Stella Kulagowski and the Masque of Red Death: "plotting murder while dancing, singing and occasionally taking our clothes off"

01 April 2025. by Drew Rowsome -Photos courtesy of Stella Kulagowski

"Our show is quick and dirty and rarely subtle," says Stella Kulagowski of Masque of the Red Death. Our character of Joy, played by Rosalind Saunders, really leans into the camp in her act as she tap dances, plays the trombone and the glockenspiel, the wooden spoons and sings, appropriately screaming 'Is this enough?' from her little box." 

Masque of the Red Death is based on, and gleefully deviates from, Edgar Allan Poe's classic gothic tale. "'The Masque of the Red Death' struck me immediately as a powerful allegory for our current moment," says Kulagowski. "The image of wealthy elites partying behind walls while catastrophe unfolds outside is unfortunately all too relevant today. What's unique about my interpretation is how it inverts the traditional retelling. Often, Poe's masked ball is seen as an aesthetically queer space that gets invaded by the ultimate punishment: death. Our production flips this narrative, the seemingly opulent ball is actually a false shelter created by the ruling class, and it's the queer artists who infiltrate this space to liberate it and expose its moral bankruptcy. Where Poe's coloured rooms are often interpreted as representing the seven deadly sins, I've reimagined them through our seven performers, each embodying colors and virtues of the Progress Pride Flag. This transformation turns Poe's gothic morality tale into a celebration of queer resilience and revolutionary potential."

Masque of the Red Death is "a turducken of cabaret," says Kulagwoski. "It's a cabaret within a cabaret. We are ever-so-slightly leaning into the queer camp of it all. The entire story is a gothic tale, wrapped in a cabaret, on the night of a show. Queer performers not as victims but as heroes, as the imperfect agents of necessary change. In a world where queer people are often portrayed as victims, this story centers them as characters who hold the plan and the power to overthrow unjust systems. Burlesque and drag have deep historical roots as art forms that challenge authority and give voice to marginalized communities. While they're often joyful and playful they've always contained elements of subversion and social commentary. Burlesque, drag and cabaret are art forms where political resistance can be coded into entertainment, exactly what our performers do within Prospero's compound. The horror in our production isn't about jump scares or gore: it's existential dread and moral horror. The truly frightening elements are the characters' choices and complicity in a system that sacrifices the many for the comfort of the few. The performers' acts grow increasingly unsettling as they reveal the true cost of the guests' privilege. The monsters aren't supernatural creatures but human choices and systems."

Kulagowski was inspired by "seeing how world disasters disproportionately affect marginalized communities while the wealthy often have resources to temporarily shield themselves from consequences. Prospero's walled abbey is today's billionaire bunker or private island retreat. I was particularly inspired how during the pandemic, one of the Kardashians had a big birthday bash on a private island while I was out of work, and everyone was isolating and terrified. The character of Darius Prospero, our modern tech billionaire founder, embodies this disconnect, seeing himself as exceptional while being completely oblivious to his participation in systems that cause suffering. The inspiration of using Poe as the backdrop allows us to lean in to the camp, the surreal and the gothic nature of what is ultimately a murderous tale. What makes gothic horror so appropriate for this conversation is how it normalizes the absurd and makes the grotesque visible. The extreme wealth disparity we're witnessing today has a certain gothic quality to it, the obscene luxury amid widespread suffering, the walled gardens amid environmental collapse. By embracing Poe's gothic sensibilities while updating the context, we can make contemporary inequality feel appropriately monstrous and unsustainable."

Being invited into the masked ball has its pleasures and dangers. "I want audiences to feel like they are in the space, not just invisible passive observers," says Kulagowski. "My approach to immersion respects audience boundaries while still creating meaningful participation." Kulagowski calls it 'optional immersive theatre,' explaining that "our performance will only engage with the audience with their consent. Some may wish to fully participate as guests at Prospero's compound, while others can choose to just watch. More practically, audience members will be offered a flower pin on entrance to the theatre, wearing this pin will signify that they consent to minor interaction with the cast, and that they will participate in the vote at the end to decide on a death. The flower also acts as their vote. The process will be mapped out on a poster at the theatre and at the bottom of the digital program. No unsuspecting audience member will be engaged and made uncomfortable. As much as I love immersion, consent will always reign in my productions."

It will be hard not to get involved. "The performers literally seduce the wealthy guests within the narrative," says Kulagowski, "but they're also seducing the audience into examining uncomfortable truths about privilege and responsibility. This creates a delicious tension between pleasure and discomfort that defines the show's aesthetic. Our performers are revolutionaries, artists, queers and weirdos. What's more sexy than that? We plot murder while dancing, singing and occasionally taking our clothes off. Everything about it should feel on edge and transgressive. We are at the cabaret at the end of the world, and I feel fine. The performers are the core of this show. Performers were encouraged to bring their music choices, expression and backgrounds to the act. We have everything from opera, to circus contortion to breakdancing to burlesque. With each act ratcheting up the 'moral play' that they are trying to present to the founder and his wealthy cronies."

The rainbow flag colour scheme is very deliberate. "I wish Pride would turn back into a protest," says Kulagowski. "We need that energy more than ever. Historically, drag and burlesque have been spaces where marginalized people could speak truth to power through the guise of entertainment and where queer and artist communities gather. Queer communities have always had to create joy and beauty in the face of oppression, to find liberation within constraints, and to build chosen families when biological ones failed. These survival strategies are precisely what's needed to face our current environmental and political crises. Our production draws on this legacy, showing how performance can destabilize power structures from within. When the performers add the poison red flower to the decanter after each act, they're literally turning their entertainment into ammunition for change."

Surprisingly Kulagowski says that "I'm not a huge horror fan. And yet, I've already made two productions that are loosely in the horror genre with Carmilla from the lesbian gothic novella, and Mayhem at Miskatonic, a take-off on Lovecraft monsters. I'm definitely attracted to stories about survival and outsiders. I'm a huge Buffy fan and my guilty pleasure is The Walking Dead. A huge inspiration for me is the book and mini-series Station Eleven. It's got a number of converging storylines about the aftermath of a pandemic, but, uniquely, it focuses on a number of artists, including a Shakespearean troupe that survives and thrives with art at its center, even after the world is devastated. I think it's not horror specifically, but powerful and unexpected resilience that I am attracted to and love to spotlight in my work. The horror elements provide a dramatic backdrop that heightens the stakes and makes the characters' determination to create and build community all the more impactful."

And what would one of the first and best writers of horror, and quite possibly a queer forefather, Edgar Allan Poe think of what Kulagowski and her troupe of "revolutionaries, artists, queers and weirdos" are doing with his classic short story? "Poe's legacy is a bit complicated," says Kulagowski, "but I do think he'd appreciate this modern take on 'The Masque of Red Death.' The story has evolved from being simply about the inevitability of death to becoming a meditation on collective responsibility. In Poe's original, no one escapes the red death. In our version, the question becomes: who deserves to survive the environmental collapse, and who gets to decide? By placing this choice partially in the audience's hands, we've transformed a fatalistic tale into one about agency and accountability. We definitely keep the beautiful, camp, macabre vibes and give it queer spin which I can only suspect he would have no issue with if he lived today. I hope the audiences and Poe would scream 'Nevermore' to the continued existence of billionaires."