Let’s Dive Into The Under Presents: Tempest | Pt. 4
Or: Looking Back After Seeing it a Whole Buncha Times
This is Part 4 of 3(?) in my Tempest write-up. In Part 1 I went over why this show is so important. Part 2 tackles my biased hang-ups. Part 3 was my breakdown of what I saw as well as what I heard others saw. That was all written as a first reaction to the show, but now it’s been nearly a year!
I saw the very first and the very last production of Tempest (plus, including the ones I supervised my kids in, a dozen in between). That’s a lot of Tempest! Why so many times? Here’s some brief thoughts as I look back on the show a week after closing.
Repeat Viewings
My initial reaction to Tempest was lukewarm. I was expecting more of the quiet menace I associated with the MC in The Under. I wanted a tightly controlled emotional arc with Sleep No More-esque puzzles and clues and Easter Eggs that would give me meaty, plotty reasons to come back again and again.
Instead I got something that felt more like a playful, relaxed, audience-participation-heavy, self-effacing romp among friends. After my first show I didn’t think I’d have any reason to come back for more. Except for an unsolved puzzle in the lobby, I wasn’t left wondering much. Except for one thing: how much power might the host (Prospero/Prospera) have in changing the vibe of Tempest?
Turns out: significant.
Some hosts took the Shakespearean text across the show very seriously. Some cut it down and found excuses to sing whenever they could. Some took great pains to draw a causal throughline between each set piece, while others tossed it off with an air of “whoa why are we here this is crazy right?!” Some spoke with big stagey energy that hyped the audience into active, bouncy participation. Others were softer and drew the audience in close for what felt like a more intimate, solemn experience. In every show where I got a new host it was a thrill to discover how well their theatrical sensibilities clicked with my own. When I got a repeat host, there was comfort in anticipating the tone of the ritual we were about to go through and to see how the other audience members around me might augment it.
Child’s Play
One time in early August I let my kids watch my Tempest experience via Chromecast and they were so enthralled that they demanded to have a turn. They are age 3 and age 5 and have both been experiencing curated VR content since age 2. Tempest, thus, has served as a wonderful introduction to Shakespeare (they also both watched The RSC’s Dream (thoughts) and enjoyed it but find Tempest endlessly engaging). Outside of Half+Half and junior accounts of Rec Room, this has been their intro to social VR as well. Also an intro to… romance?
My kids love the interactivity and spell casting, their silent role that forces them to communicate in more creative ways, the Ariel and Harpy set pieces, the sound of the language of Shakespeare (helpfully rolled out in SparkNotes-like fashion by many of the hosts) and various roleplaying as directed by the Prosperi.
Deirdre Lyons, Dasha Kittredge, and Haylee Nichele were all hosts quick to pick up on when these small audience members in their care were young children (I tried to alert Tender Claws ahead of time when possible). These hosts were endlessly accommodating in determining when my kids were ready to focus in to follow a task, and when they just needed to be set free to go explore the island.
The very first show my 5-year-old saw was with Deirdre Lyons as Prospera. He was so happy to have engaged with real people in such a meaningful, present way (as only VR can offer) that he immediately asked if he could do Tempest again. He had just started kindergarten and the curriculum was entirely remote. I sent Deirdre a video of him talking about how much he loved Tempest and she speculated, correctly I believe, that he was feeling a very teacher-like attachment to her. After a second show where he coincidentally got Deirdre again (and was thrilled to be given the same nickname by her and feel remembered), this may as well have been considered VR therapy; it meant so much to him.
I have to mention that Deirdre then went above and beyond the call of, well, any immersive performer ever. After Tempest closed the first time a few months ago, she wanted to make sure my 5-year old didn’t feel like she was gone, and crafted a complete narrative arc for him. She arrived as Prospera at the main stage, and tasked him with saving The Under from its imminent demise. She brought him to secret locations, she sang, she led a dance-off, she gave him fetch quests, and she brought a Shel Silverstein poem to life, complete with hilariously spawning hundreds of props into the world in a giant pile. It was… remarkable. And totally singular to the capabilities of this world and this medium. Thank you Deirdre!
Conclusion
I have to wonder why The Tempest became a show we kept coming back to. Was it fun? Sure. Was it one of the closest experiences to real-life theatre accessible to us over the past year? Absolutely. But I think more than anything (especially beyond my preconceived expectations), it was the actors and the audience who made this show so special. Getting a ticket and arriving at a specified time was something to look forward to, knowing we’d be entering a warm, safe, kind world with a consistent community spirit. Even from a social VR perspective, this was a space with clear rituals and defined roles where everyone wanted everyone to succeed, whether you were an audience member teaching another audience member a spell, or a host with the impeccable ability to read their silent audience and personalize the experience to keep each of them engaged. When a Tempest show started, there was a bond formed over the idea that we were in this together for the next hour, so let’s make the most of it. That was an amazing feeling, and for my kids and I at least, exactly the kind of respite we needed from 2020.
Other random thoughts:
- On an intellectual level, it was wonderful a few months ago to see Samantha Gorman release a detailed, color-coded script for Tempest, which actually dictated key pillars of the show and where there were opportunities for the actors to riff and make the show their own. The Virtual Theatremakers Discord even devoted a book club to analyzing it. It was also a frequent talking point for the 5th Wall Forum participants.
- So many of us in the virtual theatre space want to imagine Tempest as something that could serve not just as a creative precedent for future work, but also financial. We’ve been wondering: what are the actors being paid? Is there a union contract? Is it a set fee or based on audience count? How much revenue did Tempest bring in? Is there a model here that can work for other virtual theatre companies who want to play in this space, or is Tempest something of a one-off that can only work with generous support from a Facebook subsidy? Maybe someday we’ll know!
