#mysleepnomore

This platform long ago ceased to be the vibrant place of fan discussion that it once was, and a quick perusal will reveal that many beloved accounts and some gorgeously written posts have unfortunately been deleted altogether. Undoubtedly some will continue to post occasional updates, and surely new fans who discover the production that is coming to Seoul this year will come across what is left here. The newer fans of the NYC production are on Discord, but I have heard that the moderators intend to delete that in the not-too-distant future. The fact remains that we are no longer in the golden age of Tumblr from 2010-2014, and since the decision to remove porn from this site, it has largely fallen from its former glory with little likelihood of making a comeback. We can never go back—that much is certain.

Since the show reopened post-Covid, I saw the show two times in March and April of 2023. I cannot give a detailed account of what I saw other than, incomprehensibly, Jordan Morley’s Boy Witch. To say that in 2023 I saw a long-departed original cast member from that early era so brilliantly captured by @scorchedthesnake is still something that feels insane. I believe Nate Carter was Macbeth on one occasion, Jordan was Taxidermist, Evik Abbot Main was the Porter, and perhaps some other things that I now feel guilty for not remembering. The Covid years and my late twenties largely deprioritized the significance of Sleep No More for me—a significance that I am only now beginning to put in better equilibrium with the rest of my life—and this has taken its toll on my memory after a certain number of visits. I have been reading through all messages with friends, and I am astounded by how much I have forgotten, be it about things I saw in the hotel, interpersonal fandom drama, or rumors about the Hotel. In so many ways, Covid destroyed us, and the ever-increasing feeling that we are sinking into an abyss of humanity has impeded us from putting ourselves back together. In this regard, I must commend the folks responsible for the Lost Immersive project and doing what they can to take care of people who have given us so much over the years. Covid is not the only culprit here. Increasing ticket prices, a decrease in free Follies and Salon performances, business practices that seem intent on alienating the most loyal customers, and a certain number of cast changes all deplete one’s engagement.

This is not to imply anything negative about newer cast members (although whoever had the beard + manbun fetish needed to chill the fuck out). But maintaining one’s enthusiasm for the show does require a certain energy commitment, and after several years of excitement, devotion, and quite frankly some hysteria, other needs and commitments begin to manifest. Inevitably, Sleep No More, Punchdrunk, and adjacent productions go on the backburner. When @scorchedthesnake stopped updating his cast list (several months after I had started going regularly), there were fewer than 100 former and present cast members. By my own count, @readwithjoy’s final cast list counts almost 250. While at one point we loved comparing the details of different performances, this reaches the point of infeasibility. Comparing 3-6 performers in a role is great fun. 10-20 is not unreasonable for the enthusiast, but clearly reflects a longterm relationship with the place. Attempting to compare 40 different Boy Witches or 72 different performers for the Matron is beyond ridiculous.

I have been distant for awhile; turning 30 in 2023 was an immense amount of emotional work and was followed shortly after by the original announcement of the show’s closing. I was not in New York at the time but was at peace with not seeing it again. Then it was pushed back. Then again. And again. And again. Circumstances continued to prevent me from making it back, but as other people have expressed, the changing dates began to burn a lot of good will. I was not at the final show, but the thought that it is actually gone is something that was incomprehensible most of the week after. I was not exactly itching to follow anyone again. Like many people I know who did attend, the highlight would have been walking through the building and absorbing the space one more time. Had I gone in July or August when it was possible to see Mallory in Manderley, Bruder as Porter, and Elizabeth as Hecate on the same night, there would be no way that I would let myself return after such a night.

The fact that it will just be gone—Manderley, the Porter’s lobby, the Macduff apartments (I spent relatively little time in there, and it was just last night that I remembered how fucking eerie the lighting in there was), High Street, Hecate’s lair, the entirety of the fifth floor…We’re not just talking about a set on a stage that could be stored somewhere in case of a revival. We’re talking about an entire goddamn building, the meticulousness with which documents were crafted, sets constructed…I cannot help but think it feels criminal that an actual place will just be…gone. The perpetual hum that permeates the building beneath the entire soundtrack vibrates with the energy of the place. So much has happened there, and there is so much power in that space that I cannot help but think that some nonhuman entity will be pissed the fuck off at any attempt to tear the place down.

But let me recount what this show was for me. My generation of fans carries a certain significance in the history of the Sleep No More: we were the first ones whose experience of the show was completely divorced from Careena Melia, a name mentioned with decreasing frequency over the years, but one that we regularly heard in our early months. While we never saw Careena, the name couldn’t help but hover in the background; Tumblr posts recounting people’s experience of finding Hecate’s ring (which could only be found on nights when Careena was playing the role) were under a year old and easily searchable. Indeed, the ring quest, which Careena herself talks publicly about here, had been a defining attribute of many of the narrative-form recaps that had come to define the Tumblr tag in those days.

Nonetheless, despite some slower months after many cast members left for The Drowned Man in late 2013-early 2014 (only to return by fall of 2014), we were fortunate enough to experience some of the strongest performances in the show’s run: we got to witness much of the brilliance that defined late 2011 to late 2013 while also enjoying new developments: Mallory Gracenin’s Evelyn Grey was in the bar far more often than Violet, and Nick Atkinson welcomed us to Manderley every night like few others, while Zach Martens' Julian was a notorious flirt. Elizabeth Romanski, Zhauna Franks and Tara Franklin were our beloved Hecates. Tony Bordonaro had retired Banquo to become a defining Boy Witch for many, while Emeri Fetzer and Emily Oldak owned Sexy Witch like few others. Austin Goodwin had taken on the Porter, and Evik Abbot-Main became a canonical Banquo in addition to their Taxidermist, Macbeth, and later Porter. Nick Bruder and Troy Ogilvie were a fantastic pairing as the Macbeths, and Ryan Van Compernolle was an undeniable presence as Bald Witch, Agnes, and several other roles. Adding to Phil Atkins’s remarkable tenure as Duncan, Ed Stanley and others took on the role. Paul Zivkovich’s Macbeth (often paired with the incomparable Emily Tundrup) and Porter need no explanation, and how lucky we were to often experience Paul’s Porter with Austin’s Boy Witch on the same night. At both the Heath and in Manderley, we often found the Lindsays—played by Virginia Logan and Paul Corning. Megh Dixon’s Aoibhin and Matron are much missed, and the impact that Ava Lee Scott as Annabella had on so many people cannot be adequately described here.

Conor Doyle could be seen as Boy Witch for the period of my most frequent attendance—and much more rarely as the Porter; Austin eventually returned to a regular schedule of Boy Witch; Luke Murphy’s Macbeth and Macduff (I will never forget my reaction to seeing him jump from the Ballroom to the Mezzanine) were legendary, a role inherited by Zach McNally; Leslie Kraus’s Sexy Witch and Lady Macbeth; Marla Phelan’s absolutely feral Sexy Witch, Lily Ockwell and Chelsea Bonosky returned across a wide gamut of roles. Gino Grenek was a beloved Fulton, as was John William Watkins across the 4th floor. Ida Saki appeared on the scene as an immediate powerhouse, and Stephanie Crousillat was an oft-praised actually-bald Bald Witch. Across the ranks of Lady Macduff, we experienced Kristin Clotfelter, Isadora Wolfe, Sarah Stanley, and Annie Rigney. After some time away during our early days, William Popp “popped” up again, and we were blessed with 2 separate returns of Will Seefried’s legendary Porter and later Malcolm and Man in Bar (the last two being things I personally never witnessed—the one downside of spending the summer of 2015 in Paris). An obvious high point was that we saw, impossible to believe but exactly 10 years ago this year: Mallory was not just in the bar or in the hut but took on Agnes and Hecate—the latter being an obvious result of the fandom’s collection powers of manifestation. Ginger Kearns and Onalea Gilbertson were fantastic additions to Manderley and indispensable to the success of the Follies. In 2016 and 2017, which by then had seen at least 2 or 3 new generations of fans after my own depending on how you demarcate these things, we saw the arrival of several new performers who excelled in numerous roles: among others whom I did not experience as much: Tyler Phillips, Parker Murphy, and Nate Carter. They generated an enthusiasm from longtime fans that hadn’t been seen from them for quite awhile. I believe that some even increased their time in the Hotel as a result. 

This list is by no means comprehensive, and many will raise eyebrows at their own favorites I have failed to mention, but this overview captures the essence I feel of late 2013 to early 2016 when my friends were going most frequently; our early performances when we were becoming acquainted with the hotel were not necessarily with the fan favorites of late 2011-2013, but those who had left eventually came around again. Indeed, if you were to compare the dream casts of the very few earlier generations at that time with our own, you would find an astonishing amount of overlap—as well as substantial and enduring proof that the original cast is definitely not all there is. 

Among other developments, the Lodge and the McKittrick Follies—originally held on Sunday nights—were a fantastic way of maintaining a connection to the place without necessarily going to the show. This came, however, with a change in the calendar: at some point, the classic 11:00 pm to 2:00 am late shows disappeared, and we saw the arrival of Sunday matinées. While many fans took to these performances, in general I preferred my weekday shows and late shows. This did come with a drawback, as I always heard of interesting things happening on Friday early shows, which most of us had come to avoid because of the cost and larger audiences (Unless, of course, we were doing a double). The Lodge was simply magical:

We’d have long conversations in the back bedroom…and just sit there for hours chatting about everything related to the place…We were so very much in love with it…

We also had our own new excitement and heartbreak: the introduction and relatively quick elimination of two new characters: the Reverend and Caroline, the former played often by Louis Butelli and Nick Dillenburg (both of whom also played the Porter), the latter role played by, among others, Virginia Logan and Rebecca Robertson. This did not last long as a result of the blatant fire code issue posed by some of the spaces. Management was not kind to these developments. While leaving the Follies one Sunday night, we saw the igloo—broken apart and unceremoniously thrown into the dumpster. This was unfortunate, as it opened up many cans of worms relating to the narrative’s backstory. If I recall correctly, the Reverend operated outside of the loop structure to some degree: and I had even considered spending a whole visit up there with a pencil and small notepad just jotting down everything about the newly-developed story from the various documents and recordings that would play up there.

Looking back, I think of all the things I feel like I didn’t do often enough: memorizing the details of the Porter’s office or God…Hecate’s lair and apothecary; sifting through documents; not enough loops with Bald Witch, Lady Macbeth, or Fulton; not enough time at Gallow Green or enough truffle fries at the Heath. I cannot for the life of me remember the dialogue of the Reverend or Caroline’s 1:1’s, so if your memory is better than mine, my DMs are open, and I would be incredibly thankful for any and all details of these moments that left us far too soon. A last show for me would have been a collection greatest hits: walking through the space, the ballroom party, the Macbeths’ bedroom duet, Boy Witch’s cabaret, the phone booths, the rave, interrogation, the Porter’s “Moonlight Becomes You,” Duncan and Danvers’ duet, Agnes’ encounter with Hecate. I can only speak for myself, but unless a familiar face were embodying a role (or something akin to @caoine’s luck of seeing Conor Doyle as Hecate), I don’t think I would be able to muster a full loop with one performer. Instead, the show would be what it was on those first couple visits: before we could identify actors, before we could recognize the small differences in their interpretations, or before we could thank them by name when they walked us out.

Strangely, I cannot recall as easily some of the more seemingly memorable things I experienced in the Hotel or on Tumblr, but others moments in the show—the less intense moments in the Porter’s loop, time spent by Taxi or Fulton in their offices, Duncan’s shaving scene, some of Lady Macbeth’s solos—that I hardly followed or paid little attention to at the time, have unexpectedly come back to me. It is strange to think, but a part of me longs for a show with all those characters that held very little interest for me, as I saw them only in contrast to the most visceral moments in the show with Mallory’s Matron, Nick Bruder’s Macbeth, Elizabeth’s Hecate, Tony’s Speakeasy, Conor’s Porter, or Marla’s Sexy Witch, (if you come for me and try to say Fate Witch, you can GTFO; your existence means nothing to me). If the show continued on another 10 years in an economically and logistically feasible way, then if my early 20’s was the electrifying era of Boy Witch, Hecate, Sexy Witch, Macbeth, and Evelyn Grey’s filthy mouth (said with all the love in the world), then there’s no question that my relationship to the show in my early 30’s would have become the era of the Porter—a character who, on account of not understanding myself enough at 19 or 20, I could not fully appreciate. But when I think of the Porter now, I think only of Will Seefried’s “Moonlight Becomes You.” I believe this specific memory, at least, counts as substantial penance for whatever I failed to grasp all those years ago.

I cannot say what exactly stoked my fascination with the place. I am not a dancer. I was trained in classical voice and piano; my high school experiences with choreographers and dancer were not pleasant to say the least—they were not exactly patient with those of us who were actors or singers first (ridiculous, really, for a smalltown high school). How I longed for a Sondheim show: no ensemble, no choreographer, just a handful of singers with classical training—the shows are all sung-through with no spoken dialogue—and no dance. I had known about SNM for almost 2 years before I saw it, and I seemed to instinctively know it was an experience far more than most theatre. From the moment I walked into Manderley, I was simply open to everything: the Manderladies selling absinthe shots…Sirgay tickling the back of my neck…We perhaps were all drawn in simply because we were as receptive to it as we were. As for the fandom, after 2 visits in 2 weeks (the second was merely by chance, as a friend had won tickets), I stumbled upon Tumblr and was fascinated by the community that had emerged around it.

A fandom is a curious thing. Our conversations are littered with terms that would make the average person look at us like we weren’t quite right in the head: Imagine an individual who knows nothing of the show hearing such phrases as “I dressed Boy Witch after the Rave” or a 2013-era fan photoshopping Jeff Lyons onto everything in a coffee shop in plain view for passerby to take notice; our sadness when we lose a random brass ring or a feather or a tissue; the incomprehensibility that crosses someone’s face when we get excited about something that we have come to refer to as “Ginger Lobby” or “Getting Popped”; that several performers on here are referred to as “Jesus Christ [insert cast member name here].” Or the fact that we routinely spend a chunk of the show talking to invented personas, whom we greet in continental fashion with a kiss on the cheek while they regale us with tales of their umpteenth marriage, all the men they’ve canoodled, or their experience with gin enemas. The post-Covid decision to remove the “persona” of the Men and Women in Bar—reducing them to getting people inside the show—is an absolute travesty. It is impossible to understate how magical and integral these performers are and how clearly distinguishable they are from the actors who play them. Only ever a quick look at their demeanor and energy was sufficient to know if you were looking at Maximilian or Nick, Violet or Elizabeth, Evelyn or Mallory, Popp or Calloway, Annabella or Alba. On this point, I direct the reader to this tribute written by @bloodwillhavebloodtheysay.

The fandom consists of, among other generations, many millennials—the generation responsible for, according to the media, destroying ever industry to ever exist. It is certainly true that, largely because of the housing market, we have learned to value experiences rather than possessions, and Sleep No More fits that observation to a tee. Unless someone is willing to go so often that they are evicted from their apartment, I do not think any of us regret the time or financial investment we made in this place, no matter how horrifying it looked on our bank statements. As @bloodwillhavebloodtheysay once told me when I was debating to go to a performer’s last show because I had just gone three days before:

If you have the money, you should go. Nobody lays on their deathbed and regrets the things they DID. They regret the things they did NOT do. Fuck all the talk about “irresponsible.” Will it make you homeless? Will it make you unable to eat? Will it cause puppies to drop dead in their tracks? Those are the only things that matter. For fuck’s sake, STOP letting outside forces determine what is right and wrong for you…YOU. If you want to go, GO. It sounds like you will be sorry if you don’t get to see it, so GO.

Will I ever regret the shows I attended? No. Am I eternally grateful for the people who pushed me to go to the Boy Witch Halloween party even though, for a reason I do not recall and cannot comprehend, I was determined to stick my head in the sand and say, “I don’t want to go” ? Or to the friend who convinced me to go to yet another performer’s last show because it was a very last-minute decision, and I was mad at the Hotel + the universe for their departure? Yes. Do I regret spending the money I did? Absolutely not. Do I wish I had been even more irresponsible? Fucking 100% yes. 

Scorched has already remarked upon the Gen-Z shift in fandom attitudes characteristic of the Discord. From my own perusings, I have noticed—besides the travesty that a quick search reveals that Tara Franklin has never once been mentioned there (she is, alas, one performer who never returned after her departure)—they carry the hallmark traits in their engagement with art that many of those who have taught them have experienced first hand: they are very forward thinking about gender identity (although I think they sense, but cannot convey effectively, the underlying disconnect between SNM as a 2010-2012 era show and the evolving views on gender today that simply weren’t talked about then—as well as the ways in which this might constitute a limit of the show). Yet they have profoundly Puritan views of sex, consent, and surveillance. Their attitudes toward art seem to us completely incompatible with everything we love in a Punchdrunk show. They praise the elimination of the full-scale Man or Woman in Bar, because the transportation to another time was “alienating,” “unsafe,” or insensitive to a “need for a marker system to indicate comfort level with interaction.” 10 years ago, many anxious fans loved the bar characters, precisely because the characters could carry on a conversation with as little or as much participation from the audience member as said audience member was comfortable with. Fortunately, I heard that many of them who attended the final parties finally had their eyes opened to what Manderley was once like: Not just Max, Violet, and Calloway but also Jean Nolan and Aoibhin’s beautiful voices, Madlibs with Evelyn and Kit, or fully developed personas for the bartenders, who at one point in time never broke character. When people entered Manderley asking, “Is this the show?,” the Manderladies (Zelda’s beautiful accent in particular comes to mind) would always answer with feigned ignorance: “I don’t know what you’re talking about, darling, but I think you’re in the right place…”

But I would like to end by talking about what we’re all probably feeling for the Hotel and its residents. @drinkthehalo had the same thought that I did: “I can’t believe we were so spoiled by that boundless creative energy for so long.” It’s really unfathomable how much that building gave us: the show, Follies, the Lodge, the Heath, the parties. When thinking back on it, it’s astounding to consider how much has happened in that place—how generous and gracious the cast was with their energy and ours. There are few other theatrical experiences that can give us what a Punchdrunk show can give us: where an interaction between performer and audience member can be equally fulfilling to both parties. 

This is all the more surprising given the abysmal behavior that we know was inflicted on some of these people: the aftermath of the Gossip Girl episode, the appalling Gawker article and the Buzzfeed whistleblower piece, Tumblr accounts of drunk or belligerent behavior that put the cast or other audience members in danger. As I was telling @readwithjoy, it is astounding that the cast continued to give us their all. And what is even more mindblowing to me is that they did not pull back their art for only those people they knew; they never stopped being open to a first-timer who had enough sense to understand James’ words they were meant to be understood. Yes, “fortune favors the bold.” Be curious, be adventurous, or brave. But have enough to sense to be respectful.

Indeed, if I think of which moments matter most to me now, it is those moments when our ears are filled with “A Nightingale Sang in Berkeley Square,” Stella Sinclair’s wonderful energy, or People vs. Larsen blasting our eardrums at 2:00 am after the Saturday late show, and our conversations with the people who work in the building consist of reciprocal acknowledgments of thanks and gratitude. When we would decide to follow a character not because we had planned on following that performer or character for the evening, but because they had a clueless audience who wouldn’t do any of the things with them, and we weren’t going to let them have a bad show. As horny as the average American audience member is, a surprising number of us have stories of when we ended up having to dress Boy Witch ourselves, because no one else in the room wanted to participate.

The space of the 1:1 is perhaps one of the most magical spaces to exist in theatre. In it, Punchrunk created a completely new type of human connection. There really was no pre-existing language for the world that came up to describe it, but the intensity and intimacy around it naturally led to many people settling on eroticism. This is undoubtedly the case for certain 1:1’s and even indispensible to them; even the creepiness of the Taxidermist 1:1 relies on an underlying eroticism in my opinion, and how often fans experienced the weirdest shit in the Hotel during that particular scene. On the other hand, I don’t believe eroticism should be the sole language used to describe 1:1’s, and it is unfortunate that so many conversations around the 1:1 space had to become one of boundaries and distance rather than a language of openness, trust, and vulnerability.

I remain astonished that we were able to experience this show at all. That something like Sleep No More even existed, and that we all formed such a large part of its history. If Sleep No More began to lose its “mindfuck” quality or the feeling of “being in someone else’s dream” as our familiarity with the space increased, then to look back on it now that it’s all over only makes it seem more like a dream. But, fortunately, it was not just a dream. Mercutio noted, dreamers often lie. We are not liars, no matter how insane we might sound to those who have never seen it. This is Sleep No More's strangeness: the fact it actually happened; it was not just a dream. As Lord Byron once said, “Tis strange—but true; for truth is always strange; Stranger than fiction.”

Posts from cast members on their social media often mention how lucky they feel, but it’s not by luck that they created what they did: it took an immense amount of talent, effort, and passion. If anyone is lucky, it is us. We are lucky that we stumbled on the place when we did. I cannot believe my luck that I saw my 2 favorite Porters during a double on the same night (Conor and Will Seefried) or that I met the people that I met…that we allowed ourselves to experience performances that most of the world will never see or even know existed. Especially in a post-Covid world, the idea of the proximity of people within the show makes people uncomfortable even from conversation alone.

What I have realized over these last weeks is that the life of immense feeling and meaning craved by many a graduate student who falls in love with art, literature, and philosophy only to be disappointed by a decimated job market, unrealistic standards of publishing output, and apathetic students who have reduced their education to utilitarian credentials was something I had already found from the moment I first stepped into Manderley one cool, late October evening. I feel far more grateful for every performance I got to witness in the Hotel more than any work of literature I have read across various languages.

To the cast, crew, and creatives: Thank you for everything you gave us. You have an entire group of people who will support you in any project you have in the works and who would love to follow your careers. You have shown us the toils of your art. Unlike many of the people who experienced what you created, we have the advantage of knowing your names and being able to keep up with what you will create for years to come. In what was once an unglamorous part of the island (it might still be seen as such depending on your view of the monstrosity that is Hudson Yards), you all created something that became the talk of the city. Unlike many of the theatres that house Broadway shows, 530 W 27th Street is not marked for preservation. Located a block away from Manhattan’s housing projects and across from Scores, the original backdrop of the building—before the arrival of the luxury apartments—wasn’t exactly what one would expect of a hit show.

50 years from now, if we’re lucky enough to still be alive (or unfortunate enough depending on your point of view) and if billionaires haven’t destroyed the planet and if Manhattan isn’t under water, I wonder if there there will still be an occasional passerby who, when stopping to stand in front of what was once an old warehouse on an innocuous street at the edge of the island with little if anything to catch their attention, would be able to answer “yes” to a certain question: a question that for nearly 14 years has been asked in hushed tones over a cup of tea in a small, heavily incensed boudoir tucked away at the end of a long, dark corridor. 50 years from now, if the building still exists, will there still be someone who can look at it and nod in the affirmative when asked: You remember, don’t you?