To Boldly Go Where No One Has Gone Before

Soon the family split up into sub-groups, and moved off to different rooms in the house. We, the audience members, were free to follow whomsoever interested us. Depending on whom you shadowed, you could find yourself privy to a tender, hidden love-scene in one bedroom, a strident argument in the study, or the evil machinations of a scheming aunt and uncle in the attic.

The script, so carefully woven, allowed you to follow a clear storyline, no matter what choice you made.

This novel concept was so exciting that people saw it repeatedly, and each time, by re-routing their paths, virtually saw a different play.

On another occasion, intrigued by an advertisement, I attended a “Murder Mystery Weekend”, set in a large country house outside New York city. A package-deal was offered, which included weekend getaway in halcyon surroundings, luxurious accommodation, gourment meals, and the promise of juicy murder…

We checked in on Friday night, and indulged ourselves in a sumptuous meal, followed by coffee and liquors in front of a blazing fire in the library. What we didn’t know was that half the invitees were actually actors masquereding as guests.

On Saturday morning, we were all summoned to the scene of a violent crime… a body had been discovered in the library (Shudder! Where we had so unsuspectingly socialised the previous evening), covered with blood and clues…

A Great Detective arrived on the scene, examined it minutely, made a few vital discoveries, and asked the guests for help. We proceeded, over the next two days, to question one antoher, demand alibis, and generally make misleading statements about our backgrounds and whereabouts.

On Sunday evening, once more at the scene of the crime, the Great Detective demanded that everyone be present, and proceeded to unravel the plot… a dastardly murderer was unmasked. The killed tried to make a break for it, but was thrown to the ground by a couple of alert guests, and was lead off in handcuffs, much to our relief.

I had expected the weekend to be gimmicky and contrived, but found myself participating with all the enthusiasm of a 6-year old let loose in a candy store — I ran around after clues, shadowed suspicious characters, searched an innocent person’s room, and suspected, in turn, virtually everyone except for the murderer. (And no, it wasn’t the Butler who did it.. the villian of the piece was an old lady who had pretended to be wheelchair-bound.)

Perhaps one of my most interesting theatrical experiences occured where I least expected to find it. On a visit to Newport, RI, I toured most of the old country mansions (now open to the public), which had been summer vacation homes in the early 1900’s for prominent families like the Vanderbilts and the Belmonts. In most cases, a dull tour guide would walk a group of us through a mansion, pointing out, in a monotonous, well-worn speech, its historical features.

The Astor mansion, therefore, came as a complete surprise: here actors, in full period costume (and thoroughly well-versed on the family history) were positioned in each room. Each took on the personna of an actual family member, and visitors were encouraged to question them about the house itself, or details of their lives.

When I visited the daughter’s bedroom, for example, she informed me that she was about to be married to her cousin, and introduced him to me. I questioned them closely about their courtship, future plans, relationship with their parents and their social lives at the turn of the century. Their answers were insightful, accurate and fascinating, and I truly had the feeling of being a part of a bygone era.

In the Music room (and after a bit of probing), Mrs Astor vary graciously shared with me her private feelings about being married to a millionaire. She discreetly lowered her voice when confessing that several other society ladies were jealous of her old money’, and told me exactly which ones (yes, she named names) continually flung their wealth about ostentatiously to try and out-do her in society’s eyes. She finally begged my pardon for having spoken so, and implored me to let it go no further.

At the end of the tour, the family’ and visitors congregated in the ballroom, and the Astor clan gave us a private concert for about ten minutes; the mother on the pianoforte, a spinster aunt on the harp, and the rest of the family singing and waltzing. We were then bidden farewell, and most graciously invited back for another visit…

I was enthralled at the way a simple theatrical device could be used to make the past come alive. I kept thinking that this would be the ideal way to expose school children to the joys of history, instead of cramming it down their throats in dry, indigestable chunks.

My demanding friend does have a point — there is so much unexplored territory out there. All of us actors and directors in this city, who are always straining at our creative leashes, should perhaps allow our imaginations to run riot, and take a few more risks. The audience is ready for something new, and so are we… what are we waiting for?