, the people in charge listened and about six months later, Bite has been—just one more pun—revamped. What has risen from the crypt of bad press—OK, we lied about the puns—is a truly great show. It's just loud enough, has lost any pretentious it might have once had, and has a clear plot, staying right on track, and is full of life.
As before, the story is told through a rock sound track. The Lord Vampire already has a coven of six beautiful, undead women but seeks his queen incarnate. The half-dozen dancers are introduced to the audience in turn, each with a simple identity tied to song, like Cat (Ted Nugent's "Cat Scratch Fever") and Ice (Foreigner's "Cold As Ice"). Fun, straightforward, and yes, even erotic, thanks to some creative choreography throughout the show by Dar Brzezinski, Sarah Fazio, Gary Thomas and Mick Thompson—with dancers even nearly going en pointe in one number. Regarding the choreography, kudos also needs to be given to Tim Molyneux, Bite's producer, director, writer and music arranger, for blending the four styles.
The coven descends into the audience, pulling up volunteers, and naturally the Lord's soon-to-be soulless mate, played convincingly by Amy Everitt. She and the show's new king vampire, Antonio Restivo, perform well together, with Everitt moving from hapless audience member to seductive mistress of the night as believably as possible given that this is a show about topless vampires, and Restivo adding some flamboyant and flaming magic touches as proof of his dark powers.
Also pulled from the audience are the married aerialist team of Cees de Kok and Cathy Perquin—who similarly find themselves transformed into vampires and perform their always-breathtaking routine in the relatively low-ceiling room—and singer Mark Giovi, who finds his powerful voice after being attacked by a trio. Suddenly hearing a live human voice in a show which to that point had been set to recorded music is jarring, and while Giovi can sing to wake the dead (and we mean that in the good way), his sole speaking character feels out of place.
With a short time (some nights as little as 20 minutes) between Bite and American Superstars, the room's preceding pop-star impersonator show, the crew does a supernatural job of giving the theater a gothic feel. False stained-glass windows circle the audience, depicting a variety of female vampires, some caught performing a pas de deux of the intimate sort. A coffin with skeletal resident waits in a corner, and the onstage set is a multi-leveled affair, providing plenty of opportunities for some creative blocking.
With the most reasonably priced tickets in town for an adult show, the only reason not to go to Bite is if someone has nailed your coffin shut.