Rounding the corner of 27th street last night, a spectral scene materialized. Droves of revelers, all clad in white, were awaiting entrance to the McKittrick Hotel, the unlikely site of Sleep No More, the orgy-enactment of Macbeth, where we also spent New Year’s Eve. The phalynx of colorless merrymakers, a boisterous, poltergeist crew, was gathering for the theater’s one-night-only post-performance May Fair bash.
Inside, the masses congregated around a bar in what was once the hotel’s lobby. Bartenders, also wearing white, attempted to make do with a single, very slow credit card processor, as thirsty guests crowded the space.
With drink finally in hand, we noticed an empty chair beside the McKittrick’s abandoned mailboxes. Making ourself comfortable, we listened to the live English folk music and watched scores ghostly guests enter the space.
Soon, The Observer headed downstairs to the ballroom, which had been covered in real sod for the evening’s May Fair celebration. Stashing our boots in a corner, we walked around the freshly rolled grass barefoot, noting the freshly trimmed May pole.
In every corner, some whimsical debauchery was transpiring. A ménage-a-trois make-out session; sets of limbs sticking out conspicuously from behind a pine tree; macabre masked faces hovering throughout; and everywhere, punch-drunk carousers stumbling around the manufactured forest.
Suddenly, turning toward the stage, our blurry vision refocused upon several bodies dancing on the stage, entirely naked. Fake (we really, desperately hope) blood appeared from somewhere and was, naturally, poured over the nude, gyrating appendages, and flung onto the audience. A girl to our left was ambushed by two blood-slinging bacchants and emerged from the fray moments later with a large redbrown handprint on her white dress. A house manager gave her a white lab coat as compensation.
Late, too late, we stumbled out of the surreal hotel, our white shirt splattered with bodily fluid.
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