all driven by the fierily impassioned vocals of Inyang Bassey
By Darryn King Jul 19, 2018,12:33pm EDT
Sleep No More—the immersive theater show that’s best described as Shakespeare’s Macbeth as an IRL video game—is a New York institution at this point. I’ve waxed lyrical to dozens of Sleep No More virgins about the astonishing theatrical imagination behind it, the thrill of exploring its many nooks and crannies, the dangerous sexiness with which the whole thing is permeated.
But, as great as Sleep No More is, it’s worth pointing out that its magnificent Chelsea venue, the McKittrick Hotel, has so much more to offer in the way of entertainment and good vibes.
On a recent Saturday night, I headed over to West 27th Street to partake in everything but that celebrated show—no mask necessary.
First stop: Gallow Green. The McKittrick’s rooftop restaurant and bar is named for the site of a 17th-century witch execution, but that’s the only thing remotely resembling a downer here. Truly, Gallow Green is one of the city’s most bewitching spots for wining and dining—certainly its most botanically lush. There are flag garlands overhead, pebbles and slate underfoot, and, all around, flowers and foliage and intricate iron trellising.
The place is stunning any time of day; during Saturday/Sunday brunch, and Sundays at sunset, your meal comes with appropriately sun-drenched tunes. Personally, I’m in love with the space at night, illumined by string lights and lanterns, when the space puts one in mind not of the shadowy Macbeth but the magic-sprinkled beauty of A Midsummer Night’s Dream.
That being the case, a potent love potion is probably in order. The Sleep No More cocktail (pea flower-infused vodka, elderflower and rosé cider) should do the trick.
(Sidenote: One of the truly impressive achievements of The McKittrick is that it has created a reason to look forward to winter in New York. In the colder months, The Lodge, a cabin-themed bar, decked out with rugs, heavy blankets and bookshelves lining the walls, materializes on the rooftop. It’s the perfect place for mulled wine and hot toddies.)
My next stop was The McKittrick’s dinner-theater show—recently extended into September—The Lost Supper.
With 20-or-so others—dress code: “surreal”—my theater date for the evening and I wound our way from Gallow Green through a series of dark rooms, following the signs that pointed to “The Attic.” The verdant rooftop now far behind us, we found ourselves sipping cocktails in a dimly lit antechamber where dozens of gold-painted hands protruded from the wall, our name tags dangling from their fingers. Before long, two of the previously inanimate hands twitched unexpectedly to life, gesticulating theatrically and beckoning us into the dining-performance space.
I don’t want to spoil any surprises, but imagine if Lewis Carroll collaborated with David Lynch on the interior decor of a 1920s speakeasy and you have The Attic. We found our places at our rose-adorned tables and took our seats among our fellow diners. Before too long, a server came over and hoisted up the cloche, revealing a chatty disembodied head on a platter in the center of the table—which set the tone for the experience.
Again, I don’t want to give anything away. Suffice it to say The Lost Supper involves plenty of moody singing, electrifying dancing, and one rivetingly choreographed sequence in which time seems to slow down. Plus: several mysterious figures with unnervingly realistic animal heads. (My date was particularly taken with the kitten-headed figure in a frilly cyan dress, its beady-eyed gaze impossible to look away from.) Oh, and a three-course meal with as much wine, or beer, as you care to imbibe.
By the end of the show, there’s nothing left to do but hit the checkered dance floor, hold your date close, and tango.
Well, just one more thing left to do, since, around midnight, the party is actually just getting started in the McKittrick. On Friday nights, the cheekily raucous burlesque-circus-cabaret show Bartschland Follies is unleashed in The Heath. Meanwhile, the McKittrick’s house band, Bassey & The Heathens, takes the stage in the marvelous and moody Manderley Bar. Not to overdo the David Lynch references but, this time, imagine Lynch designing a jazz club… in hell. Everything is saturated in blood-red lighting, and more than a few immaculately dressed guests have just emerged from Sleep No More, creepy masks still on hand.
The Heathens specialize in dynamite versions of classic tunes—everything from “I Put a Spell On You” to “Come Together”—all driven by the fierily impassioned vocals of Inyang Bassey.
It was a splendid night of wining, dining, music, dancing and theatre—all in a single remarkable building. And, as with Sleep No More, one has the nagging feeling that there’d be so much more to discover on a return visit.