Sleep No More
We saw Punchdrunk's Sleep No More on May 4th. deliasherman wrote about it here - and I strongly recommend Daniel A. Rabuzzi's literate, lyrical, descriptive post here about it on his delightfully-named (and ever stimulating) blog, Lobster & Canary. They both think it's a very interstitial work, and I don't disagree.
Did I love it, you'll want to know? Well, I was still coughing a lot & mildly feverish - and absolutely determined to take it all in, interact with everything macro (breathing down actors' necks as they opened mysterious envelopes) and micro (opening random drawers in elaborately-coiffed rooms). I really wanted to engage - Daniel refers to it as "a massive LARP (live-action role-playing game) where the script is plastic and no one knows for certain what comes next" - but either I didn't fall into the right rooms, or the huge muffler around my neck put them off . . . or that's just not the show that it is. I loved the sense of being lost in a series of rooms from other peoples' lives. I loved the sense of being disconnected from time. I loved the sense of the weird. I loved experiencing what I could experience (and reading Daniel's description brings me back all sorts of little deliciousnesses I had forgotten).
But it is very much an experience for an observer. Many of my writer friends adored it, and one (in Boston) even went 4 times (which, if NYC prices had been lower, might be a more attractive proposition). My embarrassing admission is that, unlike most writers, I am not much of an observer. Or rather, my observations tend to be text- and sound-based - oh, and touch & smell I respond to strongly. Delia is always mocking me for "not noticing things" that tend to be visual or even social. (I think I notice quite a lot!) And I guess I am, at heart, someone who likes coherence and linearity more than pure experience. But I was expecting a lot, and perhaps being more relaxed about just taking it as it came would have made it easier. If I had the time and occasion, I would definitely go again.
So I commend it to you, to make of it what you will, according to your nature and the roll of the dice.
Did I love it, you'll want to know? Well, I was still coughing a lot & mildly feverish - and absolutely determined to take it all in, interact with everything macro (breathing down actors' necks as they opened mysterious envelopes) and micro (opening random drawers in elaborately-coiffed rooms). I really wanted to engage - Daniel refers to it as "a massive LARP (live-action role-playing game) where the script is plastic and no one knows for certain what comes next" - but either I didn't fall into the right rooms, or the huge muffler around my neck put them off . . . or that's just not the show that it is. I loved the sense of being lost in a series of rooms from other peoples' lives. I loved the sense of being disconnected from time. I loved the sense of the weird. I loved experiencing what I could experience (and reading Daniel's description brings me back all sorts of little deliciousnesses I had forgotten).
But it is very much an experience for an observer. Many of my writer friends adored it, and one (in Boston) even went 4 times (which, if NYC prices had been lower, might be a more attractive proposition). My embarrassing admission is that, unlike most writers, I am not much of an observer. Or rather, my observations tend to be text- and sound-based - oh, and touch & smell I respond to strongly. Delia is always mocking me for "not noticing things" that tend to be visual or even social. (I think I notice quite a lot!) And I guess I am, at heart, someone who likes coherence and linearity more than pure experience. But I was expecting a lot, and perhaps being more relaxed about just taking it as it came would have made it easier. If I had the time and occasion, I would definitely go again.
So I commend it to you, to make of it what you will, according to your nature and the roll of the dice.