Review: “The Hidden Ones”

An intimate immersive experience about Jewish people in hiding during World War II reflects on the preservation of human dignity and cultural heritage in desperate circumstances.

“Looking for something?” asks the man in a vintage cap at the secret location of The Hidden Ones. I tell him my name and as he mentally scans his guest list for a couple seconds he sizes me up as if deciding whether I am trustworthy. As the six audience members assemble before the show starts, one woman wonders if the secrecy of the place has something to do with the shooting in a Pittsburgh synagogue. Even though just an unfortunate coincidence, this play about Jewish people in hiding is even more relevant today. 

Monica Blaze Leavitt and Chris Jumper in The HIdden Ones. photo by Kristin Pulido.

It is nearly the end of World War II. In the unnamed town of the unnamed country, two families live underground in secrecy and almost complete silence. We are led to a dimly lit space divided by sheets and seated on mattresses along the perimeter. The low-hanging canopy of a camouflage net throws shadow patterns on a table where two families of three assemble for a meal. No word is spoken, and no steps of the shoeless feet are heard.

Soothing period music plays as one of the matriarchs (Marley Madding) splits the bread into tiny pieces and, after spreading just a drop of jam on each, hands them out. Each of her flowing movements conveys great care. The graceful choreography of everyday motions (by Whitney Sprayberry) is mesmerizing. Yet the family meal, with its little silent interactions, is far from idyllic. The food and water are handled with ritualistic precision because of the scarcity of the supply. In the world of The Hidden Ones, every single object is valuable, which is reflected in Braden Hooter's clean and minimalistic design.

After the opening dinner scene, family members return to their corners for the evening activities, each inviting an audience member to join them. The curtains are drawn down, the lights are dimmed and even the music fades out. Most of the individual interactions happen in complete silence. The Boy (Amar Biamonte) is eager to show me his small collection of valuables: a pinup girl picture hidden under his yarmulke, a deck of cards, and a vial of whiskey. We come back to these objects during several other interactions with him.

A life in hiding follows the same path day in and day out. Holding on to routine helps to pass away time and preserve human dignity. The meal scenes alternate with one-on-one scenes. Instead of changes in daylight, the alarming sound of a train horn in the distance marks the time. Each audience member is on the narrative track of the same character during the entire experience but also gets to spend some time with his or her counterpart. In my case it was The Girl (Rakel Aroyo), who writes love letters sitting on the edge of the bathtub.

Director Anthony Logan Cole (who also plays The Man who ushers us in and out of hiding) is economical both with visual design and his direction of the performers. Every movement is telling, every silent motion pumps with love, dignity, fear, anger or despair. No finger is moved simply for aesthetic reason, but rather has a lifetime of human passions and cultural heritage behind it. This helps to fill in the blanks in the other characters' stories and vividly imagine their struggles.   

The lighting design, more of a darkness design, is handled with the same striking efficiency as the rest of the show. The use of silence is haunting and the effect is more dramatic when it is broken. But the choice of using songs in English is puzzling, as they likely wouldn’t be a part of this world. Although they might convey a sense of home to a New York audience, they unfortunately rob The Hidden Ones of its historical context.

The Hidden Ones implies a great deal of closeness to the actors: I don’t think I’ve spent that much time literally rubbing elbows with a character in any of my immersive endeavors. It might be uncomfortable for some audience members, but is justified in a setting where people are deprived of privacy. What is more, a new kind of intimacy is born out of these circumstances, whether the romantic story in the plot, or a connection between an actor and a single audience member.

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The Hidden Ones plays at a secret location in midtown Manhattan through December 2, 2018. Exact location is provided via email after ticket purchase. Running time is 65 minutes with no intermission. Performances are Wednesday through Sunday at 7 and 9; no performances November 21-23. Tickets are $100 and are available at TheHiddenNYC.com.

The Hidden Ones is conceived and directed by Anthony Logan Cole. Choreography by Whitney Sprayberry. Scenic Design by Braden Hooter. Stage Manager is Matthew Kennedy. Production Manager is Tyler Oberle. 

The cast is Jay Stuart, Chris Jumper, Marley Madding, Rakel Aroyo, Amar Biamonte, Monica Blaze Leavitt, and Anthony Logan Cole.

[This review was published on theasy.com on 11.5]

Review: “The House Of Ghostly Haunts”

Cardone revives the forgotten genre of spook shows, combining his superb magic skills with much less impressive scares.

On a single night of October 30th, Dixon Place hosted Cardone’s spook show The House of Ghostly Haunts. Pumped by the Halloween spirit and seduced by the over-the-top language of the show description, I was intrigued by the combination of magic and horror. As a magic show, The House of Ghostly Haunts delivers. The charisma and skill of Cardone, our host of multiple magic talents, are truly remarkable. But the spooky component would benefit from further development.     

Marlena Dee and Cardone in The House of Ghostly Haunts. Photo by @cardonemagic.

Spook shows, originated by magician Elwin-Charles Peck in the 1930s, added a flair of entertainment to the once popular spiritual sciences. Unlike the charlatan mediums at the turn of the 20th century, Peck didn’t try to convince his patrons that they were communicating with the deceased. He demonstrated the same illusions but in a different context. Instead of empty promises to summon the dead, he delivered an evening of sheer entertainment, with some mysterious overtones.       

Taking the baton from his predecessor, Cardone revives the genre of the spook show in his entertaining and family-friendly evening of wonders and scares. With mustache curled and a lavish black-and-gold jacket, he bedazzles the audience right away. The magician’s nonchalant demeanor is peppered with the grand gestures of a circus master of ceremonies. In the beginning he unveils his plan for the finale by taking the cover off of a full-sized guillotine, and then gradually builds up the thrill of danger throughout the evening.

To quote Cardone’s ornate opening: “Some of the things you will see are real and dangerous. Some are happening only in your imagination. And sometimes you won’t know the difference”. I certainly wasn’t able to tell the difference in a lot of cases. Even when I was brought up on stage to assist and had a chance to watch the magician up close while performing a trick of swallowing razor blades.

In Cardone’s broad repertoire, the most exciting tricks continue the overarching theme of danger. The feeling of concern adds to the curiosity during the swallowing of razor blades or bleach, the straight-jacket escape or the guillotine illusion. The magician masterfully builds up suspense, occasionally mixing pathos with humor. A lot of the jokes are about his concern about messing up his perfect Elvis-style pompadour.

Mentalism, ventriloquism, and close-up magic are only a few of the skills that Cardone possesses. But although variety is impressive, sometimes less is more. It's like the difference between an all-you-can-eat buffet and an upscale restaurant: you can gorge until you burst or savor every note of a curated experience. The House of Ghostly Haunts lingers somewhere in between, but has the full potential to be Michelin star-worthy (or whatever is the equivalent in the world of magic and entertainment). The scale is also an issue: some of the smaller cards and mentalism tricks drown in the large theater.

Cardone does a good job presenting most tricks and even shares a couple of trade secrets. It doesn’t spoil the magic at all, but actually makes you feel like an accomplice. The interaction with the audience (some of which is or feels improvised) is sincere and very engaging. Despite his bad-ass punk rock poise (or maybe because of it), Cardone is especially good with kids.

The showing of a private collection of curiosities, which includes the two-headed vampire bat, a rock from castle Dracula, and a shrunken head, provides a nice change of pace. The demonstration of each object is accompanied by the story of how it was acquired. The face of the proud collector lights up as he shows each object to the audience, now standing around him on stage.

Less successful is the “haunted house” style finale. For the duration of several long minutes, the audience observes floating fluorescent characters enter and glide along the stage, occasionally yelling “Boo!” The parade of evil spirits is supposedly a tribute to Peck’s original spook show, but unless you are in the first row, it doesn’t work as currently staged. The House of Ghostly Haunts, while being a potent magic show, should learn a few theatrical “tricks” in order to become a truly great experience.

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(The House of Ghostly Haunts played at Dixon Place, 161A Chrystie Street, on October 30, 2018. The running time was 1 hour 30 minutes with one intermission. Tickets were $30; $20 for students/seniors and before Sept 30. For more information, visit dixonplace.org.)

The House of Ghostly Haunts is created and performed by Cardone. Produced by Dixon Place and Vaudevisuals.

This review was published on theasy.com on 11.5.

Review: "The Group"

Katie Green and Michael Rau’s support group for fictional survivors and their dead.

“My dear James. I wasted most of myself on the things that didn’t matter. But the thought that I left a mark on your life is strangely comforting. I love you. I only wish I had said it to you more often.”

This is what I would have written to my husband. But I can’t because I am dead. And I am stuck in purgatory, which looks like a support group for the dead. We talk about our living counterparts and share thoughts on the afterlife. At times it’s unbearable and painful, at times it’s boring, and at times it’s amusing and insightful. But overall the talking’s been instrumental in moving on. Who would’ve thought that the dead grieve, too?

More than anything it was gratifying to become Olivia, a fictional character that I invented for The Group, an interactive theatrical experience co-designed and facilitated by Michael Rau and Katie Green. This LARP (Live Action Role Playing) experience pairs the audience members according to their preferences on what type of relationships they would like to explore. Spouses, siblings, and creative partners are amongst eleven options on a character sheet offered to each upon entry. During the orientation session, facilitators Michael and Katie — soon to become the siblings “Brian” and “Julia” — introduce the rules and safety instructions. (The participants are discouraged from working on real active grief within this theatrical setting but even fictional grief can be difficult to handle.)

The Group is a part of Reimagine: End of Life festival, a week-long series of talks, performances and other events dedicated to the exploration of death. Considering the heavy weight of the topic, it is hardly a lightheartedly entertaining piece. But it is perfect for those who would like to explore the loss and grief in the “safe container of fictional relationship,” as Katie puts it. Both the generous three-hour timeframe and intimate size of the audience (up to 14 people) provide the perfect conditions to take a journey within.

The atmosphere feels trustworthy and safe throughout the entire experience. The creators equip the participants with a few tools of distancing themselves from the happening and of voicing their concerns if need be. The audience is also told the order of the events in advance, so there are no surprises. First, the collaborative building of the relationship takes place in pairs, prompted by a questionnaire. Each pair consists of the dead and the living. Separated after the characters’ building session, they go to their respective support groups; one for the deceased and one for the grieving survivors, although physically they sit in one circle, circumscribed by Christmas lights.

First, the survivors have their session led by “Julia,” grieving for her brother, “Brian.” Draped with a black shawl and wearing rubber gloves, indicating my state as a deceased, I have no say in this meeting. There is a protocol to interrupt my significant other with a short remark if I have an absolute urge, but only the other dead members can hear me. So here I sit, marinating in my own sorrow, tears, and other people’s pain as Julia gently guides people through their emotions.

Naturally, the hunger for stories suppresses grief in some and they start asking others about their fictitious lives and relationships. But it’s not easy to invent details on the fly without disturbing your emotional state, so the moderator veers the curious away from this path. The Group, after all, is about and for each individual. Theatricality, storytelling, and performance are dialed down greatly, which frees the participants from a lot of pressure.

Many details of personal lives remain hidden to the eyes of other members of the group. But there is something bittersweet in sharing a large part of the relationship narrative only with your partner. Because we can’t communicate with the other world directly, much of the work of the grief happens inside our minds.

The dead have their own support group session, which immediately follows the meeting of the living. The lighting shifts from a bright glow to a moody reddish twilight, indicating the change of the setting. Brian, Julia’s dead brother, reads the rules from his notepad regarding being respectful of others and not taking up too much space.

The chosen format of a support group restricts movement and forces participants to focus on words and emotions rather than actions. The rubber gloves are offered as a means to change a perception the body. “The dead have no sense of touch,” Bruce instructs me as I put them on, hesitant at first. But as the experience goes on, I find that I keep my eyes closed often during meetings with the living to make the separation more tangible. I noticed others did as well. (I envision there may be other potential options for sensory deprivation for the dead participants, like asking them to close their eyes or having them wear dark sunglasses to further enhance the experience of being separate from their physical bodies.)

The Group is firmly built on rules and generously cushioned with care. It is tactfully executed and tastefully designed, thanks to the combined theatre and counseling experience of the authors. It is a safe environment to talk about death and loss, a dialogue lacking in modern secular society, that may prove to be therapeutic, even though the participants are working through fictional grief. Instead of focusing on staying forever young, maybe we should pause and reflect on the inevitable more often?

The experience is also very life-assuring. Being dead for three hours allowed me to appreciate being alive and grateful for the opportunity to be able to communicate my feelings and thoughts to others. As for those who have already left this world, I hope whatever it is on the other side, it is at least as comforting as The Group was for me.

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The Group has concluded; learn more about Reimagine: End of Life andTwin Alchemy Collective.

[This Review was published on NoProscenium.com on 10.30]