By Jan Kudelka. Directed by Aiyyana Maracle. A La Kudelka and Sister Woman Theatre Collective presentation.

At the Firehall Arts Centre on Wednesday, January 14. No remaining performances

In Janis Janus, writer and performer Jan Kudelka re-creates Janis Joplin's sound and style with unearthly force. Some of the show's structure is so effective that it has the audience levitating in ecstasy up near the ceiling. And the event manages to be witty and meditative, too. If you missed Janis Janus in its four-day run this time around, don't despair; it's bound to be back.

Kudelka's performance of some of the songs that Joplin made famous supplies the throbbing core of the spectacle. A dervish in a swirl of feathers and tie-dyed fabric, Kudelka is fearless: battered by music, swilling booze, making the frighteningly beautiful sounds of a woman tearing her own heart out.

But this is more than a great tribute concert delivered by the "ghost" of a dead star. The songs segue into sickeningly personal and funny storytelling. Kudelka's Joplin finishes a tune then staggers to her bed and writhes in toxic loneliness. To demonstrate how poorly the world serves her needs, she tries ordering up a man from room service. When one is supplied, via video, she goes with the moment, and before long she's doing such suggestive things with her microphone you think she's going to hump the chrome right off it.

In the climax of the show, Joplin mocks herself: "I've got a repertoire of screams I can't even count." She proceeds to demonstrate them, sending up her own manipulativeness, then slides seamlessly into the heartfelt, heart-rending howls of "Cry, Baby". That's when audience skulls were knocking the rafters.

There are other great bits. Joplin describes summer as "the season that gives you head". And, after recounting a nightmare in which she betrayed a friend for a stash, she says: "There's no way I would've done that if I'd been sober. I mean alive. I mean awake."

Video elements, which seem kind of dicey at first, work on their own terms. A skeletal figure wearing costumes painted with images that look half Keith Haring and half aboriginal becomes elemental--sexual as well as moribund. And it seems only natural that the other major character is a woman who dreams of being Joplin, and of warning her, just as Kudelka and the audience are dreaming.

The climax comes too early and the show finishes with a too-soft audience-participation hootenanny. But I'd go again.