#emursive

I start with a couple of provisos. As of this writing, I’ve only seen Life and Trust once, and I know that’s far too little time to have a deep familiarity with everything happening in the building. I have other visits planned still, and look forward to those, because the production is on a massive scale and I know there are some major elements I did not see with my own eyes. I find myself, uncharacteristically for someone who mostly writes about Sleep No More or newer Punchdrunk productions I prebook extensive visits to, in the shoes of an average theatergoer whom Life and Trust has so far had just once opportunity to ensnare, the way Sleep No More lodged itself in my soul in March 2011 and never let me go.

But I also want to note that the last year of loving Sleep No More has been a tumultuous one and I am very eager for it to go away. The news of its intended closure hit like a ton of bricks and the farewell has been long. The repeated extensions have long since expended the good will last November’s news awoke, and I am now, even as one of the original superfans of the New York production, extremely eager to move on. I have said my goodbyes, had one last Porter 1:1 with Paul Zivkovich, I have grown more and more irritated at the lack of a solid end date while my $500 in final weekend tickets loiters in the ether somewhere, bankrolling Emursive’s new venture, I suppose. Like I said a long time ago when I first thought I was done with SNM, my heart now longs for something new.

Nor did I find that at The Burnt City. Punchdrunk’s latest solo offering had many things going for it, but it unfortunately failed to find its audience and failed to establish itself as a long-term lifestyle and entertainment feature. The expertise in doing that, it would seem, lies more with the Emursive side of the house, and left to their own path, Punchdrunk opted for a show that was, as I wrote in my review earlier: 

brooding, sad and full of unceasing lamentation – fitting, perhaps, to our terrible moment in history, and probably edifying – but a night at this museum will never occupy the sort of lifestyle position a night at the McKittrick Hotel continues to be

I am sad that I was correct in that prediction. I love large-format immersive work, and I want it to succeed, even when it’s not exactly my own personal jam. 

So this brings us to Life and Trust, an Emursive production with an entirely different creative team – and including a significant number of notable Punchdrunk performance alumni. Promotion for this new production highlights this lineage: “the producers of Sleep No More bring to you a new theatrical experience of money, power, and desire.” It’s an accurate statement, and Emursive are right to claim a share of the success Sleep No More enjoyed. But you can also imagine the kind of transference that follows: comments on the ads are full of people tagging friends and saying, “new from the Sleep No More people” – unaware that the Sleep No More creative team have nothing to do with this. Punchdrunk themselves have had no hand in this new production, and yet their reputation, by way of the legacy of their previous work, are deeply bound up in it. So there’s inevitably a delicate and potentially uncomfortable intertwining of the two companies even after their partnership ends when Sleep No More finally closes.

To be absolutely clear: I don’t know if that delicate balance involves conflict. I have few sources either way, and because this is to a certain degree an internal family affair, those sources I do have are reluctant to share a view. Further, there’s certainly non-disclosure and non-disparagement terms in place that mean we’ll probably never get an unvarnished view of how the descent and birth of Life and Trust has been received particularly on the Punchdrunk side. For all I know, it has either explicit or implicit blessing to take elements of the Sleep No More format and apply them to an entirely different intellectual property and be used by an entirely different creative team. 

But, and I am merely speculating here, imagine what it might feel like, if you were a long-time Punchdrunk person, whose career had been built in developing and refining a certain theatrical practice and methodology, and gaining widespread acclaim for it. From Faust to several versions of Sleep No More to The Drowned Man and The Burnt City. Imagine what it might feel like to watch that fall into others’ hands – the hope you would have for gentle care for it, the anxiety you would have for its future stewardship and success. Would you wish the hallmarks of your previous work could be, quite literally, trademarks instead, with legal protections and real ownership? Or would you be pleased to see that way of storytelling proliferate well beyond your own limits, and for that matter, beyond your control? In any case, it is surely not just simple and straightforward.

And so one cannot come to Life and Trust without wondering how much it relies on its predecessor, and asking how carefully those methods have been applied.

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It would be deeply, grossly unfair to say Life and Trust is a “rip-off” of Sleep No More – that implies theft that hasn’t happened, and a direct imitation that isn’t intended, desired or even possible given that the material is different. Instead, what we encounter is a network of numerous elements that are structurally analogous, as exactingly as they can be to emulate another, previous mode of experience and calculatedly divergent to deflect critique of that similarity. The experience is very deliberately meant to feel familiar to a Sleep No More audience. There are also layers of variation to ensure you know it is not the same; the differences ought, putatively, to be indicative of what Life and Trust’s creators think you will want more of; and what you will want less of. It is very plainly a response to and mutation of its predecessor.

The masks, as I intimated before, tell a lot of this story. They are larger – as is this show. They are more ornate, in a kind of hellenistic way, and you will indeed enter spaces that are glitzier and glossier than anything you’ve seen before. They are also unnecessarily complicated, with horns that catch on the set and obscure already difficult sightlines; they are black for contradistinction with ‘the other mask show,’ but that choice has significant consequences for the effect they create in the space and what that implies about the meaning of audienceship here. But they do effectively communicate to you: you know how this works, you’ve done this before, you will don this and be silent, clasp your hands behind you and follow the loops.

Familiarity is everywhere when you enter at 69 Beaver Street, but maybe not with what you’re expecting. It’s not the entryway into Sleep No More; it’s the entry landing at Gallow Green. There’s jazz playing and posters (far too few in variety, and not printed full bleed, sadly) advertising the bank. You check in, you wind through recursive hallways (not a dark maze, but) to coat check and phone check, before you head up to Conwell Coffee House. I am a very big fan of Conwell Coffee House, it’s a gorgeous space and a clever daytime front for the show. It is also quite bright, which is helpful because there’s active food and beverage service but also quite a few more sharp edges than Manderley has. It does, however, contrast tonally with what comes later and the divide between the two feels jarringly abrupt. You are issued not a playing card room key but an investor-type classification card. I wish this were some kind of real world object connected to other networks of meaning, rather than these more blunt, functional hermeneutics. Like a lot of features, it was made-for-show, and the artifice requires your buy-in.

From here, a staff member will bring you to a briefing room where you await the arrival of Mr. Conwell. After an introductory narrative, one of his assistants gives pre-flight and distributes masks, then off you go. Pre-flight, you’ll note it’s the same but with different words and some nice period touches.

The framing narrative is, if I have followed this correctly: you’re meeting with bank magnate Conwell on the eve of the stock market crash of 1929. He reveals that yes, 40 years ago he did make a deal with a servant of the devil, an illusionist passing through who gives him a recipe for a general analgesic to help his sister with a bone condition, which becomes the foundation of Conwell’s fortune. The devil’s agents now return to collect his prize but first he will get one night of revisiting the events of 40 years previous, which were, I guess, “revelries.” 

This isn’t strictly how Goethe’s Faust unfolds in any sense, particularly not in that what Faust stood to gain from Mephistopheles was wealth. Faust lends a number of elements to whatever story is being told here, and I admit, I am going to need a few more visits to gather it all up, but from what I did see, a lot of the major plot points are here and are neatly and clearly presented: infatuation with Gretchen, a fight with her brother (as a boxing match, rather than a duel, but an excellent scene nevertheless), Gretchen’s arrest (if there’s infanticide I didn’t see it yet) and eventual condemnation. 

As a quick aside: yes, I am trained as a Germanist, but not specialized in this period. I’ve read Faust a a few times as well as most of Goethe’s other plays; The Elective Affinities, and some essays, but my training is late 19th and early 20th century. So I come at this as someone who knows Faust reasonably well, but not in extreme detail. Instead, I am better equipped to view this through a lens tinted by more recent Faust adaptations, notably Thomas Mann’s Doktor Faustus, and his son Klaus Mann’s Mephisto – both of which could be interesting intersections with this version, and I can’t rule out that they aren’t – but haven’t seen sufficient signs so far. But believe me I was looking for hetaera esmeralda references and will be delighted should I ever find any.

Life and Trust is certainly more of a, let’s say, nominal Faust adaptation. Gone is the prologue in the theater, or the prologue in heaven. We’ve got Faust’s wager with Mephisto, but I’ve seen no signs yet of the parallel wager between Mephisto and God that gives the play its philosophical, theological, and intellectual direction and significance. As we gather from the finale, Mephistopheles collects Faust’s soul, dons him in a straightjacket and puts him on an elevator to hell – which isn’t even how Faust I ends, let alone Faust II. I don’t think it’s a strike against the show to have taken these liberties with material an audience does not know well. The Drowned Man struggled with the unfamiliarity of Woyzeck to such a degree that they distributed handbills with a plot summary at entry. And since we’re not getting to warp across time and space in Part II in this show, it’s a fair if crude conclusion (but I’ll return to the finale later).

Alongside this is what I began to call the immigration subplot - some number of characters, especially down in the industrial and carnival levels, are plainly immigrants of various origin and under surveillance and persecution by something called the American Protection Association, or similar, which keeps extremely spotty files on some of them. Gretchen’s case file indicates her name is Gretchen and her alias Margaret – they don’t seem to know how German diminutives work, and neither do you. I encountered one character in the furnace or mine area who eventually took me up to his room, danced with some clowns, then pulled me for a 1:1. I am going to have to guess it is a placeholder and not yet complete, because it mostly consisted of instructions to not hit my head when leaning back to see a photo he showed me. This sent me on a quest which does not, evidently, lead to his Sicilian mother, much to my disappointment. 

Something that stood out to me in many scenes is that they felt rushed for exposition. Which is to say – a performer would arrive in a space with another and immediately enter dance choreography with them. Accordingly, I found myself having a hard time ascertaining the nature of their relationships and the intention of their interactions. Characterization on the whole – and there are *a lot* of characters, does not yet feel particularly strong, either. I was glad to have just enough anchors in my knowledge of Faust to glean who was Gretchen, who was Valentine, and I knew the always-brilliant Parker Murphy was Conwell / Faust. Mephisto, well, I gathered that from his corset, because as Hamilton taught us, villainy and faggotry are a good pairing. When I saw about ten other people at the finale I hadn’t seen before, I thought: I don’t even know who the people I followed are, who are all of you? I don’t say this to slight the performances of these roles – which are energetic and engaging. Jake Warren, an extremely tall, handsome and wet man, was outstanding as Valentine (mostly I stumbled on him by luck, in a bathtub, but then went with my follow-whoever-is-cutest approach that utterly ruined my first time at The Burnt City – Zagreus, whose loop had not yet been written, alas). Instead, I had the impression the performers have not yet had much time to settle into the space and learn how to best relate to and use it to tell their stories. So, there’s a lot of reason to expect this is something that’s going to improve dramatically as the run goes on. 

The space. My god, the sets. I cannot fathom how much money has been poured into making some of these rooms. Well, I can, as a good chunk of it was my money once. There are some absurdly gorgeous and impressive places and as you descend further and further you wonder, how is this in a 4th level subbasement? Why is this basement nicer than my apartment? What is that glowing obelisk? Am I going to die when I slip on this tile and hit my head on that concrete dais (I almost did)? Is this Poodle Room going to get use? Do Fraggles live in the LED forest? Seriously, I loved that LED forest so much, until I took note of the floor material which jolted me right out of feeling like I was in it. And then I turned the corner and saw more of the tragically ubiquitous MEPHISTO posters that coat – and I absolutely mean coat – many of the transitional hallways. I hope this is just a temporary measure, and judging how the posters are just inkjet printouts, they’re almost doomed to be in the humidity - but it is stunning how some rooms have a degree of finish and opulence that boggles the mind, and others look like a middle school drama club production step and repeat. The set is absolutely the star of this show, except for when it’s not, and when it’s not it’s downright embarrassing. What isn’t there (yet) is the kind of object depth that we’re used to from a Punchdrunk set, where there’s enough detritus of actual life that you’re able to believe people use the space for whatever its fictive intention is. I have heard the set was the cause of a delay in the opening of previews, so perhaps there’s plenty more furnishing still to come. 

Choreographically, don’t expect anything to break your brain or be outside the conventions of contemporary dance. There are only so many ways to roll onto a couch or writhe on a table, we can probably all do it ourselves, laying an inverted arm on a surface and pulling ourselves over it. You know the move, Banquo does it, Boy Witch does it, everybody does it, it must mean something! There are several fight scenes though, and the big Valentine / Mephisto / Conwell boxing match is absolutely spectacular; Dorian Gray and Tall Hot Man in a horse mask was also gorgeously rendered and full of tension (and ‘the gay shit’, which is what we were all searching for). Speaking of which – I also saw a scene of two lesbian lovers divided by a jail cell gate – no idea who the characters are, but their scene together was powerful and gut-wrenching as they were split apart and a guard came and exerted state violence.

Which brings us to the soundscape. I had been spoiled early on that a significant amount of the score is new original composition, and this has been polarizing. For my part, as a bass clarinetist, I actually enjoyed much of what I heard and presumed to be composed for the show. It also needs to be said: bravo for hiring a composer to take on such a task, we need more of that. I think the vibe it created was effective - pressing and a bit frenetic. It did not, unfortunately, feel cinematic in the way we are accustomed to when Stephen Dobbie draws on his vast encyclopedic knowledge of film scores to find utterly perfect cues. I couldn’t help but wonder if this choice was partly about risk mitigation, given that we’ve never had a good conclusive answer as to how thorough a Punchdrunk show is with its licensing arrangements, but in lieu of that unique talent, I actually thought the new music was a good alternative. The unfortunate part is that I can barely remember any of it. 

Where I was disappointed, actually, was in uses of familiar material to score scenes. Erik Satie with dejected vaudevillians? Groundbreaking. Bach for a fight scene with the fascist cop? Instantly evoked Kristallnacht in Schindler’s List and its not especially well-received pairing with English Suite No. 2. I have been thinking about the music of Punchdrunk working in a kind of inverted Verfremdungseffekt – the use of familiar sound and potentially text to establish dramatic context when the theatrical modality itself is paradoxically alienating but also operating to create the impression of intimacy. I have also been thinking about what a powerful intertextual indicator soundtrack choices can be – having finally watched Dark City and seeing where the cue that was used for The Burnt City’s loop reset was used in the film, and wow – what an intelligent and meaningful choice. I feel like these are missed opportunities to build a network of meaning around the space and the performances to heighten their impact and broaden their interpretative potential.

Gradually, events culminate and the audience conducts upward to a ballroom sequence, which gradually conducts out a door into an extremely impressive stairway upwards that you have not seen before this point. And *then* it conducts further upward into the actual finale space, which is dark and full of various platforms. The finale then winds on and on and on, nearly interminably, in what I can only describe as a “Banker’s Janet Jackson’s Rhythm Nation” number. The demonic helpers toss the blood-signed contract between them. The rest of the cast don trenchcoats and bowlers. Dollar bills rain from the sky and money is shredded as Conwell is laced into a straitjacket and disapparated by magic trick into the elevator to hell. For a show that so insisted on punching you in the face about being Faust that they bolded those letters in the logo, the gruesomely literal representation here shouldn’t be surprising, but if you come away from it not feeling talked down to, consider yourself in luck. Disastrous finales aren’t doom – I despised the finale of The Drowned Man, the show I otherwise consider to be the absolute finest in this format, because it massively broke the engagement mode with the performers (and the Riverdance line was just too silly for the tone of the show otherwise, and not in that great haunting A Chorus Line finale kind of way either). They’ll obviously work to refine it, but it’s a place where the big Broadway lineage of the show’s direction becomes very evident. It concludes with applause and an effective curtain call for the cast – I appreciate the chance to recognize them, but when you’re accustomed to the spell not lifting until you’re all the way out, it also feels like a cold shower.

On the way out, I had to speak with a staff member about a bad fall I had taken – backing away from performers who suddenly started to move quickly, I collided with another audience member, tried to move the other direction and tripped over a set feature, narrowly missing its sharp edge with my head as I fell onto my wrist. They took all the details – I assured them this wasn’t about liability but just a note that that fight scene needs a steward since the room has so many hazards – and they listened intently. Customer care at Life and Trust so far has been absolutely excellent, particularly in the wake of my cancelled first performance. This is something where Emursive’s long-term experience on their side of Sleep No More is a tremendous asset. These shows are, after all, mass entertainment. We get so enamored of the art side, and it flatters ourselves to focus on that, that we forget this is entertainment on a vast industrial scale and it takes a particular expertise to make that work effectively. Punchdrunk did not really have it down when Peep opened at The Burnt City, and things had only somewhat improved when I went back at the end. For institutions that need to build a loyal returner audience and good word-of-mouth, it’s indispensable.

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For a show in its absolute infancy, Life and Trust is quite an achievement: it is operating at a vast and complicated scale relatively smoothly, and with a high level of technical achievement. Emursive’s focus is plainly on impressive scenic engineering and some high-flash spectacular set pieces. The finer details, thus far, are lacking. I think we can grant some grace to a show that has been running a couple of weeks in previews when compared with something that is in the fourteenth year of its third iteration. But if I think to another vast show I spent a lot of time at recently, also when it was in its early previews, I’m struck by a particular hollowness at Life and Trust that I hope my next visit or two will help to cure, but worry is out of its scope. That’s an intellectual and conceptual depth, ambition and vision that I am hoping to see from someone but haven’t got to yet. It’s gorgeous in many ways, but does not advance the state of the immersive art. It echoes and reiterates the state of the immersive art circa 2011 with a patina of more recent aesthetic trends.

For Punchdrunk’s part, Felix Barrett has indicated they intend to do no more new mask shows. I wonder if they watched brand new audience pile into The Burnt City and instantly queue for 1:1s and thought, this isn’t doing it anymore, our audience knows this game all too well. As a company, their DNA is to innovate and defy expectations, and achieve emotional response from their audience with some element of thoughtful, novel intervention. I did not detect any desire for that at Life and Trust, where the idea was plainly, do everything we did before but bigger, in black and with horns on top that you just don’t know why they’re even there. In fact they are counting on their audience knowing this game too well, and seem quite content to keep playing it.

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The short version:

Should you go? Yes, absolutely. The set alone is worth a visit of its own.

Am I going back? At least once, because it’s being comped, and we’ll see after that.

Is it better than Sleep No More? No, but that might not matter to you, and if you like it more, great! Different tastes are good.

Will it succeed? I hope so, even if I won’t be its biggest cheerleader. It employs a lot of wonderful people and I want big, lavish productions to do well enough that more of them continue to be planned.