Review: "I Can't See"

Psycho Clan’s new multi-sensory theatrical horror, experienced blindfolded.

“This is decidedly NOT, we repeat NOT, a haunted house" states the website of I Can’t See. Nevertheless, the idea of going through an immersive horror experience blindfolded seemed rather scary to me at first. Upon arrival at Optecs, a fictitious clinic/research facility, we are greeted by a creepily smiling staff in lab coats. With a sleep mask, a second blindfold to ensure that no ray of light goes through, and a headset, we're instructed to prepare for a horror that will take place entirely in our imagination. Each person or group is given a sour “pill” and so begins the “download” of the experience into our brains.

Participants in I Can't See. Photo by Russ Rowland

I Can’t See is designed by Timothy Haskell and Paul Smithyman of Psycho Clan, the team behind the extreme serial killer experience This Is Real. Their new horror event is inspired by W.W. Jacobs’ classic ghost story "The Toll House" and invites the audience to a fun and creepy night out with friends. The voices in your head will address you by name (I was "Sam"), making it clear you are “playing” a character. Although playing might be a stretch since, for the majority of the experience, you will helplessly cling to ropes, banisters, and other objects placed under or in your hands by unseen facilitators.

Here we are at the carnival. Somebody hands me a stuffed animal while cheery carousel music accompanies a conversation between "my" friends. And now, holding a rough rope, we walk through the fun house; the floor beneath my feet wobbles to my immense pleasure, and I can’t stop giggling even though I don’t see any funny-looking reflections (a brilliant non-literal translation from the visual to tactile). A snake boy “licks” my neck at the circus show, spiky plant life brushes against my arm, while at the bar… I don’t even want to tell you, so as not to ruin the surprise.

I Can’t See reminds me of those DIY “haunted houses” you might have created as a kid—a blindfolded person would stick their hand into a pot of cold spaghetti ("brains") or be given a peeled grape (an "eye"). I Can’t See tricks you using similar sensory attraction, but with even cleaner products. And while you are offered a poncho, not wearing it will provide for the fullest experience. But definitely wear comfortable shoes and clothes, as you will be prompted to move around, sit down, and stand.

Besides the various textures that touch you or that you touch, a bit of wind, a little water, and even smells come into play. But for some reason, only the gross ones. The creators of I Can’t See proudly call the show “sensory assault,” but I can’t see a reason not to add a few pleasant smells of the fairground (like popcorn) alongside those of a dirty dive bar or creepy old mansion. (One's taste buds are also engaged in two scenes, but not in any violent or dangerous way.) Expanding the smell palette would certainly add to the atmosphere of each location, as well as help to enhance the contrast between the fun, joyous beginning and the mortifying finale.

I Can’t See has its scary moments, but most of them are fed to us through the marketing materials and  onboarding process. Of course there's also the fact that we are deprived of our vision. It's amazing how much I, as a sighted person, am used to relying on sight to get around. So an experience designed around storytelling through non-traditional means of touch, smell, and taste is exciting; I would recommend I Can't See to anyone who is interested in immersive theatre. The audio narrative and sound design (by James Lo) is on the more traditional side, but does its job in keeping the story together, so those who are new to immersive experiences will be comfortable too. I just wish the fact that we are sightless was woven into the narrative.

If you're nervous about the immersive part, I generally felt safe and had fun, even when I was a bit scared. The only time I felt real discomfort was when somebody pushed me against the bar—ever so slightly, but with their entire body. GIven that we are entirely in the hands of the facilitators, this feels way too intrusive and unnecessarily intimate. It seems as if anything that might come off as "unsettling"—even physical contact—gets reframed as “playing pretend." But Psycho Clan would be good to remember that their audience—who are blindfolded—might be more vulnerable than they would imagine. It is also strange that there is no safe word or any other reliable way of communication. My recording didn’t work for the first few minutes of the experience and I couldn’t tell if my signals for help were misunderstood, ignored, or missed.

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I Can’t See plays at 133 Greenwich Street, through November 3, 2019. The running time is 45 minutes with no intermission. Performances are Tuesday through Saturday at 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, and 10 (you must enter during your allotted time slot). Tickets are $45 until 10/17; $50 after that. Student rush tickets are $20 with ID (ages 12-15 must have a parent; under 12 not admitted), and can be purchased 30 minutes before the show. For tickets and more information visit at nightmarenyc.com.

I Can’t See is by Timothy Haskell and Paul Smithyman, based on "The Toll House" by W.W. Jacobs. Produced by Psycho Clan. Production Design by Paul Smithyman. Sound Design by James Lo.

(This review was published on theasy.com on 10.3)

Review: 'Who Killed Edgar Allan Poe? The Cooping Theory 1969'

An immersive psychological thriller kills with its stellar visual and audio design but lacks narrative coherence.

I sit at the table in a funky karaoke bar, when Crispin (Brian Alford) asks me if I have any books at home that I haven’t read yet. I nod. “What makes you think that when you open one of those books, you won’t just see blank pages”? Okay… He then says something about some people being similar to those blank books: there is nothing behind their eyes, no inner life. Crispin stares at me intensely, his face inches away from mine, and I can’t tell if he is messing with me or truly believes his own words. After all, this is a gathering of he Poe Society and we are here to summon the writer's spirit.            

The cast of Who Killed Edgar Allan Poe? Photo by Michael Gallo.

Who Killed Edgar Allan Poe? is a remount of Poseidon Theatre Company’s 2017 production, and casts the audience as new members of the Poe Society. This time around, the action takes place in 1969, not 1949, and the format is an immersive sandbox, meaning that audience members are not confined to their seats or specific tracks and are free to explore and follow any character.  

For the first hour of the show, we are encouraged to have drinks and food and mingle with the established society members: paranormal activity scholar Gina (Samantha Lacey Johnson), free-spirited musician Jimmy (Johnny Pozzi), eccentric Anna (Makaela Shealy) and Tom (Aaron Latta-Morissette), the owner of the joint. Siblings Crispin (Brian Alford) and Cordelia (Estelle Olivia) are attending for the first time but seem to fit right in with their calm and slightly creepy demeanor.   

All of these characters have their own experience with the paranormal, which they gladly share with anybody who asks. I venture into the discussion about fate with Cordelia and sing along to "The House of the Rising Sun" with Gina and Jimmy. For a moment I even forget that I am in a theatre. The happening seems exactly what it portrays: a 60’s-themed cocktail party in an artsy underground club (venue design is by Seok Huh), which, by itself, is pretty cool. The period design—costumes by Samantha L. Johnson and hair and makeup by Jeremy Gatzert—is spot on. Some audience members even dress up as a nod towards the era, which creates delightful confusion around who exactly are actors and who participants.               

The ring of a bell interrupts conversations mid-sentence. As explained during the onboarding, we have to refrain from speaking once the seance starts. Highly theatrical motions of purifying the room and the show-stopping appearance of Madame Harlow (Dara Kramer) are perfectly suitable for the occasion. Anticipation builds and then…the seance goes out of control as spirits possess the members of the Society one by one. Heavy metal doors are slammed and tiny karaoke rooms become chambers of fear, hope, despair, and pathos. The original score (by Manuel Pelayo and Giancarlo Bonfantia), coupled with the sound design (by Sung Oh), makes the hair on my neck stand up. The spectacular lighting evokes the gory, mind-twisting atmosphere of Dario Argento’s giallo films with restlessly vibrant, contrasting colors.

Since its premiere two years ago, Who Killed Edgar Allan Poe? has significantly advanced in some aspects, but failed to achieve more clarity in others. Changing the format from a dinner party to an immersive experience serves the show well; bringing the action to 1969 allows for some alluring visual design, and the designers thrive on it. However, the structure and the plot still remain somewhat underdeveloped. There are some vague hints as to the personal circumstances of each character that comes through, but the parallels could be clearer.

After spending an hour mingling with our hosts, I got attached to some of them and would love if the poetry would allow me to look more deeply into their souls. The mysterious circumstances of Poe’s death and "the cooping theory" are briefly addressed in the beginning of the show, but are soon dropped from the picture. Who Killed Edgar Allan Poe? might not give you a clear response to the titular question, but if you are up for an atmosphere of new perspectives on theatre, this show is for you.

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Who Killed Edgar Allan Poe? The Cooping Theory 1969 plays at RPM Underground, 244 West 54th Street, through November 2, 2019. The running time is 2 hours with no intermission. Performances are Mondays at 7, Wednesdays at 3 and 7, and Saturdays at 3 and 7. Halloween week performances will be Monday at 7, Tuesday at 7, Wednesday at 3 and 7, Thursday (Halloween) at 8, Friday at 7, and Saturday at 3 and 7. On Halloween, all ticket holders will be invited to a costume party contest hosted by the Poe Society. Tickets are $75 and are available at knock3xs.com. There is a $25 beverage/food minimum per guest.

Who Killed Edgar Allan Poe? The Cooping Theory 1969 is conceived and directed by Aaron Salazar. Co-direction and Book by Nate Raven. Additional Material by Edgar Allan Poe. Original Score by Manuel Pelayo and Giancarlo Bonfanti. Sound Design by Sung Oh. Venue Design by Seok Huh. Costumes by Samantha L. Johnson. Hair and Makeup Design by Jeremy Gatzert. Associate Producer is Rachel Shaw. Stage Manager is Allie Marotta.

The cast is Brian Alford, Samantha Lacey Johnson, Dara Kramer, Aaron Latta-Morissette, Estelle Olivia, Johnny Pozzi, and Makaela Shealy.

(This review was published on theasy.com on 10.03)

Review: 'Antigone'

The Ancient Greek drama, seen through the prisms of Japanese and Indonesian traditions, captivates with its universal timeliness and theatrical magic.
 
The grandiose, 55,000-square foot Drill Hall of the Park Avenue Armory seems a perfect space to host Antigone, directed by Satoshi Miyagi for the Shizuoka Performing Arts Center. The stellar design by Junpei Kiz features an 18,000-gallon pool of water in lieu of a stage, where 29 performers glide ankle-deep, dressed in white garments suggesting futuristic kimonos or superheroes’ attire. This is the first image one sees when taking a seat before the show begins; the quiet splashes of black water have a tranquilizing effect. In fact, I suspect I was hypnotized and spent the intermission-less 105 minutes drifting in the subconscious of world theatre.

The cast of Antigone. Photo by Christophe Raynaud de Lage.

This Antigone is performed in Japanese (with English supertitles). But don’t worry if you have trouble following or don’t remember all the twists of Sophocle’s tragedy: there is a playful and unexpectedly comedic prologue in English, which summarizes the plot. Two brothers, Eteocles and Polynices, kill each other fighting for the throne. Creon, their uncle and now the king of Thebes, orders Eteocles to be buried with honors but lets Polynices’ corpse rot in the sun, as he was the aggressor. Their sister Antigone flouts the king’s edict and conducts a burial ritual over her “traitorous” brother’s body, proclaiming that the laws of gods are superior to human laws and choosing to follow her heart in protest of patriarchal authority.        

This drama about morality, resistance, and justice, seen through the prism of Buddist philosophy, proves to be timeless and universally significant. Every society has to manage the dynamics of power, whether between rulers and citizens or men and women; every culture establishes a relationship with death and rituals of transition. In many spiritual belief systems, water is considered to separate the world of the living from that of the dead. That’s where the magnificent set design comes into play. In this Antigone, everybody already belongs to the world of the dead, to history, to the canonical texts of western civilization. 

The story comes alive when a monk-like figure appears (the only person not dressed in all white), arriving on a boat and distributing the wigs that transform some of the chorus members into key players. Miyagi combines Japanese Noh and Indonesian shadow play to tell this ancient Greek story. The action is decoupled: for each character, one actor stays atop of one of the rocks scattered in the pool and performs the movement (minimal, yet expressive and doubled by a giant shadow); a second actor kneels in the water and delivers the speech. Splitting the characters in the Noh manner demonstrates the wisdom of Buddist detachment and the beauty of one-ness. Enchanting live music and occasional choral enhancement of the dialogue creates a dynamic soundscape (by Hiroko Tanakawa) that spellbinds the audience even further.      

I have a soft spot for a self-aware theatre. People can watch a TV show or go to the movies if they are only looking for drama, but the theatre is still needed to allow audiences to congregate and reflect on the ways of our species, silently yet collectively. Shizuoka's otherworldly Antigone provides this experience by bringing the generous gift of Eastern theatrical traditions to the predominantly Western audiences of the Park Avenue Armory. 

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Antigone plays at Park Avenue Armory, 643 Park Avenue, through October 6, 2019. The running time is 1 hour 45 minutes with no intermission. Performances are Monday through Thursday at 7:30, 
Friday and Saturday at 8, and Sunday at 2 and 8. Tickets are $65 and are available at armoryonpark.org or by calling 212-933-5812.

Antigone is by Sophocles. Translation by Shigetake Yaginuma. Directed by Satoshi Miyagi. Space Design by Junpei Kiz. Lighting Design by Koji Osako. Composer is Hiroko Tanakawa. Costume Design by Kayo Takahashi. Hair and Makeup by Kyoko Kajita.

The cast is Kazunori Abe, Maki Honda, Micari, Kouichi Ohtaka, Yoneji Ouchi, Daisuke Wakana, Takahiko Watanabe, and Soichiro Yoshiue.

(This review was published on theasy.com on 10.5)