Written by: Spencer Heemang Kim, Staff Writer
Wednesday, April 6. approx. 6:30 PM, TTS lobby.
It’s a routine night. Okay, maybe you’re a tad late, but who's really keeping track? Starbucks in your left hand, phone in your right, you are skimming through an email from your stage manager. You hear the familiar tone as the elevator descends. The doors part. You take a step forward, and then you look up - and you see it.
Photo credit to Emma B.
Black morphsuit. Bulbous bright-blue LED eyes. A QR Code print out. Alone. You instinctively step back, an audible gasp escaping you. You look at your friend for confirmation. They stare, shoulders raised, arms clenched. Silence. You step into the elevator.
Silence. You stare at the figure, to your friend, and then, in an instant, laughter fills the room like helium as we rise up.
Yes, we. You and me.
Photo credit to Connor Y.
This immersive theatre experience promoted an alternate reality game (ARG) I co-created with another TTS student. Alternate reality games are a blooming immersive and interactive genre that utilizes both online and real-world spaces to play in. These games actively do not address their fictional nature for immersion, which is best represented by the phrase “This is not a game,” codified from the first ARG, “The Beast,” which marketed the Spielberg sci-fi film A.I. (2001).
At its core, our ARG sought to reinvigorate a sense of curiosity and intrigue in our everyday world by fully immersing players. We wanted to understand how an ARG within a large but close-knit community like TTS affects socialization and player engagement. How does scale change game design? How does an audience of theatremakers uniquely approach collaborative problem solving?
During the first few days after launch, we had a less than stellar number of audience sign-ups. We then had to confront the question of anonymity’s effect on community participation. The desire for both anonymity and greater engagement resulted in me donning the costume and holding a QR code that led to our game homepage. To preserve immersion we opted to run the game anonymously, hence the morphsuit. This more direct approach was a departure from our prior poster advertising (e.g. Personal Teleportation Device, Ghost Glasses, and 56).
Poster designed by Connor Y.
We were uncertain, as there was no precedent for this type of immersive marketing in TTS. We were trying to engage a largely uninformed public.
There was only one elevator encounter that had a poor reception. This individual was so alarmed that they chose to instead walk down the stairwell from the fifth floor, exclaiming “I did not appreciate that.” I wanted to holler an apology as they rushed away, but I could already hear their footsteps echo in the empty stairwell. The doors closed. Now alone, I rested my head against the rail, blood rushing to my head. I was dizzy with simultaneous adrenaline and guilt.
I didn’t expect them to respond so negatively, but, in retrospect, our ethical code did not account for the complexities of site-specific theatre:
RULES:
Do not touch anyone without consent.
Never make the audience feel unsafe.
The first rule was not broken in this interaction, I had barely moved a muscle, but, clearly, some audiences were left unsettled, although I cannot confirm if they felt unsafe. Three factors that contributed to this discomfort, which reflect larger considerations in immersive theatre ethics:
Consent
Space
Accountability
CONSENT
What troubled me most about this experience was that my placement forced an encounter. While it is true that if they had the choice to not enter the elevator, they did not choose to be placed in this encounter and have no context for how I will behave, AKA the “horizon of expectations”. The initial encounter, seeing me in the elevator, was inherently unsolicited. The action of entering the elevator is not consent to further interaction, as they lack critical information, such as context and horizon of expectations. Consent is the crux of all ethical immersive theatre practices, as it informs how audiences navigate and interact within a space. All issues elaborated below amplify this problematic lack of consent.
SPACE
Site-specific theatre removes the feelings of safety and agency associated with conventional theatre spaces. For instance, imagine watching a staged performance of a confrontation with a domestic abuser. While intense, the architecture of the space provides a sense of safety by separating the audience and the performer. The audience member is out of the range of any physical contact and is easily able to exit the situation. Now, what if this instead took place in an apartment? The audience member is within arm’s reach of the actor, and must simultaneously navigate both physical and social spaces. While the former is engaging yet safe, the latter is intensified and, to some, highly unsettling.
This effect is best surmised in Ethics and Site-Based Theatre: A Curated Discussion, an exploration of the ethical implications of site-based theatre. They note:
"By erasing the perceived safety of the theatrical auditorium, site-based works force a range of proxemic relationships that confront issues of… physical agency, hierarchy, and entitlement… The human body displayed on the distant and distinct stage has a very different power than a human body sharing the space of the viewer/participant."
Within the context of the elevator, it is clear how my presence, despite being completely stationary, had this “different power” due to the elevator’s small, enclosed, and, momentarily, inescapable design. The elevator was an extremely poor choice for this encounter given how my appearance alone was off-putting. This realization motivated me to instead address larger groups in the open TTS lobby to facilitate a feeling of safety through greater distance and agency to leave the situation at any time.
ACCOUNTABILITY
Within the elevator, I was completely anonymous and unaccountable. An audience member did not know our ethical code, nor could they know who to contact if concerns arise. This distrust resulted in me breaking character several times to assure others that I am a TTS student. People visibly relaxed after hearing that, one saying something along the lines of “Oh good, so you’re one of us…” I recognized then that I hadn’t even previously registered the possibility of not being seen as a student. Based on a single characteristic, such as being a TTS student, they relaxed because they knew I am held accountable to the rules of the university. Therefore, they can create a set of expectations for my behaviors based on accountability.
Rand Harmon describes this set of audience expectations for behavior and material as “horizons of expectations” and is critical for any invitation for consent in site-specific theatre. Accountability is composed of both an accesibile ethical code and a trusted, neutral authority that can receive and act on reports of harm.
Accountability and anonymity are not mutually exclusive. One could retain both if their code and figure of accountability were accessible to audiences. The degree to which I should have forgone anonymity for accountability is reflective of larger questions on how much producers should sacrifice immersion for player safety and comfort.
In consideration of the complications from these factors, I have drafted a new ethical code for future projects. These guidelines are not universal to all site-specific theatre; they are simply a guide to forge more inclusive experiences. They only address one aspect of ARGs, as they do not consider the unique complications of interactions over the Internet.
ADDITIONAL RULES:
SPACE: Before the event, audiences must be informed of the immersive space, exit strategies (not only how to physically leave, but disengage), and be offered a communication line for possible accessibility accommodations.
ACCOUNTABILITY: Address the “horizon of expectations” to all audiences, and provide a trusted third-party to contact to report harm or ask about safety concerns.
CONSENT: Audiences must be provided with content warnings and forms of contact before agreeing to an event.
For concerns of spoiling immersion or plot, content warnings are made accessible but only shown for those who want to see it. Warnings for health and safety risks, such as photosensitive epilepsy, cannot be hidden.
There is a line between intrigue and genuine fear for one’s safety, and it is the duty of immersive theatre practitioners to ensure audiences feel safe, especially within their everyday work spaces. With informed consent, immersive theatre truly has the capacity to have audiences to uniquely engage in intriguing and thought provoking social interactions while maintaining a feeling of safety and agency.
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