A walk through a retail store becomes a meditation on life
(Note: Assemble is an unauthorized immersive performance; we were asked to not reveal the secret location before the last week of the New York City run. If you don’t want any spoilers, do refrain from reading the second half of this review).
Photo courtesy Assemble
Are you truly happy with your life? Do you look back with no regret at all about the choices you’ve made? Do you feel certain about the direction in which your life is headed?
If you had to pause even for a moment to think about these questions, chances are you will enjoy Assemble, a guerilla site-specific audio performance, currently running in Brooklyn as a part of the Exponential Festival. If you found yourself slowly spiraling into an existential crisis by answering those questions, you are already halfway to getting into the mindset of Jane, the character through whose eyes Assemble is experienced.
Jane is a New Yorker turning forty and, as many of us do around milestone anniversaries, she is assessing her life. The way that she does it is rather unconventional. With the help of an AI assistant, she navigates a famous big box store, revisiting her memories and dreams. The audience members are invited to tag along, to reflect on their own life and to walk in Jane’s shoes for a part of the way. What does it mean to be a woman in a megapolis approaching forty? What are the choices laid out in front of her? And when she makes a choice, is it a manifestation of her true self or a mixture of cultural expectations and the influence of brand marketing? In a way, we all ask ourselves these questions at some point, which is why it’s so easy to relate to Jane.
The Assemble experience is provided via a smartphone app (developed by David Blackman) downloaded onto one’s phone. A series of short audio tracks take the listener through various locations in the store, occasionally throwing in narrative “forks”: by clicking on a picture of an object on your screen, you can choose your own adventure. You might be asked to record a voice memo, write something down, take a photo, or draw a picture. There are some tasks involving interacting with the store environment and manipulating objects on display. I felt somewhat uneasy performing the latter. Although the tasks weren’t asking for anything that might be too embarrassing, as soon as they went outside the lines of normal behavior expected from customers, I found myself hesitating if there was a staff member visible.
Prior to entering the store, I listen to the audio waiver, informing me that Assemble wasn’t exactly authorized by the store, but it wasn’t exactly forbidden, either. I am warned that if at any point in my experience, I am approached by a staff member and they ask what I am doing, it’s best to say I am conducting research.
Feeling a little bit like a spy trespassing on enemy territory, I feel especially wary of my appearance and my behavior. My brain is in full “panopticon” mode when it is time to perform a “strange” action. But this mode I’m in only makes the moments of quiet listening that much sweeter because I know The Big Brother is unable to hear what's in my headphones, unable to enter Jane’s thoughts, and, therefore, unable share our experience.
Besides her name and her age, I don’t get many facts about Jane. There is enough here to get an idea of what she is like. But at the same time, writers Talya Chalef and Jess Kauffman leave enough gaps so that I can fill in the blank parts with my own thoughts and experiences, making Jane feel very relatable. When the app prompts me to reflect on something, I sometimes hear Jane’s thoughts in my headphones, but sometimes space is left for my own reflections. Other people and noises enter the mosaic soundscape during Assemble, the density of which varies greatly. There are times when our AI guide is practically attacking me with questions and tasks, while there are also quiet, meditative moments.
(Spoilers regarding the exact location of the experience follow.)
The AI guide in the app who directs me through the experience is named Sigrid. Using her cheery voice with a Scandinavian accent, she takes me through the IKEA showroom in Red Hook. Somewhere in between a shopping assistant and a life coach, Sigrid is here to entertain, educate, and sell various scenarios of a perfect life (which, of course, can be obtained through buying goods from IKEA).
My journey goes through fully assembled and decorated rooms with names like “The home is where the heart is” and “A passion for things.” As I lie on the beds, pull out drawers, and sit at tables, I imagine myself living in similar life-sized doll houses, the kind which are neatly designed for small city apartments. Audio scenes bring the mock apartments alive, but, at the same time, these scenes make them feel sad and hollow, like the artificial plants used for decorating these rooms. I stand in the middle of a housewarming party where the host, Pete, brags about his kitchen appliances. In another scene, I hear a confused dad reading instructions aloud on how to insert a tampon. I lay down on a bed and, as I start giving into the calming music, I hear the snoring of an invisible person next to me. The same way as I “try on” a STJÄRNTULPAN duvet cover or try sitting in a ÖRFJÄLL chair, I try on roles of a bohemian New Yorker, a parent, and a spouse.
An IKEA store organically lends itself to an “dark ride”-like narrative with a predetermined route charted through various “sets.” It already feels like a life-sized version of The Game of Life with arrows on the floor pointing towards your next destination: workspace; kitchen; nursery. It is a brilliant idea to build Assemble on top of existing infrastructure, by re-thinking and re-appropriating the context of a store like IKEA. The fact that the immersive production is operating in complete secrecy from the venue underlines its political agenda to criticise consumerism and patriarchy. Assemble also tackles another interesting topic, namely how the arts serve commerce. In a way it is an “immersive brand de-activation” despite having no direct attacks on IKEA in its content.
Assemble is a playful, tasteful, and profound invitation to take a look behind the cardboard facade of the catalog-ready dreams imposed on us by brands. It is a straightforward and unapologetic criticism of the modern, super-achiever culture that demands “high performance” in everything: career, marriage, raising offspring, and decorating your apartment. But this criticism is brought to the participant’s ears as a “contraband” — a lot of these insights only hit me later on. Assemble is never aggressive or accusatory; somehow, the show manages to be fun and relaxing but also raise some serious questions at the same time.
(This review was published on NoProscenium.com on January 26)
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