A Dreamscape Experience: Sleep No More

I was alone, thumbing through a card catalog, the smell of old paper wafting out of each drawer, more consumed by my curiosity regarding its contents than the taxidermied animals above.

Then he emerged, as if from nowhere, frantically passed me, and disappeared behind a bookshelf. I followed to see him, holding a small bird. Was he preparing it for preservation? Or was it already processed? He turned suddenly to face me—no, not me; his eyes locked on someone over my shoulder.

I turned. Her simple brown frock and blonde victory roll traced to a different time. Everything about her was simple, unadorned.

They danced.

I can’t recall how we ended up alone again, but we were. He held an egg; crushed it, emitting a blossom of ash; cried. He reached for me, and I returned the hug. The grown man bawled like a child, before whispering to me:

“It will have blood, they say. Blood will have blood.”

And then he vanished, leaving me to continue exploring. I encountered many rooms; a barren forest, a room of herbs, a room of hospital cots, a room of bathtubs. I encountered many characters, my mind always reeling to discover who and when they were.

A beautiful woman ate what seemed to be raw steak before pulling me into a secret chamber where she served me tea alone and whispered tales of of a sailing ship, calling me Agnes and kissing my forehead.

I alone observed a man asleep—Duncan, I’m sure—pondering my own voyeurism as I passively waited, then continued watching, as Macbeth suffocated him with pillows.

I continued exploring the immense space on my own, observing Lady Macbeth as she danced with her husband in a physical dialogue of mutual coercion, desire, jubilance, and rage; bearing witness as the witches revealed to him the demanded-for prophetic visions; enjoying the quiet and calm of the nurse’s presence.

Every encounter spurred something: curiosity, the spark of a story, recollection of the text, a sense of discovery. The immediacy with which I encountered each actor and every event titillated my senses and mind simultaneously, although I never once forgot that I was existing within an artistic creation of fiction. I appreciated the detail of the maze of cardboard boxes within which the card game occurred, recognized the scents used in each room and internally acknowledged the effects they had upon me as an individual. I simultaneously lost myself in time without losing a sense of myself and of wonder. Before I realized it, I was ushered into the banquet at the end of the final loop; I had somehow not seen this scene before, so it struck me with all the intended weight of Shakespeare’s text and the depth of emotion inspired by my embodied interactions with these characters.

I was guided out of the space by Lady Macbeth herself, who lifted my mask and embraced me, signifying the end.

Can anyone summarize the experience of Sleep No More? Biggins surely attempts to, although her efforts require multiple monographs.

The scenes are brief, characterized by an intensity and rapidity that establish the disjointed narrative tone of a dream. The show’s beautiful choreography feels both fueled by ferocious emotions and spontaneity, yet impeccably controlled. The intricate details created environments of alternating elegance and weltered debris. The audience, passing like phantasms through each interaction felt both material and ephemeral. The plot was not so much more than bursts of emotional interpretation, filtered through presumptions and the connections we chose to create.

But that’s what made it beautiful.

It’s what allowed each audience member to feel as though part of this world had been specially reserved—that it had been isolated and set aside for me. That is why when we attend this performance, we each feel that our experience was unique.

That, perhaps, is the definition, the allure, the magic, of Sleep No More.