Seeing the word ‘immersive’ before ‘theatre’ will make as many people run for the hills as to the box office.
LIke practising a macabre mindfulness
At its most broad, immersive defines a performance in which the audience plays an active role. Not active as in the audience participation you might expect at a Derren Brown show which may influence where you decide to sit. Active as in it’s unlikely you’ll be able to sit at all.
You do sit during Viola’s Room, the latest immersive experience created by Punchdrunk to envelop the cavernous corridors of their Carriageworks home. You sit for the first minute, when given a final chance to exit if the surrounding darkness makes you anxious. And you sit for another minute, in a church, about half an hour later.
For the rest of the time, you’ll be standing. Mostly walking. Barefoot. Watching…well, watching very, very little.
If you can accept the shattering of those basic expectations of a night in the theatre, you’re in for a surprisingly delightful and thrilling treat.
Immersive prejudice
The prejudice to ‘immersive’ may come from its ubiquity in describing Edinburgh Festival shows. It suggests actors struggling to maintain character-appropriate improv in ill-conceived pre-shows, while handing out photocopied programmes and brandishing flashlights to direct some poor pensioners to their seats.
Immersive is often to be found preening in self-adulation with its performance art brethren: experimental, site-specific, and experiential. Watching immersive theatre can sometimes feel like interrupting someone when they’re having a wank.
Luckily Punchdrunk aren’t wankers. (A quote I'm sure they will want to use on future advertising.) For the past 25 years, this British company has been repeatedly creating experiences that are exciting and enjoyable for everybody.
Their shows have been at Big Chill, in the tunnels under Waterloo, in New York, Shanghai, and even Deptford. Their productions are so accessible, they have an outreach arm to work with local communities and schools. In 2022 they took over the Carriageworks in Woolwich and recreated the battleground of Troy.
If you’re ever going to give immersive theatre a chance, don't do it in Edinburgh. Do it here. You couldn't be in better hands.
Follow the light
Having built up that sense of scale for Punchdrunk, it may surprise you to hear that Viola’s Room is very, very small. And there’s very little to see. There isn’t even a cast.
At least, not a live cast. Helena Bonham Carter has recorded the story which she whispers through your (£600 Bowers & Wilkins) headphones. Based on The Moon Slave, a short gothic horror story by Barry Payne, it’s a simple enough tale of the macabre.
Viola is a Princess. She is orphaned, betrothed to a Prince she does not love. She dances by the light of her moon. She dances with the devil…
“Follow the light” it says on the poster and on your ticket. It’s not just a tagline, it’s an oft-repeated directive. Small lights glow to show your path as you live her story. They take you to Viola’s Room (natch) where you lie on a bed. They guide you through the clothes in her wardrobe.
The few sets you can see ooze with detail – the 90s bedroom rewards exploration – but for the most part the lights are all that’s visible. At times, curtains billow around you. Then sand is pushing between your toes. Is someone else there with you? Is that the devil’s presence you can sense?
No, it’s not. It’s really not.
Don't panic!
The pep talk given before you start your literal, not emotional, journey, explains there will be no jump scares. This isn’t a cruel joke. There are no sudden screams. Nothing drops on your head. The most anxious moment for me was when they explained how to use the panic button. (Don’t tell me not to panic about a panic button!!!)
But, at times, you are in complete and absolute darkness. No dim night light or distant fire exit glow. There are times when you lose your sense of space and can't feel anyone around you. And when you think the walls are closing in, you’re not imagining it.
You’re never in danger but if you’re of a sensitive disposition, I would think twice before booking. If you’re susceptible to such things, the risk may not be worth it. The show’s running relies on such tight timings that any interruption will cause many interruptions. It's not just you who will have a bad time if you have a bad time. Know yourself. Make the right choices.
Macabre mindfulness
For a horror story, it's all rather gentle. The quiet rhythm becomes pleasantly repetitive. It starts to feel like practising a sort of macabre mindfulness. By the third time we were being hurried through the maze, it felt a little anticlimactic. I even found myself hoping there might be a jump scare after all.
But there wasn't. Which I'm glad of. No, really. I think.
And then we follow the light. And, oh, it’s the exit light. And you realise it’s finished. And you’re being directed to the box containing your shoes and socks. And you’re handing back your headphones (damn!). And you’re leaving. And it just feels like an old cassette tape clicking as it comes to the end of its spool midway through the last track. Sudden and abrupt.
No big finish. No ta-da. Just a click. And it’s done.
Best shared
I think this sense of being slightly let down would be different when you share the experience with others (I went on my own). It really is something unlike anything else you can see right now. Punchdrunk are pretension-free masters at this. They will erase any negativity you may have about immersive.
But go with friends. Go with five friends so you fill the whole slot. Go with Mum, Dad and the kids: kids will love this (anxiety allowing). Then go to the bar afterwards and talk about it. To fully appreciate the experience, the experience itself should be shared. That’s not something a critic gets to do.
So, while I would wholeheartedly recommend Viola’s Room, for me I left with the feeling that I'd seen Punchdrunk, but without the real punch.
