I lost the plot in Faust--literally. This was not your typical revival of a classic but a hip, perambulatory production set in a warehouse in Wapping, across from the Tobacco Dock pirate ships in London's Docklands, where merchant vessels once anchored and sailors caroused. Staged by the appropriately named Punchdrunk company (all their works seem to incorporate liquor and violence), this Faust was well off the beaten track geographically and artistically. When I say the show was set in a warehouse, I mean that the entire warehouse was the set: a fully realized environment that the audience walked through, no stage, no fourth wall between audience and the actors.
Because this performance was all about immersion and atmosphere, let me walk you through the experience. Upon arriving at the warehouse (behind an industrial fence, with a sign that was not part of the set but was apropos: Dangerous Structure - Keep Out) and turning in our tickets, we met a guide who explained that we could roam anywhere in the building, at any pace we pleased. The guide showed us the bar, at which we were welcome anytime for a drink and live music (blues and country). Next we were issued white, full-face masks, which we were to wear at all times, except in the bar. These were a pest to keep on over glasses but really did contribute to the experience--they added mystery, made me feel part of the performance and less inhibited, and made it easier to identify ushers and actors. With that, we boarded an elevator, where an Elvis-esque character named Jed (our first clue that this would be an Americana, Beelzebubba take on Goethe's Faust, part one) took us to the top floor. There he asked for a volunteer--whom he shoved out of the car into a pitch-black hallway, then swiftly slammed the elevator gate down and, smirking, took us down a level. Here he asked for two volunteers and, surprisingly given what just happened, got them...and did the same thing. The rest of us cowards went to what I think was the first floor, and we were on our own--no program, no directions, no clue what we should do, which was both discombobulating and exciting.
At first the experience was like roaming through an abandoned movie location, because for about 30 minutes I ran into no one but other silent, masked walkers, like a ghost audience. The set was Southern gothic circa the 1950s: a beauty parlor, a bar, motel rooms, a roadhouse, shrines, a "Temple" that turned out to be a movie theater showing A Touch of Evil, an office with two manual typewriters, each with a sheet bearing Bible verses. Those rooms show the inspired, maniacal level of detail in Punchdrunk productions: every item is there for a reason, speaks to the time, location, and themes; and every room is complete.
I was getting into the mood, grinning behind my stuffy, slipping mask and wondering what I'd see in the next room--grinning but also more spooked than I would have expected, feeling as if I'd walked into the Black Lodge from Twin Peaks, a mind-bending, fascinating corner of hell where anything might happen. And then a man in a gray suit and fedora brushed past, swaggering and snapping his fingers: Faust. Well, I figured out he was Faust after shadowing him for a while: the actors weren't wearing nametags, obviously, and there may have been dialogue, but I don't remember any. I had to identify characters through their interactions and movement (some of Punchdrunk are actors, some dancers), though I tend to think you could know nothing at all of Goethe and still enjoy the show. In fact, you might enjoy it more, not trying to follow the plot but experiencing things as they come. In any case, I followed the action downstairs to a red bar for the Walpurgisnacht scene, where there was a seductive dance and a topless Gretchen was handed from person to person. She then went, pregnant, into the woods, a room full of real pine trees. Perhaps because my senses were already on alert, I found that pervasive pine scent transporting, instantly felt a wintry chill, and thought that perhaps smell is an underused tool in performing arts (after all, scientists say aromas can summon strong memories and emotions). In any case, a man who I believe was Gretchen's brother defended her honor and was wounded in the duel, stumbled into the forest, cursed his sister, and died. Another woman, his wife, entered and cursed her as well. Grieved, Gretchen ran at a shack, slamming her belly into the wall until her baby died.
There I lost the plot again, which was frustrating--think about it, in a massive warehouse, how could one divine where to go next? Then I realized: Listen. Follow the soundscape, and soon I'd see lighting changing to illuminate a scene, or audience members gathering at an interesting spot, or an actor moving toward his or her next piece. Sure enough, it was mere minutes before I found myself in the basement--as you'd guess, hell--where Gretchen was being released from jail, I think representing an ascension to heaven. Then Faust was dragged down, stripped (instance #3 of male nudity in my spring theater schedule), and bound to a chair, where a devil began his torment. Choreographically, this was expressed by the demon swan-diving repeatedly onto Faust's lap, a maneuver that I'm sure was safe but looked nad-crushingly painful, not to mention the kind of creative torture one would expect from hell (or Abu Ghraib). Finally, Faust rose from the chair and walked slowly backward into blackness, a literal but eloquent visual of this man of enlightenment succumbing to the dark side. The end.
Of course, when you've been in an immersive environment like that, having all your senses engaged, it takes a while before the experience has truly ended. Despite my tired feet (which I didn't notice were sore until the show stopped), I half wished that Faust was like an amusement park ride, and that I could get back in line to ride it again and see what I'd missed the first time. I was glad to have a five-minute walk back to the Tube station, along those quiet, atmospheric Docklands streets. Passing a Muslim butcher shop, I looked for a minute at the sign advertising whole or half sheep--ritual animal sacrifice!--until I realized I was examining it as if it was part of the Faust set, which of course it wasn't, and I smiled and moved on. Now that's a sign of good art and entertainment: Change the way your audience sees things, and leave them wanting more.
