Theater Review by Michael Dale . . . .
Being one of the early arrivals, the first thing that happened during my visit to Sam Myers and Dan Kuan Peeples’ appropriately discomforting immersive play, The Vicky Archives, is that I was sent to a small room with a handful of other audience members where a silent guide (Marjorie Conn) used paper notes to ask questions and show us a few artifacts significant in the life of the titular Vicky. One of these was a 1970s cassette recorder, from which we heard a sampling of what was labeled, “The 11-Day Tapes.”
Playing at The Attic at The Tank, normally used as rehearsal studios, the production—co-created with director Nick Auer, actors Allie Freed and Sam James, and creative producer Max Pendergast—offers an introduction to a therapeutic type of emotional cleansing that, theoretically, contributes to an archive of humanity. Or maybe it’s all a cultish sham.
The evening is hosted by a former Merce Cunningham dancer named Harold (Peeples), whose father, Harold Sr., as a young journalist in 1971, found himself sailing the Atlantic on a schooner with middle-aged Vicky. He explains how, after an encounter with a seagull who had the head of a cat, Vicky just began talking for 11 days, detailing her life. In a stream of consciousness, she monologued about her family, her loves, her ambitions, and her regrets, while Harold Sr. recorded it all on cassettes.
The two of them settled in a cottage in Nebraska, where Vicky achieved a kind of celebrity as a local oracle. After her death, Vicky’s legend inspired others to spend 11 days recording every memory and thought—so many that a library of human lives was created.
As Harold speaks, his story is accompanied by an interpretive dance performance that indeed looks inspired by Merce Cunningham, and is given by the four members of the 37th session of participants (Freed, James, Marisela Grajeda Gonzalez, and Nile Assata Harris). After they change out of their dance gear, we see examples of the exercises they’ve been using to help block emotional defenses that could suppress free-flowing expression in preparation for recording their own 11-Day Tapes.
As the 90-minute production progressed, I found myself recalling times when friends invited me to join them for meetings (one a religious organization, one a relationship discussion group, and another a career-boosting course) where those involved seemed a bit too friendly and got too personal too quickly.
So I mean it as a high compliment when I write that there were times when The Vicky Archives brought back feelings of wanting to get the hell out of where I was, for fear of being called upon to open up about myself to strangers or to defend my choice to not get involved. But stick around. Audience involvement is minimal and there’s some good theater to be observed.
Eventually, the audience was divided into four groups so that each of the newly trained recruits could give us tours of the facility. The leader of my group was Sandy (Gonzalez), who was visibly distracted by personal issues involving her son. In a room fashioned by set designer Cat Raynor to resemble a 1970s children’s playroom, Sandy is confronted by classmate Falcon (James) for not showing full commitment to the archives’ mission. As the discussion got ugly, and chaos from other rooms began to spill into the hallway, I was wondering what might happen if audience members chose to get involved in the scenario. (It never happened, at least not while I was around.)
Through the decades, I’ve seen plenty of immersive theater productions in New York. Most of them are focused on the fun of entering a new world or observing entertaining characters. But what makes The Vicky Archives work so well is that it’s more focused on issues of the human condition. A post-theater conversation could involve the expression of haunting memories as a means of freeing yourself from their power over you, the desire to leave something behind so that we can be remembered when we’re gone, or the ways the emotionally vulnerable can be targeted by extremist organizations with promises of greater well-being in exchange for total commitment.
The Vicky Archives. Through May 18 at The Attic at The Tank (312 West 36th Street, between Eighth and Ninth Avenues). Running time: 90 minutes, no intermission. www.thetanknyc.org
Photos: Mari Eimas-Dietrich
Cover Photo Caption: Marisela Grajeda Gonzalez, Nile Assata Harris, Allie Freed, and Sam James
