Thoughts on Ghost Light
Every exit is an entrance someplace else.
These words stuck with me long after exiting the Claire Tow Theater at Lincoln Center. I’m in the midst of a twenties existential crisis so that line made me pause. Those words of wisdom and Third Rail Project’s latest show, Ghost Light, were just what I needed Sunday.
I entered the theater with only slight spoilers. Stop reading here if you haven’t seen the show. Trust me, you want to go into this with as little information as possible.
Still with me? Okay.
I showed up to the box office with only minutes to spare, stuffed my backpack into a locker, and got my ticket. Soon the bells chimed and the doors opened. We were instructed to walk in a single file line, and so we proceeded to walk down the aisle of the theater, in front of the stage, and out through the wings. We ended up in a rehearsal room with a bare-bones set and a variety of seating. I chose a lone chair and settled in. A woman in a sparkling dress was dancing, oblivious to our entrance. Soon, a man entered. He was excited by our presence. He told us all about the play he was writing and life in the theatre. We were instructed on the meaning of “stand by” and soon stagehands with props and actors needing costume changes were running in and out seeking out our help as the man’s monologue continued.
We rehearsed the play, then regrouped and half of us were sent out with a man in suspenders. In a stairwell, we were taught about the lines that never make it onto the stage.
The rest of the show is a bit of a blur. We assisted in creating the effects of a scene, witnessed a janitor battle ghosts as he cleaned a hallway, watched a scene play out in reverse, and were told a brilliant monologue by a man with a hole in his sock. All the while, a question was in the back of my head: Is this a real person or a ghost? Or were we, the audience, the ones doing the haunting?
I loved getting to see all the rooms backstage. The costumers’ area, the green rooms. At one point, I sat sipping tea in a kitchen as we were given an orientation on performing custodial duties. Make sure you clock in. The ghosts are fine. There’s the actor who drank herself to death, the little girl, and the crowd that comes each night, clapping at an empty stage.
Overall, I absolutely loved the show. I love Third Rail’s method of putting people on tracks. I know some immersive theater fans prefer the Punchdrunk way of letting the audience roam freely, but I love giving myself over to the experience completely, knowing that I am in good hands. I can put the planning part of my brain in standby mode and enjoy what’s about to happen without worrying about missing out on anything.
This production, in particular, was executed brilliantly. There were so many clever touches. A magically mended sock, a script that repeats the past, and so much more. Towards the end of my show, I found myself sitting in a makeshift audience, watching the back end of the first scene, with stagehands and actors running through. Fifteen minutes to places! There go the lobsters! And here comes the woman with the parasol! I found myself grinning from ear to ear as I realized what was happening.
As our evening wound down, we were brought once more to the main theater. In single file, we sat down in the seats and watched the performers grace the stage. I was shocked to see how few there had been. I knew we were seeing the same people over and over, but at the same time, it felt like the cast had been much larger. One by one, they disappeared into the darkness until suddenly, everyone was gone. The audience burst into applause, waiting for the performers to come back out for bows. But the stage remained dark and empty. Soon the clapping died down and people filed out of the theater. I, too, floated out of the theater and disappeared into the night.
