Cawdor Shall Sleep No More

The kiss is from Hecate, the first time I encountered her.

I first saw Punchdrunk’s Sleep No More almost a year ago and still have not been able to get it out of my head.  A year ago.  I read about it a couple months before it opened last March.  A New York Times blurb or something that referenced the Boston production.  I instantly knew I would love it, knew I had to go.  I went April 1st, and was back in only a week on the 8th.  The first time was with friends, the second time I took my brother, who was out to visit me for the weekend.  Both times I left them alone and explored myself: rewarded with a one on one encounter with Hecate one of the nights.  I watched Banquo murdered before my eyes.  I stood front row at the witches’ apparition.  I explored every nook and cranny of the hospital on the fifth floor and the taxidermy shop on the fourth.

This is not a review.  There must be hundreds of them out there on the internet and probably much more intelligent than mine could be.  I found Danny Lewis’s review comic Touch Everything, Follow Everyone last week and it is one of the best Sleep No More reflections I’ve found.  No other review quite captured the essence of The McKittrick quite as well as Lewis has.

I want to go back.  When I say I can’t get it out of my mind, I sincerely mean I’ll find myself lying awake, actively dwelling on Hecate, on Lady Macduff and her nurse, on the mysterious girl with the suitcase I  was never able to place.  I still can’t get over the beautiful detail of every square inch of that building.  I tried to see it last October and plans fell apart at the last minute.  Maybe I’ll get there before the semester is out.  Until I return to the McKittrick, wicked dreams abuse the curtain’d sleep—but I would not trade those dreams for the world.

Sleep No More NYC

Finally, a dummy I made for my brother to mount his own mask.



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