[← Part 4 - Index - “Intermission” →]
Hey, you. Yeah, you! It’s me, Louis, bringing you Part 5 in my on-going chronicle of the 13-ish years I spent working as a performer in punchdrunk’s long-running, Off-Broadway Extravaganza, “Sleep No More” (SNM). How’re you feeling? You good?
If this is your first time coming across one of these, it would probably serve you to start at Part I, but you could also just hang out for a sec to see if you give a shit or not. I promise I won’t be offended. It’s a tad Niche n’ Nerdy in here, and I recognize that’s not everyone’s bag.
When last we met, it was 2013, I had just been hired, and had just witnessed the Finale of the show, my very first time ever seeing SNM. I’ll pick it up in a sec from returning to the Manderley Bar, and then heading to the McKittrick Hotel’s Halloween Party.
Oh, also, for anyone that doesn’t know: The Manderley Bar is a red velvet jazz bar, where live music plays, absinthe is served, and it’s always 1939. It’s like an “air-lock” into and out of SNM. The McKittrick Hotel is sort of an umbrella term for the building in which the show and other activities are housed, as well as the narrative frame for SNM itself. Just sayin’.
Before I get back into it, though, a touch of Light Housekeeping.
In my last post, I mentioned that I’d gone on a hunt for the identity of the performer who was playing the Porter the night I saw the show for the first time - to no avail, regrettably. But I got something even better. Over the years, a friend of mine has been compiling, with assists from an élite cadré of SNM fans, a comprehensive Database of Castings (e.g. who was playing who in the show on any given night) stretching all the way back to opening in New York City in 2011.
It continues to exist, in 2026, in the form of a Sprawling Google Doc (SGD), and is Open Source. Meaning that, if you’re the sort of person who saw SNM many times over many years, and are the sort of person who kept track of your favorite performers and what characters they played and have a record of it, you, too, can contribute to the SGD by clicking here.
But it gets soooo much better.
Right after my friend directed me to the SGD, he also pointed me in the direction of another SNM aficionado/chronicler, who had taken the SGD and turned it into…what I can only describe as Golden Magic. It is the SGD come to life in the form of a sleek, navigable website, with indexes and cross indexes, and data analytics, and calendar clusters, and little Easter Eggs, and…I could go on and on. And I’m certainly not making it sound as Seismic as it is for the SNM Nerd-dom. It’s better if you just check it out for yourself.
I am honored, then, to share: manderley.ink/mckittrick
My instinct is to celebrate the Artist responsible for this Witchcraft but, in communicating with them, they indicated that they might like to have this as a “Banksy” moment - anonymously dropping something wild in the public square, and then scurrying off to Berlin, or something. Not sure if that’s still true, but I’ll honor it to be on the safe side, and just hope this can be a wee Signal Boost.
OK. Enough faffing around. Let’s get back into it.
I had been lost in a Forest Maze. I had encountered a Stuffed Goat, and a Nurse who lived in a Hut. I had climbed up and down countless steel staircases. I’d wandered through a Scary Padded Room in an Asylum, a Crumbling Graveyard, a Child’s Bedroom, a Hotel Lobby Gone to Seed, and a Banquet Hall where a Bloody Man was Hanged. I’d become acquainted with a Deeply Spooky Housekeeper, a Strange Little Bellhop, and a Haunted Youth, with whom I low-key (*cringey misuse of young-person slang for ya!*) fell in love with at first sight.
And now, I was being carried along by a crowd of fellow audience, all of us in our beaky white masks - mine still lopsided and crunched against my foggy glasses - back up yet another staircase.
To say I was disoriented, to say I was psychologically exhausted, to say I was full of FOMO for whatever I hadn’t seen, all of this would be gross understatement. I felt like a masked blob of Jello.
Our throng pushed forward, suddenly emerging into…
…A Celebration! We were back in the same red velvet club we started from, only now, the Vibe was punchy. Thrilling. A live jazz combo - piano, drums, upright bass, two horns, trumpet and sax, an electric guitar, and a slinky, gowned singer - was positively screaming. Packed with people, their beaky masks now off - around their necks, on the backs of their heads, or simply discarded onto the nearest table - were going to town on cocktails, dancing to the music.
Again, this was Halloween Night and, unbeknownst to me, the Party that was About To Be had a theme: “The Curse of the Mummy.” Which would explain why people were dressed variously as “harem girls, nomads, serpent charmers, sword swallowers, pharaohs, mummies, traders, treasure hunters, archaeologists, and the bizarre of the bazaar,” to quote from the party invitation’s suggested Dress Code.
If I’m honest, standing there in my street clothes with no costume on, still Punch Drunk (if you’ll forgive me) from the show, I was really needing a moment to collect myself - to process the experience I’d just been through or, at the very least, to pause for a fucking cigarette.
This was not to be as, from across the club, Felix Barrett, creator of SNM and the man who had hired me and invited me to his party, had spotted me and was approaching with some comrades.
I described him this way back in Part I:
He was in his mid 30s at the time, but there’s something ageless about him still - he could be 10 years younger or older. On the shorter side, maybe 5’6”, and slight. Long, ash-blonde hair in a bun piled messily on top of his head, full ash-blonde beard…bright, twinkly, pale-blue eyes. Willy Wonka, if Wonka were a Hipster Elf.
All of this is still applicable, only tonight his hair flowed freely down to his shoulders, and he was wearing a blood-red silk shirt, mostly unbuttoned, and black trousers and shiny black shoes.
“Louis!” he greeted me warmly. He looked me right in the eyes. “Right! I hope you enjoyed the show,” his voice reedy and nasal, his blue eyes effervescent, “and I’m sure you’ll have a few questions.” His comrades, sexy and elegant all, grinned at me, nodding in solidarity.
“Hi! Yes!” I began, “thank you! Wow, it was…” what word to even use here? “Um - phenomenal. Thank you!” I desperately wished again that I’d had a chance for a cigarette break before attempting this exchange.
“A pleasure,” he said, smiling magnanimously. “Right, so, the party will start shortly. Make your way upstairs if you can. And enjoy yourself. Lovely to see you, and we’ll see you soon for rehearsals,” he said, and swept off with his comrades.
I’m going to fight the urge to go off on a lengthy Felix tangent here - more will emerge as we go into rehearsals for the Heath and, later, for The Reverend - but I do just want to say a few quick things in a…
BRIEF DIGRESSION
I’ve had the good fortune to work with Felix on SNM stuff, for sure, but also on some non-SNM stuff, most recently in late 2024/early 2025 with a pretty bonkers installation piece called LUNA LUNA that played in New York City at The Shed. From their website:
The brainchild of artist André Heller, Luna Luna first opened in 1987 in Hamburg, Germany, as a spectacular fairground. And then, by a twist of fate, the park’s treasures were forgotten in storage in Texas for 36 years. With a blockbuster showing in Los Angeles in December 2023, Luna Luna: Forgotten Fantasy resurrected these artworks, to audiences’ delight.
Now, the showcase arrives at The Shed, creating a can’t-be-missed event in NYC. The Shed’s presentation…includes special activations* and concert events. Featured artists include Jean-Michel Basquiat, Arik Brauer, Salvador Dalí, Sonia Delaunay, Monika GilSing, Keith Haring, André Heller, David Hockney, Roy Lichtenstein, and Kenny Scharf.*It’s the “special activations” part that Felix came in to create. With characteristic calm, and incisive vision, he turned a bunch of inert Museum Pieces into A Day and Night in a Circus of the Mind. Under his direction, lights, music, and an intrepid crew of Clown/Puppeteers turned a collection of art objects into a semblance of Living Story.
I bring this up for two reasons. First, because I legitimately believe that, one day, as society crumbles around us, Felix will be remembered in the pantheon of artists - alongside, not only theatrical visionaries like Peter Brook and Richard Foreman, but Visual/Cultural artists like Basquiat, Haring, and Hockney - even though the version of me that spent many hours at LUNA LUNA flapping a giant butterfly mounted on a 15-foot length of PVC pipe, or puppeteering the ass-end of a huge Elephant and shitting out a giant carrot might roll his eyes.
Second; the Shed is a huge complex - multiple theaters and galleries, rehearsal studios, bars and restaurants, ad infinitum - and, while we were putting LUNA LUNA together, Kenneth Branagh was coming to the end of a run of a production of “King Lear,” in which he was starring on another floor of the building. I should add here that, as an old Shakespearean myself, Branagh remains an idol for me.
Because of its scale, and multitudinous activities, security at The Shed was both very tight…and very disorganized. In order to show up for rehearsals, we would need, variously, badges, bracelets, IDs verified on checklists, etc, etc, etc. Even once inside, you’d also need your badge to activate the elevator to go…wherever else you happened to be going.
So it came to pass that LUNA LUNA took a dinner break, and I was heading outside for a cigarette and a snack. I turned a corner into the corridor to the Stage Door and standing there, in front of the elevator, was Kenneth Branagh, pressing and pressing the call button. He looked at me dolefully as I approached.
“Pardon me,” he intoned, basso profundo. “I wonder if you could help me?”
!!!!
“Why, yes,” I said, “I certainly hope so!”
“Do you happen to have your ID badge?” he asked, looking right at the ID badge that was hanging around my neck in a lanyard. “We have a show tonight, you see, and I’ve misplaced mine.”
Sir Kenneth Branagh, Knight Bachelor of the British Empire, and beloved star of stage and screen was simply…unable to operate this elevator.
“In fact I do!” I chirped, tapping my badge to the elevator call button, starting a series of hydraulic groans as the elevator descended towards us.
Right. So…I’d need to wait, because the badge also needed a tap inside the elevator to select a floor.
Should we…chit-chat? Again, I had a million questions for him - from rhyme and scansion and technique in Shakespeare, to playing Hamlet at the RSC, to playing Gilderoy Lockhart in Harry Potter, to directing and starring in his very own Henry V film. I did none of these things.
“So,” I started tentatively, “how’re you feeling?”
He looked me in the eyes. “Tired,” he said. “We’re playing on a raked stage,” that’s a stage tilted at an angle towards the audience, “and it’s absolutely doing my back in.”
“That’s alot,” I commiserated. “I’m waving butterflies around all day, and playing the ass-end of an elephant.”
A beat. He laughed. “So what are you doing for it?” he asked. “I do Epsom Salts.”
And so, I spent my precious few moments with a Shakespearean idol talking about our achy, aging actor bodies - which is about as Shakespearean as it gets. The elevator door dinged open, I tapped my card inside for his floor, then stepped out.
“Cheers!” he said, the elevator door sliding closed, whisking him away.
I only bring this up because, believe it or not, Felix also has a distinction from the Crown…only his is an “MBE,” that is, a Member of the Most Excellent Order of the British Empire. While this means that we can’t officially call him Sir Felix, it does mean that somebody is watching, and honoring him, in my humble opinion, properly. Though “Sir Felix” would be fun to say.
Alone again now, I took another look around the room. I was gobsmacked - the energy in here was sooo good. I settled in to the vibe.
These people had all been through the same experience I’d just been through and they were, to put it mildly, ready to rage. Beside me, a young, handsome, and barely clothed “Pharaoh” was dancing handsily with a young, gorgeous, and barely clothed “Snake Charmer.” A “Mummy” was perched on a settee beside a velvet-wrapped DJ booth, immobile. Was it a mannequin? Nope! It got up and shuffled off towards the bar. The Raphael-ite Antler Boy I’d seen much earlier in the night was sniffing at and then throwing back a delicate shot of green liquid.
The band was seriously incredible. Sweaty, committed, playing so hard that their neck veins bulged. They shifted from densely arranged jazz standards into heavier covers of…was that Nirvana? Was that Led Zeppelin? Something in the vibe was blurring. Shifting.
You must remember that I was Old, even 13 years ago, and the scene in here was sort of already a wild enough party for me…but Felix said I should go upstairs, and Felix is an honorable man. Was there something else to see? Was there even more to this party? Oh, there was.
The energy in the club had shifted; something was afoot. People were starting to move out of this room, towards an open door in a red velvet anteroom across the way, a Stone Statue Bouncer with Secret Service Earpiece installed inexorably beside it. I followed the Pharaohs and Snake Charmers and Fellow Explorers through that door.
A VERY BRIEF INTERJECTION
It’s entirely possible that, at some point during this time-slot, that is, my post-show, pre-party return to The Manderley Bar, that I took a moment to Ingest something that would have, shall we say, altered my perception of…Everything from this point forward. The less said about that the better.
Point being: from here, things will get less linear.
I found myself back in what I remember vaguely as the Hotel Lobby from SNM. Only somehow, in the half an hour or so that we were in Manderley, the entire space had been transformed.
Along the reception desk, previously empty save for some lamps and a Guest Log Book, was now an elaborate mesh “cage,” inside of which were…writhing Snake Creatures, pneumatically Go-Go Dancing at a fever pitch.
What had previously been a little stage with a Baby Grand Piano, a vintage mic stand, and a Haunted Youth singing was now an elaborate 6 member band, spilling onto the floor, blasting out a kind of Electro Funk number. Presiding over this circus was about the most striking person I’d ever seen; incredibly tall, muscular, high, regal hair, skin afire, gleaming under lights, cutting loose with soaring, unearthly vocals over the top - not so much words as pure Sound and Energy. I was mesmerized and couldn’t help staring and moving as the bass notes slammed around in my chest.
It was wall to wall people in here; bare, sweaty skin colliding with bare, sweaty skin, the Vocalist bewitching us into swirling motion.
I let the crowd carry me through the room, passing a DJ Booth - sort of redundant, I thought, unhelpfully - and arriving at a staircase, even louder, more bass-heavy sounds floating up from below. I worked my way down that staircase, the pounding growing louder and louder until I reached…
What had been the Ball Room/Banquet Hall, not an hour earlier, was now…covered in Sand??? Pillars dressed as limestone columns from a Pharaoh’s Tomb. A makeshift stage jutting into the center of the room, filled with, well, there’s no other way to say it, Dancing Mummies!
The entire room was mobbed. Throbbingly loud. Writhing, undulating crowd. Utter bacchanalia.
I pushed myself into the crowd and danced until I ached. I got a quite strong Gin and Tonic from the open bar - it didn’t even touch the Buzz. I wandered from room to room, amazed at how they had hit me sooo hard with the show itself, and then somehow outdid themselves in transforming the already transformative. I was awed. This was the full force of PunchDrunk.
It was probably approaching 4am by the time I stumbled back out on to West 27th Street, dazed. The party was still raging inside. I couldn’t see straight anymore. I wandered home, images from this night still flashing through my head.
This was a Thursday. We were to start rehearsals on Monday. Here we go!
[← Part 4 - Index - “Intermission” →]
One last thing, speaking of Signal Boosts.
As of this writing, 153 beautiful souls have Subscribed to this ‘Stack (should I call it that? Like an old-person cringily misusing young-person slang? Oh, wait…that’s exactly what I am); Part I has been read about 850 times (and only 250 of them were me and my Mom), and the other Parts are climbing in numbers.
This makes me simultaneously very happy, and deeply nauseous - it means, I suppose, that I’ve gotta keep going.
My point here is that your reading and Subscribing and Sharing and interacting with me is a Great Motivator to someone who is otherwise Profoundly Lazy by nature. So thank you, and please keep doing that!
Also, this ‘Stack is FREE. Period.
Still, a few Fine Friends have taken it upon themselves to toss some coins into the proverbial tip jar. If you wanted to do the same, I promise that nobody would try to stop you. You can do that (in any amount of your choosing) by Subscribing. No pressure, no obligation ever, of course.
Alright! What I thought would take one post to describe has stretched to four - but that’s the nature of SNM: rabbit holes inside of rabbit holes. And what a treat it is to dive in.
Thanks for Reading. More to come soon….
[← Part 4 - Index - “Intermission” →}
I'm adoring these posts. You writing is so vivid. It really conjures up the Hotel.