Kevin Pearl Rules The World!

Alright, the truth of the matter is I think I could go on and on about what happened last Tuesday. It seems like each time I sit down to recall what I saw I wind up with too much to say and too little time to say it. This will be the last post in this series yet I suspect it will not be the last thing I ever write about Sleep No More. The blue star on my hand is still there, it’s ink ever so slightly visible after nearly a week.

                                                 Part 3

Her arrival was met with a freighting crescendo as she proceeded to head straight for me.  Wanting to simply get out of her way so as not to impede the performance I turned in time to have the tailor slam the door in my face; it was a dizzying experience.

Another actor made his way down the street in a hurry. He stopped for a moment to examine an old photograph on his person. Pictured was the grotesque image of a murdered woman.  Her corpse bearing the mark of an intense shoulder wound as far as I could tell from the faded black and white photo. So much of what happens in Sleep No More happens within the blink of an eye, leaving one to stare blankly at even the most minute of details in the hopes of gleaning some important detail.

The man in the hat made his way into another room. This one bore the iconic logo of a detective agency on its front door. Its walls were lined floor to ceiling with filing cabinets and shelves full of evidence and oddities. The detective removed his hat and coat at the door before rifling through the mail and finally settling down in front of an old typewriter. Line by line he recounted his report ending on that illest of omens from the original Scottish play:

“Blood Will Have Blood.”

As if to emphases those chilling words the detective then proceeded to slice around the sentence removing it from the piece of paper before wrapping around the ankle of a dead raven.  He got up and we followed him back out into the street before he led us back to the stairwell. This time we made our way downward.  

 The third floor was made up of a large bedroom. We almost passed it keeping pace with the detective but chose to break off instead and have a look around instead. Love letters we’re strewn across the floor around a bathtub in the center of the room each one signed simply “Macbeth,” Outside in what could have only been a graveyard a crowd had gathered around a single performer as he silently contemplated the art of suicide before them.  Of the various performers I saw that night none seemed to match this man’s level of energy as he commanded the performance space around  him and judging by the sheer number of masked followers hanging on his every move I can only assume this was Macbeth himself.

Descending further, I soon found myself within the confines of the Hotel’s lobby.  A porter in a red jacket went about his business preparing for the arrival of an important guest. This floor and the subsequent ballroom played host to many a mystery and plot point as its halls intersected with one and other and many a masker made their wanton way through it. All at once the ballroom turned into a forest while in one hall two performers juggled a door between them.  Performers both new and familiar made their entrances and exits through the lobby and it’s foyer. Much of the reminder of the evening was spent exploring this area until one of the performers lead me by the hand down into the floor of the ballroom itself for one final scene.

The party that followed shortly thereafter was unforgettable we sipped on absente and champagne and enjoyed the music at the Manderley Bar under its foggy haze. I have since heard the evening held a few more mystery’s following the events of the show for those fortunate enough to find their way back upstairs. Alas I was not among them, not this time anyway, giving me all the more reason to go back; and soon.