The DWZ show succeeded in truly marrying spirituality and performance for a Western audience.

—Art and Culture Texas

A series of unannounced public performance provocations was a prelude to the Holy Bone performance. In this sense, it doesn’t matter if anyone notices the Holy Bone performers—or “Boners,” as Riccio refers to them. These performers share something with the shamanistic figures that inspired them insofar as they are not so much meant to be characters as symbolic actors, and their actions point our awareness beyond our experience of the physical world toward the suggestion of some metaphysical other. You might encounter them; you might not. You might have already encountered them without even knowing it. Their work is meant to pass in and out of notice in a way that disrupts everyday Dallas life and casts doubt on our otherwise thoughtless day-to-day experiences. Holy Bone is a warning or maybe a prophecy. Beware, Dallas: things may not always be what they seem. Pay attention.

—D Magazine

Dead White Zombies is one of the most interesting theater companies in North Texas, offering immersive experiences and so-out-there-it’s-cool scripts by Thomas Riccio. Will you be talking about it for days afterwards? Definitely.

—DFW.Com

ANDERSON: Are you upset?

 THOR: No, everything is fine.

 ANDERSON: You seem agitated. Irregular eye movement. Pressure is up, heart rate high. Skin temperature below normal.

 THOR: I’ve got no place to go…

 ANDERSON: Hesitations?

 THOR: I’m happy.

 ANDERSON: Thoughts about killing yourself?

THOR: No, no, I’m happy. 

PRINCESS: What does he have?

 ANDERSON: What do you remember?

THOR: Nobody knows what is happening and there are many conflicting opinions about everything. But things are stable. Things are good, even though there is less of everything for everyone and more people. We're getting along. The government has a firm grip on the wars, the attacks, the environment. Do I look all right? I really am optimistic.

 PRINCESS: “Look sharp, feel sharp.”

ANDERSON: There is security and comfort in routine.

 THOR (to audience): Cowards, collaborators, traitors, liars who want time for more lies.

 ANDERSON (to AUDIENCE): Only after the dominant male vents his anger are others able to pass through the entrance.

DP92 excerpt

If there's a common thread in the Zombies shows, it's in the way Riccio uses language and performance to remind us of the confusion, complications and frustrations implicit in humanity. In DP92, Riccio attempts to unite the origins of life — the mollusk — with the controlled chaos of modern humanity. But really, what he's reminding us is that we're all in this life together. We all come from the same place and return to it, as life folds in on itself over and over again.

—Dallas Observer

At a Dead White Zombies show rules do not apply. Known for its site-specific performance installations, staged everywhere from warehouses to a former stash house. The original scripts are fluid and not confined to any one playing space; audiences are often left to wander in and out of the action, which can span rooms and even into the outdoors. And taking out your phone to post on Facebook or make a Vine is completely encouraged.

—Arts and Culture Texas

FERMOR: Are you asking to be friends?

 STRANGER: I don’t see any sense in that.

 FERMOR: We’re all alone.

 STRANGER: I’ve given it all I got.

FERMOR: I’m not going to jump over any more fences.

STRANGER: I can be your friend.

FERMOR: My head is too far out of whack for friends.

STRANGER: Friends, dime a dozen.

FERMOR: What are we doing?

STRANGER: Moving though, not too much friction.

FERMOR: Waiting for the next moment.

They pause.

 There it is.

 STRANGER: The next moment.

They pause.

 There it is.

FERMOR: I feel like barking.

STRANGER: Be dogs, feel things.

FERMOR: What’s that?

STRANGER: Slobber slobber.

FERMOR: Sniff sniff.

 STRANGER: Lick lick lick.

FERMOR: Growl. Geeerrrrrr.

STRANGER: Low to the ground.

 FERMOR: Trembling.

STRANGER and FERMOR growl.

Something is coming…       

            They bark.

 —excerpt, Karaoke Motel

Bull Game

Dead White Zombies

Writer/Director/Installations

There are no rules in this seedy motel except when you can check in and when you can check out. Your adventure awaits as you leave behind the mind-numbing fluorescent lights of the cubicles. You may begin curiously jiggling doorknobs. Behind one, you may find a man in drag with his hand up a ventriloquist dummy; in the other, you will find the bathroom. How you react to what you find is the theater.

—Dallas Observer

Writer/director Thomas Riccio and his folk avant-garde theater company, Dead White Zombies (DWZ), assault this thirst for faster and bigger development head-on. Their self-generated, immersive production, Bull Game (winner loses action figures), puts on display the last, dying gasp of Western Civilization.

—Theatre Jones

Subtitling a play about a dystopian competition where the winner is allowed to procreate and save the human race while the loser is ritualistically slid beneath a circular saw, “winner loses action figures” is either trivial or incredibly apropos. In Bull Game, Dead White Zombies’ latest immersive and interactive show, the stakes are high but the delivery is grounded. This is a show that lampoons professional sports, male posturing, and our own predictable crowd reactions while giving a sly wink.

—D Magazine

This past weekend I was a part of the most electrifying and brutal theater performances of my theater going life. It was all thanks to a group called Dead White Zombies. The performance I lived was an immersion piece staged in an abandoned crack house in Dallas. And it defies all the words. I have spent the last three days desperately searching for ways to describe it.

—K102 FM Radio

Dead White Zombies might amaze or enrage you with its immersive production of T.N.B. Either way, chalk one up for a theater that's shaking things up. It's epic, cinematic and gut-wrenching.

—Theatre Jones

(STORM CROW enters and observes SPOOKY until SPOOKY turns and sees STORM CROW and points his gun at him.)

SPOOKY: Who are you?

STORM CROW
: I’m the real nigga that looms over everything. Who are you?

 SPOOKY: What I say is who I am.

 STORM CROW: I see a silly motherfucker.

 SPOOKY: Oh, you see everything?

STORM CROW: Everything all the time.


(STROM CROW looks keenly at SPOOKY.)

World imprinted on your soul.

SPOOKY: You looking at my soul now?


STORM CROW: All sorts of shit goin’ on. History swirlin’ all round.

SPOOKY: Tell me old skool...

STORM CROW: Dirty and hard...
Heavy, tired, still pumpin’ strong...

SPOOKY: What else?

 STORM CROW: How’d that soul get to be so messed up?

 SPOOKY: Let me ask you.

 STORM CROW: What?

 SPOOKY: What more important, soul or skin?

 STORM CROW: What?

SPOOKY: One attached to the other?


STORM CROWN: Skin melts like time.

SPOOKY: So, I just holdin’ this soul for the time being?

STORM CROW: You really are Spooky. 

SPOOKY: Ghost walking through it...

STORM CROW: Shadows all round.

 —excerpt, T.N.B.

Taken apart, as in autopsy, it strains and fragments, laments, and groans, and lashes out with sexual angst and sweaty frustration. Screens scatter randomly throughout the candle-lit landscape, showing 1960s home movie family holiday clips over and over, backward and forwards, excerpts from a Fred Astaire dancing extravaganza, and unrecognizable black and white action films. Scenes ebb and flow as the audience floats, adrift, overwhelmed by images and sound. Sensate, intemperate immersion. Oddly enough, “w(hole)” weaves together with satisfying symphonic grace. Emerge refreshed, cleansed, jubilant.

—Dallas Examiner

Scenes spark around us like a long tail of igniting firecrackers. Another room is illuminated. Next, a vignette. Soon, all are available for exploration. The twisting paths feel like the unfathomable tunneling of memory storage, but the lives we're moving through are not our own. Even the sound, anchored scene by scene, bleeds gently into the next. We're fumbling into another's databank, threading together the experiences as we travel.

—Dallas Observer

K-LOW

(Off Stage)

I’ve died more times than Jason from Friday the 13th, and I am NOT HAPPY. Mess with this bitch and I’ll cut your head off, jab it repeatedly with a rusty fork. Is that clear? This bitch did not have the time of her life, now she's kicking ass.

(K-LOW, enters, she a woman in her twenties, is stylishly dressed, wearing a skirt, high heels, and make-up as if she is about to go out on the town.)

You're going to feel this bitch's pain, whether you want to or not. Look out for this deceptively cute bitch, all I have to say. Back from the dead, this long-time “Bitch from Hell!” hasn't slowed down a step. I’m wondering if I should kick you in the balls to start? Okay, let’s get this going... I'm thinking...should I torture you? How about I strip down to my underwear, finger myself for fun?

(K-LOW pulls the bag off of the male figure to reveal CAMERON who is about to speak.)

 Shut up. You need to be very careful.

—excerpt, Flesh World

OK! This is it, the walls are cracking open and there are people staring in at us.

 This is all-out war! Everyone will have to line up and take turns! The ones with the best stories line up first. Don't yell, don't scream or get in arguments. There is no time for breaks for pop, or cigarettes or, anything. We must get this show on the road.

 Now, listen to me all of you. Each and everyone one of you, it is important no matter how little you are or how big, no matter how strong or how weak. It doesn't matter anymore it is time for unconditional love for ourselves! And like Tom said, "Don't be so hard on yourself."

 OK, we all get to say who came if it really matters. I am the leader though and I want to get it all out and straight upfront. Okay. Jamie is at the center. Rita, Magick, Misty.  Marta you too.  The others are there too.

I am Jamie and I am trying as hard as I can to remain in control. (the alters disperse) Do you think I would ever let anything happen to all of you?! We will be together on this until the end.

Oh well, let me try to explain some things to you. This little girl named Patricia, who, when trying to get attention, became Rita and, while learning to do those two things, survive and exist, become and be accepted, was generally called Patty. Now Patty knew about Rita and Patricia. Now Rita didn't know about Patty and Patricia. But later, when Rita was more knowledgeable. Rita found Cleopatra. Cleopatra came from a fantasy, and she didn't want to be the only one discovered, so she told everybody about Marta, James, Bobby, Misty, Buttons, and all the rest. Right now, this is hard to continue because I am Jamie, the host of all these little shits. Right now, they have me pretty pissed off. I don't want to have to take drugs in order to handle them, but it has been suggested on occasion.

I can look at all the personalities, and I know when they all came about.

—excerpt, There is Never a Reference Point