Friday, October 11

The Hangover 4: A Time Warner Takeover

You know that thing where you wake up only a pinch hungover but still somehow carelessly forgot about the pile of photos you snapped while taking advantage of a taxidermied deer? And the pirate who fed you spoonfuls of ceviche? Or swigging champagne out of a bottle on the dance floor of a party you reeeally weren't quite invited to? Yeah, I usually don't either, but I didn't realize until swiping my phone open at the crack of dawn the full extent of shenanigans I had gotten into at Sleep No More last night.

Yeah, your face orbs read that right: Sleep No More. For some awesome reason-turned-corporate nightmare, Time Warner and Starz took over the creeptastic performance art space to promote two new random new shows, one about pirates and one about DaVinci. Which, after all, was a shockingly well-coordinated event considering those bastards will one day face an uprising for their inability to function beyond the level of the saddest iteration of Travis Birkenstock. That being said, it's probably telling that I can't clearly recall the shows' names or when they debut or why I'd ever be interested in some epic drama about dirty shipmen, though they fed me gelt and gave me a necklace to remind me that "the universe is always inside of me", which I like to think of as an homage to being forever reliant on ever-disappointing WiFi.

But, back to the theatrics. I typically ignore most press releases I get, but this one went straight into my mismanaged phone calendar. I thought, maybe there would be a free prohibition-era cocktail, or a bizarro dance sequence in the cemetery room that would be ruined by repeatedly pulling my pointy-face mask around my glasses. And hey, when worst case scenario involves strangers in a bloody orgy and best case involves wandering the halls of a makeshift insane asylum while loaded on oldey-time booze, it's worth taking a shot — nearly quite literally, since the hotel section of McKittrick was turned into a free-flowing party with bars manned by actors who wanted to booze in this once-in-a-lifetime scenario as hard as we did.

(Can you tell this is written like my brain is molasses flowing down a stream right now? Good, good.)

The actual immersive theatre portion of the mystical, foggy warehouse was whittled down to two themed tours, which, when presented alongside a mad party in a room typically reserved for confused wall-touching and confused silence and confused "no seriously, that's an emergency exit" couldn't live up to the hilarity of running around the artistic warehouse, dancing to '80s jammyjams. So, after, eating all of the crab toast hors d'ouevres, pathetically convincing myself i wasn't drunk while deep-throating a bag of Munchies on the way home (they still exist!) and rise-and-shining what felt like minutes later, I uncovered a slideshow of photos that felt like Alan Garner grabbed me by the hand, popped a roofie into my accidentally chugged Sazeracs, and led me to break my newly instated no-more-drinking rule like I was living out the end of Footloose and my own personal Rumspringa at the very same time.

Their ol' show slogan "Fortune favors the bold" comes in handy when you're exploring their mystical space, sure, but also for slyly asking a bartender for two Dark & Stormy's and a personal bottle of champagne, because sometimes you and your dear pal Taylor can indeed get exactly what you asked for.





Well....sorta.


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