I've lost count of how many Secret Cinema performances I've attended. But sadly, I think I've begun to lose faith in its magic.
The latest show from the real-life cinematic production company is called The Grand Budapest Hotel. You can guess what the film is if you're familiar with Wes Anderson's new release, and it underscores a problem: where's the secret gone from the cinema?
Like previous productions, the film on show is the centrepiece in an arena that recreates many of its themes. Decoration is as rich as ever and hired actors roam the floors, performing their roles as living backdrops to the theatrical stage you're free to explore on your own.
Historically, attending a Secret Cinema event was akin to a game. Hushed whispers between fellow attendees ahead of a show would debate what the film might be -- it could be anything, from a black-and-white classic to something as recent as Prometheus. Tumultuous applause would erupt from the theatre when the title card of the film appeared, confirming to all role-players, cosplayers and fans alike that they guessed correctly -- even though really we all knew we knew.
The Grand Budapest Hotel largely lacked that sense of adventure and mystery. The crowds of people squeezed into the venue this time all know what the film is going to be; they're still dressed the part of course -- beautiful 1930s dresses adorn each attending lady, in tandem with gentlemen in suits, hats and braces -- but the feeling that you're attending an overcrowded costume party stands out more than the sensation that you're inside an event that, at its heart, is obsessed with the theatrics of cinema.
Overcrowding aside, sheer value for money is now in question as well. Secret Cinema costs more than £50 a head. I bought a hotdog: "That'll be five pounds please." I wouldn't mind but I'd just left one queue for a drink because the sheer volume of people queuing for a cocktail was going to cost me as much in time as it was in money. We found a woman selling champagne upstairs at the venue. "Two please," I asked. "Here you go," the server replied. "That's £16 please."
When you're a captive audience entering on an expensive ticket (note: press attended on a guestlist to review the production), those prices will sting and it's a shame. It gave the impression that the event existed more to squeeze as many people in, and as much money from them out, than to give them a classic Secret Cinema experience.
It's disappointing because I loyally support the ambition of the productions, and for sure the quality of what's on display has not deteriorated. But the lack of mystery combined with the overcrowding and sheer expense make it a difficult one to recommend unless money is no object to you.
My hope is that future events are given more breathing room, get reinjected with mystery and don't feel like a exercise in testing the boundaries of value. There's magic in Secret Cinema yet, but at
The Grand Budapest Hotel I think the rabbit was too busy cashing cheques to venture out of the hat.
This article was originally published by WIRED UK
