I’m always nervous before attending an immersive theatre performance. For someone who has absolutely no training as an actor, the idea of potentially being put right in the spotlight gives me what I can only describe as stage fright. Entering the Brooklyn brownstone where Versailles 2016 takes place brought with it an extra layer of anxiety, since the piece is set in a high society cocktail party. Talk about needing a drink beforehand. Once my guest and I arrived, we were warmly welcomed by a hostess, and the play’s director Erin Mee, which instantly made me wonder if we were already “in” the performance. As we were introduced to several other guests I couldn’t help but wonder who was a character and who was “real”, turning my first minutes there into a game of Clue.
Walking around the elegant, but eclectically decorated, home filled with provocative paintings, seductive statues and masks, as well as furniture pieces that almost seemed to say “come closer and hear my story”, I began to dream about the conversations that took place in such a home, and that is perhaps one of the wishes that the production wants to fulfill. This idea of gaining access into a place that would be off-limits to most people, isn’t enticing merely for voyeurism and snooping around, but because it allows us to dream ourselves as part of a world that sounds much more enlightened. Granted, the 2016 presidential election has more than proved that money does not make anyone smart, cultured or sensitive.
As the performance officially begins, and audience members gather to listen to a speech from a gracious, if charmingly neurotic, hostess (actors’ names will be omitted in this review to avoid Googling faces and spoiling the pleasure of finding out who was an actor and who wasn’t) who invites her guests to see a special dance piece she has commissioned to be performed in her bathtub. Given the space restrictions of a bathroom, even one as ample as the one in this home, guests are divided into small groups and take turns visiting different rooms where they witness scenes that range from the disturbing (a young woman talking about the distorted reflection she sees in the mirror), to the hilarious (the hostess talks about buying gourmet food with the enchanting obliviousness of Gwyneth Paltrow’s GOOP), and the downright chilling (a unique foreplay ritual turns into a discussion on whether a pet’s life is worth more than a human’s).
The experience will surely be inviting to some, and will distance others who might leave the home praising deities, or the void, for their simpler lives they lead, but what’s true is that Mee and company (the show was written by Charles Mee and Jessie Bear) have crafted a powerful piece about privilege, class and race, that while never truly leaves the realm of the theatrical (the characters talk like they’re in a Woody Allen film, although that in itself might be an affectation they choose to fit into this world), what’s true is that no one leaves the house without an opinion they want to express to their friends, families or whoever will listen, which in itself is what I’d call a successful party.
