“Mercilessly disturbing” is how the prerecorded announcement, purporting to be a cheeky voice from beyond the grave, describes Synetic Theater’s The Tell-Tale Heart. In truth, this adaptation of the short story by Edgar Allan Poe, directed by founding artistic director Paata Tsikurishvili, choreographed by founding associate artistic director Irina Tsikurishvili, and adapted by resident dramaturg Nathan Weinberger, doesn’t really traffic in the chilling frights the ghostly voice alludes to. Instead, the creators deftly deploy the company’s expertise in physical theater to slowly, agonizingly, sometimes perplexingly dial up the creepiness.

Poe’s original tale of madness, murder, and guilt is barely more than 2,000 words long. Out of that, Synetic has created a 100-minute spectacle that filters the well-worn icons of Poe’s oeuvre—dusty shelves, decaying books, leering skulls—through the lens of balletic grandeur. At the center is Edgar (Alex Mills), a young man who greets us swinging from inside a massive bird cage, assuring us he has not gone mad and protesting too much in the process. In what follows, we see Edgar caring for a nameless Old Man (Irakli Kavsadze, also the production’s music supervisor) gripped by dementia, who spends his days wandering around their decrepit home. Despite his tenderness, Edgar is unsettled by the Old Man’s leering eye. In time, Edgar’s paranoia manifests tormentors in the form of six anthropomorphic vultures (an excellent ensemble of Lev Belolipetski, Kaitlyn Shifflett, Tony Amante, Josh Lucas, Zana Gankhuyag, and Vato Tsikurishvili). At their urging, Edgar slowly loses touch of reality and eventually rids himself of the Old Man. Despite showing no remorse, his guilt is proclaimed by … well, you probably know the rest.

In a largely wordless production, the weight of the story is lifted off the text and placed on the visual and aural elements. In both cases, The Tell-Tale Heart serves up a feast—sometimes to the point of overindulgence. Daniel Pinha’s set is dominated by three walls of cobwebbed and cluttered shelves on wheels, which become central aspects of Edgar’s descent into insanity. That all of them function just as well as a diorama of Poe paraphernalia speaks to the quality of detail as much as construction, though certain of the props created and collected by designer Claire Caverly—large, beaming eyeballs, for example—disrupt the mystique by dipping into the cartoonish. Resident composer Koki Lortkipanidze’s symphonic/electronica score, part of a larger soundscape designed by Brandon Cook, adds visceral thrill to the show’s physical setpieces, though sometimes it’s bombastic to the point of distraction. 

Fittingly, where the company’s vision really shines is in their immense physical vocabulary and the elements crafted specifically to accentuate it. As the increasingly manic Edgar, Mills begins with the upright posture of an archetypal everyman and gentle touch of a caregiver. His intimate connection with Kavsadze’s Old Man speaks to the inspiration outlined in Paata Tsikurishvili’s director’s note, namely the after-effects of a near-fatal accident and the strain of caring for a parent suffering from dementia. Kavsadze’s own physicality, alternately tottering and manic, is paired with strained babbling that vocalizes the terror of being trapped in his own mind. In time, Mills’ body begins to reflect the same anxieties, as well as the birdlike qualities of the malevolent Vultures and an arrogant flamboyance that characterizes his post-murder high. It’s compelling work that is disrupted only by the few times Edgar does speak—not because of Mills himself, but because certain utterances, particularly in the climax, are so oddly placed, suggesting the company was not entirely assured of their ability to tell the story on their terms.

If there is one element that (apologies) really captures the eye, it is the flock or “kettle” of vultures. Here, Synetic finds perfect synchronicity between design and performance. Erik Teague’s superb costumes are all black, tight around the legs and loose in the arms, paired with bright red masks, each with vacant, bluish-white eyes and a long, hooked beak. The masks’ empty, menacing look perfectly complements Irina Tsikurishvili’s choreography, which combines the bobbing heads and dainty footsteps of the carrion birds with the lithe dance and expressive movement of a well-trained ensemble. 

As a whole, the vultures encapsulate the essence of the production: not so much terrifying as unnerving, insidious, and strange. There are times when the creatures even come across as silly—one sequence in particular embraces that quality nicely—but even that silliness points to something human and unpredictable that lurks behind the mask. As the story progresses, one gets the sense that these freaks are capable of anything. Then again, maybe so is everyone.

The Tell-Tale Heart, directed by Paata Tsikurishvili, choreographed by Irina Tsikurishvili, and adapted by Nathan Weinberg, plays through Nov. 5 at Synetic Theater. synetictheater.org. $35–$65.