All There Is.
On March 7, 2011, I arrived fairly reluctantly to a dilapidated block of 27th Street and queued up for some show my friend John O’Malley was working on. All I knew was that I was going to “chase sexy dancers around a warehouse” or something like that, and it all sounded ridiculous. I couldn’t have known then that my life was about to be changed: that I was going to find the synthesis of many of my niche intellectual interests; that I’d fall in love and have my heart broken, repeatedly; that I’d gain an appreciation for an entire new wing of the arts; that I’d make friends who would reshape my heart and my life; that I’d launch into a social media venture that would secure me a major career change. What if I had known any of this would happen?
It’s incredible to me that nearly fourteen years have passed since that day. Fourteen years is longer than any romantic relationship I’ve had, longer than any job, longer than any program in a university. Longer than my time in a cult. Other than swimming, which I’ve done for 35 years, it’s the longest commitment I’ve ever had to enthusiasm for anything. And it strikes me as especially incredible because at the outset, it was likely to be a very, very temporary thing. A six-week limited engagement, to test the waters and hopefully succeed enough to fill out the first lease, so there were long-term ambitions, but by no means was radical success guaranteed. But as the Boston run had prefigured, the show indeed hit at just the right time, and just the right place, and became electric.
Why It Worked
As we come to the end, I want to think for a bit about precisely why that happened. Over the past year, there’s been some space to debate the reasons for Sleep No More’s success versus the alleged failures, or at least disappointments, of The Burnt City; and what this might mean for the possibility of Life and Trust repeating the achievements of its predecessor. The opening of Life and Trust has also opened some debate over which entities can most appropriately lay claim to the credit: the creative partner, Punchdrunk, or the producing partner, Emursive. It’s clear that you don’t get a nearly 14 year smash hit without an extremely productive relationship, even if it is, and always has been, replete with tension and conflicts. That creative tension is probably one of the very ingredients of success, as the artistic vision must be brought into balance with a sustainably profitable operating plan.
But to think that elements like “great choreography” or “murky narrative” or “efficient management” are really behind what made Sleep No More a phenomenon is to both drastically miss the point and bark up the wrong trees. The conditions for Sleep No More’s success, in my view, are the combination of two main elements: first, the concept of the intellectual property itself; and second, the timing of the show’s opening into a specific cultural and media environment.
When The Burnt City opened, early audiences felt like something was missing. In my review I wrote that
“desire is not a currency here. At SNM and TDM, there is a sultry suggestiveness amongst the characters and between them and the audience. At The Burnt City, everyone is too busy being dead, being robots, being dead robots or sacrificing their children to uncaring gods to have much space for suggestive glances and come-hither looks.”
It remains clear as day that the allure of Sleep No More, and its lasting value as entertainment, stems from, frankly, its sexiness. The show was unrepentantly horny from minute one – and, it has to be said: not because of its nudity. The nudity, in fact, is found in some of the least erotic sequences in the show. The atmosphere, however, is sexually charged and ready to pop: that it never really does, that the “orgy” is more violent than sexual, that the sex is mostly suggested, or suspected, is the actual magic here.
Naturally, this has led to some real difficulties over the long run. On the one hand, audiences, well removed from just immersive enthusiasts and Shakespeare nerds, took heed of the motto “fortune favors the bold” and did some reprehensible things; management was slow to support and better protect performers from the worst of these offenses. Further, the culture of sexual expression in 2011, libertine and aggressive coming out of the preceding recession, gave way, in concert with generational change, to newer, more conservative attitudes. At launch, Sleep No More was a millennial playpen; it now lives in a Gen Z world, alongside films devoid of sex, opposition to sexual content as some sort of impediment to plot, and the anodyne world of the reiterative superhero industrial complex.
But sexual suggestiveness is what made the whole place sizzle, whether we like to confess that or not. Sure, the worldbuilding is engrossing, the dancing frenetic, the soundscape exquisite – but this whole time, people have been going for vibes. And the vibes, especially in those crazy first few years, were laced with the possibility that sexual adventure could be right around the corner – even when, the whole time, it really wasn’t. As a byproduct of the tension between the art and the entertainment of it, it’s extremely flattering for us as fans to act like we are unmoved by our erotic imaginaries and only compelled by our allegedly higher aesthetic and critical impulses. The broad success of the show – its ability to cater to people other than us nerds – and the party culture that has accompanied it, show this to be an error.
It’s why The Burnt City just wouldn’t last – a beautiful and meaningful show for sure, but not very fun. Not sexy. Life and Trust suffers from this a bit less, but has another problem that Sleep No More never had to contend with: it’s not cool. And this is the thing that really made it possible for Sleep No More to run and run and run: it was, and is, extremely cool.
How SNM got to be cool is the big question – it was certainly by design, but relied massively on timing, luck, and the right media mix in the launch period. First, it had novelty on its side. Very few people had ever seen anything like this (sorry Boston, you’re not people! But at least in this case, for once, you were definitely tastemakers). Second, the show relied at launch on word-of-mouth and celebrity interest, using principles that we now understand as influencer marketing. Remember, at the time: Instagram was only a few months old and not yet ubiquitous. The show cultivated a reputation as dark, sexy and mysterious, and the mask meant the famous could go along for the ride. In those early days I remember: Leonardo DiCaprio, Orlando Bloom, Paris Hilton, Matt Damon (standing in line like a normie), Elijah Wood. Lauren Ambrose walking up and inquiring about entry. It was only a matter of time until there was critical mass of celebrity exposures for it to hit headlines, and sure enough: Neil Patrick Harris’ long excited rant on Regis and Kelly marked the show’s true arrival. Smartly, there weren’t even ads. There was barely a presence on the major social media platform of the time (Facebook). This wasn’t a show for plain people, it was a show for people in the know about what was cool and unique in New York – and that mythology of scarcity and exclusivity worked wonders.
By comparison, on the day ticket sales launched for Life and Trust, there were a couple hundred immersive theater geeks lined up at Conwell Coffee House to buy them. That’s not a fault of that show – the media environment is completely different now; the Coffee House was smartly pre-launched and pitched to influencers to build interest and intrigue, but: without the novelty factor, this has all had a dull impact. Is it cool to anyone to know what “another mask show from the producers of Sleep No More” is, in the year 2025? Hardly. Whereas SNM had its wheels greased, Life and Trust has an uphill battle for cultural relevance and mindshare. At least The Burnt City had a long-cultivated community of Punchdrunk die hards in place for it, and as the creative side, a certain amount of house loyalty that Emursive now has to earn on their own.
This Fandom
The relationship of Sleep No More to its fan community, is, obviously, a topic I care a great deal about. I have never been part of a fandom before. I did not intend to create a fan community of any kind when I launched this blog, and fortunately we had other early Tumblrs that took on that role. The great beauty of the early years on Tumblr was that the platform allowed each enthusiast to create whatever kind of appreciation worked best for them. In my case, the joy in that came from curation and collection. Others showcased beautiful fan art, others wrote vivid recaps, others answered questions and cultivated community. And, importantly, Tumblr allowed everyone to do so at whatever periodicity worked best for them.
I can’t take credit for the idea of being a Sleep No More fan on Tumblr. That is owed to whoever it was that created fuckyeahsleepnomore (remember when the archetypical Tumblr was named in that format, fuckyeahwhatever? Fuckyeahpaulzivkovich, fuckyeahwillseefried, fuckyeahnatecartershair, we could have driven it into the dirt if we wanted). Some of the things I did on this blog became paradigmatic conventions of being a fan on Tumblr: pick a name with some textual significance to the show; write some stuff; repost from the tags and try to find other enthusiasts. I think the other thing that happened, significantly for the emergence of our fandom, was that my proximity to the show strengthened the notion that being an online friend to the show could gain you access to the people involved.
I came into my close relationship with the production through a mixture of early arrival, connections, a certain amount of goodwill from the blog, and, it has to be said, some gay men’s privilege. Jenny Weinbloom spotted me early as a frequent visitor. John O’Malley facilitated some introductions. My pre-Scorched essay “A Sword Between Banquo and Me” made the rounds over email. After my fourth show, I became really comfortable talking to performers, particularly after the Saturday late show when everyone gathered in Manderley until 4am. When the first round of new cast arrived, it included two people I had previous connections with: I had met William Popp at a swim practice, and my best friend had worked with Tony Bordonaro on a soap opera. We were all young gay New Yorkers and our lives already intersected substantially. So it didn’t seem so weird that we were at parties together outside of the show, occasionally hanging out, and having very casual, friendly relations.
In those early days, there were basically no boundaries, and the kind of access early fans had to the show and the performers would really stun fans who’ve come in since, say, 2016 or so. It was magical, and problematic. No one really knew how to navigate being at the epicenter of a cultural phenomenon, and the early fans were along for the ride. As dancers, the cast weren’t particularly attuned (and neither was I) to the vicissitudes of Broadway stagedoor fan culture, and to the extent that crept in slowly, began to make plain how unsustainable that chummy closeness was; more recently, conventions of East Asian fan behaviors, gifting in particular, has also come over. All of this feels alien to me, but I think the lesson there is that 2011-2013 was just an extremely abnormal time, a kind of whiplash from the sudden fame of the show (which did not, directly and personally, extend to its cast, who the show kept extremely shrouded).
Sleep No More learned how to program for loyalty very, very late in the game. The Salons, which I’ve been to, and the roundtables, which I have not, have been really wonderful gestures toward community engagement that would have been unthinkable in the early years, and Ilana Gilovich deserves tremendous credit for championing and moderating these events. In my own personal case, I’ve had small but meaningful gestures over the years: the invitation to the MIT Media Lab experiment, some helpful assistance from the Box Office (though not here at the end!); a warm welcome back at the end of my long unemployment. But the chief benefit of being a fanboy was never anything that came from the production, it was that I made friends of performers and staff, and that gave me a currency in the early and middle years that I greatly enjoyed. It’s almost fully spent now.
Tumblr’s deletion of pornography largely killed the platform, and the latter generation of Tumblr fans gradually moved into the Second Age of their fandom like I had when this blog first concluded in 2014. Over the past year of repeated extensions, permit issues, and complicated preemptive mourning, I’ve dipped my toe into the new homestead of Sleep No More fandom, which is now on Discord. Whereas Tumblr was petty and cruel, the Discord tends to be prudish and overprotective; but these differences are generational as opposed to platform-oriented, and are the product of a fandom reacting to a different kind of relationship with the admired object than what we had in the early years. The Discord is also deliberately and explicitly communitarian, which is something else extremely alien to me, and very much the opposite of the egotism of the Tumblr era, but has been a great comfort for its participants through a year of confusion and uncertainty. For my part, I have found peace and joy in seeing the fandom grow well beyond me and develop mores that I just don’t understand. That means progress has come along.
My chief regret over all the years is the tendency of fans to be excessively deferential to the show. Far too eager to not offend, far too unwilling to criticize. It’s okay to say something isn’t good, or that you don’t like a performance. It may shock people to know this, but in my one conversation with Maxine Doyle, she herself commented that the show had not been good that night. It happens, and it’s useless to shine the apple of pretending otherwise. Nor do we get points for white-knighting for Emursive’s miserable management, or trying to rationalize terrible creative decisions like axing all the Manderley characters. Our fondness for something is well-reflected in our ability to articulate flaws, errors and poor choices, and I wish we had all been better about this all along.
What it all meant for me
The Discord’s moderation has suggested that it will be deleted some time after the show closes; and so Tumblr’s longevity in the post-porn era is truly its most astonishing feature. This means that, barring another upheaval or change of ownership, this blog will endure on the internet as a relic of what Sleep No More was. If you go back to the beginning and read it forward, you will get the fragmentary tale of one very naive, overenthusiastic ex-academic moving to New York City and living out his own little Bildungsroman inside an immersive theater production. I am really pleased that so many of you came along for the ride, and that these confessions of my younger self – embarrassing as they often now are when I look back at them – can do a good job of telling someone why Sleep No More meant so much to so many people.
Over the past year, I’ve tried to add more detail to my personal experience of the show, and be a little more upfront about what was going on than I could be at the time. For as much as I wish I could claim to be an extremely intellectually even observer of the show and the culture around it, I feel it’s more fair to reveal that in fact, the main driver behind much of my love for this show was that I met a boy, he broke my heart, and I stuck around to let it really scorch me. None of this diminishes what the show meant; is it not the very essence of the show itself? “And then one day, he went away. And I thought I’d die. But I didn’t. And when I didn’t, I said to myself, is that all there is to love?”
Somewhere, back in the day, in an interview I know I listened to but could not possibly source, Felix Barrett said something along the lines of: every visitor to the show should fall in love at least once while inside. And I think he’s absolutely right, and I think every single fan of the show, in their heart, has done so. Hopefully not with the contours of my own experience exactly, but it’s the essence of it. I know I am compelled by powerful scoring, dramatic lighting, dynamic movement, and intelligent intertextuality. But I fall in love with a kind and gentle heart, and a generous spirit that is on a journey and eager to share it. And I encountered quite a few of these over our many years together in the hotel.
I’m also acutely aware that this blog itself played a major role in giving me the life I have today. The job I landed in 2014 was a corporate social media role – one that I landed in part by talking about the work I had done on this blog. I also talked in the interviews about my enthusiasm for the show, and how it had given me a sense of meaning, belonging, and purpose to my intellection. I talked about the struggle my year of unemployment had been with unvarnished honesty, and my manager later told me that was what had clinched it. I learned the kind of storytelling I did in that search here, on Tumblr, talking about this show.
For nearly fourteen years, thinking and writing about this show, and this mode of performance, has been the most satisfying intellectual enterprise I have ever engaged in – far better than all that grad school. I could not have known at the outset that this is where all my critical faculties would be fully engaged, or that several of my obscure interests, my fondness for Arthur Schnitzler or for Thomas Mann, would be extremely relevant. Now, as we begin to look forward, I know that this activity does not end here with the closing of the show. I hope to continue, both in remembrance of what we all experienced, and in anticipation of successor productions in this format, to think and write about this kind of immersive theater. The difference will be that the mask will be off, and I will be writing as Evan, not as Scorched the Snake.
Saying goodbye to fourteen years of Sleep No More means saying goodbye to several full chapters of my life, and to all of my life in New York City thus far. It is saying goodbye to earlier versions of myself, to someone who was afraid to have to push his way through a crowd, afraid to talk to strangers in bars, afraid to gaze deeply into someone’s eyes, afraid to express desire. To someone not yet open to all the range of creativity that this show and its people have introduced me to. To someone who did not yet know all the brilliant and loving souls who made it all possible. But I am happy to say goodbye to those versions of me; the one I am now is so much richer, so much wiser, so much more connected to a beautiful world than I had ever been before.
We have had such a wonderful time. The show’s closure is about to tear a giant hole in my life, my habits, and frankly, my personality. I cannot wait to figure out what I will do to fill that void, what insanely enriching and engrossing thing I will feel pulled to next. If there is one paramount lesson of this whole experience, it is that my enthusiasm for something will take me on great voyages when I trust it. We all now just have to trust it.
In just a few days, we will gather for three nights of celebration of this world we’ve made and shared together. In the early hours of Sunday, January 12, we will each exit the McKittrick Hotel for the last time, stepping out into the cold of night, but not into darkness. The streets of town, paved with stars, will glisten and glow before us as we walk away toward our next adventures, forever changed, and permanently enchanted by our friends, our loves and our losses.
“How strange it was, how sweet and strange, there was never a dream to compare.”
Parting words as only could be written by a true legend of the fandom.
