Latest news with #AshleyBrettChipman
Time Out
12-05-2025
- Entertainment
- Time Out
I took a ferry to New York's newest immersive show—it's a fun night out among comrades
Dressed head to toe in black—from jet black lipstick and a long, witchy wig to a edgy leather harness—I joined dozens of others like me en masse to board a ferry to Governors Island on Saturday night. It looked like we were part of some Millennial goth-cult, which is the required dress code of The Death of Rasputin, the new immersive production by Artemis is Burning—a female-led creative team—at LMCC's Arts Center. I've found that in the wake of Sleep No More 's closure, we're all looking for something to fill the void it left, a show that we feel a real part of, one that we can physically touch and turn over in our hands and express joy, excitement, concern and fear to the actors in front of us. Enter The Death of Rasputin. Was it a success? It certainly tries and for that, it's worth a fun night out. Once scanned in and bag checked, I made my way into a bohemian bar, Katya's, with jewel-toned hanging lanterns and anti-establishment posters plastered on its brick walls, where all my fellow darklings ordered drink specials like a delightful clarified white Russian and snacked on just-OK pierogis. The setting here is 1916 Petrograd (Russia) before the revolution and just as the mysterious mystic Rasputin is gaining (too much) influence with the Romanovs, especially the tsarina—a concept by Ashley Brett Chipman (Servant). The pre-show excitement was electric. My cult-mates and I enjoyed people-watching and checking out the dimly-lit room's little details by set designer Lili Teplan (Love, Brooklyn) and light designer Devin Cameron (The Strange Undoing of Prudencia Hart). Just before the show began, we were given some rules: no phones, no camera and no talking. We were about to experience. As described in a press release, it's not a mere play—' it is a descent into decadence, a fever-dream of power, prophecy, and betrayal.' 'This debaucherous satire unfolds as a lavish, unholy revel, conjuring the espionage and mysticism that danced at the edges of the Romanov dynasty in its twilight hour. Here, every character claws for dominion, every ambition is laced with poison, and every grasp for power pulls them closer to the abyss. With history and legend entwined, and the specter of Rasputin looming large, this production dares to reclaim the grand spectacle of immersive performance, shattering the mold long held by the few. The revolution is here. The prophecy is written. Will you heed the call?' Featuring an original cast member, directors and a producer from Sleep No More —Zina Zinchenko, Ashley Brett Chipman, Hope Youngblood and Kelly Bartnik, respectively — The Death of Rasputin aims to recreate the breathless excitement of the immersive show that had us returning again and again to the McKittrick Hotel for 13 years. With choreography by James Finnemore (TERRA), costume design by Eulyn Colette Hufkie (The Walking Dead) and sound design by Stephen Dobbie (The Burnt City), we were yanked into this new world like joining the whirling dance performed in the opening scene. We were actively part of it at times and largely fly-on-the-wall observers to this explosive moment in history—made more dramatic, romantic, sensual and mysterious for the production than it actually was in reality. Like Punchdrunk's Sleep No More, Emursive's Life & Trust (RIP) and 2023's The Great Gatsby (did you forget about this one?), we were free to choose our own adventure and follow whomever we wanted to—or choose what cult we were in—the cult of Rasputin, the cult of revolution that takes place in the bar or in the cult of opulence and follow the Romanovs. We got to roam around the two-story space and explore the rooms, which include the bar, a full cabin in the woods, a military tent, a study, the royal couple's boudoir, a garden, the Winter Palace's ballroom and a couple of hidden passages. It's smaller in scale, making for an easier time getting around and following fewer cast members. It could benefit for a smaller ticket cap, however, because it suffers from what a lot of immersive performances do: a swarm of audience members who block the view at times. I wasn't immediately aware of my freedom, so I stuck around in the bar for the first 10 or 15 minutes and enjoyed chanting about the right to food and healthcare with my comrades a little too much. I mostly followed Lohktina (Manatsu Tanaka) as she dealt with the fallout from choosing a life of magic and 'communing' with Rasputin (Jake Ryan Lozano) but had fun watching the priest Iliodor (Tim Creavin) lose his shit when he finds out the tsarina is also getting down and dirty with Rasputin—honestly, who wasn't? As a lover of history, I was surprised by this version of Rasputin, who in the performance is a raving and whirling madman, careening from room to room and womanizing with wild abandon. The character was missing the mesmerizing (read: sexy) quality that would explain why everyone was so entranced. Notably, The Death of Rasputin is different from shows like Sleep No More in one major way: it had dialogue. I did wonder if the broken silence signaled some to audience members that it was OK to speak—because some of them did and had no qualms about it. And unlike many other immersive productions, humor found its way into the script and in off-hand comments and in the delivery by the cast, which lightened the tension at times, which I enjoyed but impacted the tone. It turns out my Millennial goth-cult was actually a pretty fun hang and one that I'd recommend to those looking to live through a historic event that had nothing to do with us for once. Performances of The Death of Rasputin are on Thursdays through Saturdays at 8pm and Sundays at 2:15pm through May 31. Tickets are $148 and include ferry transportation to and from Governors Island, and a limited number of $44 student tickets are available.
New York Times
08-05-2025
- Entertainment
- New York Times
Review: Will ‘The Death of Rasputin' Have a Cult Following?
There was an orgy in the next room. Or possibly a riot. Upstairs the aristocracy colluded. Downstairs the workers plotted. Norms were flouted, alternative medicine practiced. The world tumbled toward anarchy and decadence. Honestly, there are worse ways to spend an evening. This was 'The Death of Rasputin,' an immersive event created by the collective Artemis Is Burning and staged in an arts building on Governors Island. The much delayed closing of 'Sleep No More' in January and the more abrupt shuttering of 'Life and Trust' last month have left a vacuum in the immersive scene. 'The Death of Rasputin,' which runs through the end of May, is one attempt to fill it. (The bar offerings — pierogi, spicy pickles, an elevated White Russian — are another.) With 10 performers, this show is smaller in scale than those others, but even on a limited budget, it glimmers like a Fabergé egg. Especially if you don't look too closely at the jewels. Conceived and directed by Ashley Brett Chipman and written by Chipman and three others, the show is set, loosely, in St. Petersburg (a.k.a. Petrograd) in 1916. Most of the scenes, even the more outré ones, have some basis in fact, though Artemis takes a relaxed approach to language and chronology. Broadly, the shows is in thrall to Grigory Rasputin, the mystic who exerted an unhealthy influence on the Romanov royal family in the years just before the Russian Revolution. His sway unsettled several aristocrats, who conspired in his murder. Legend has it that he was poisoned, shot, bludgeoned, then finally drowned in the Neva River. (The real story is probably duller.) The performance begins with a ride to the island. Ticket holders are instructed to wear black and embrace Romanov chic, albeit in comfortable shoes, which looks a little funny in the electric light of the ferry, a cult afloat. After coat check and perhaps a drink at the bar, there is an introductory scene, then participants can roam at will across two floors and a dozen or so environments in a single building. In structure and style, 'The Death of Rasputin' doesn't diverge too much from recent immersive offerings. There are drawers to poke through, letters to read, eldritch items to caress, a secret passage or two, performers to chase. (Unless you are very, very fast, sightlines remain a problem.) There is also lots of dance fighting and hanky-panky, though in a welcome departure, the characters speak and pains have been taken to offer audiences a coherent experience. Even with fewer square feet, forking narrative paths remain. I arrived with one friend and ran into two more there. In the debrief in the bar afterward (a pleasure particular to immersive theater), we discovered that we all had significantly different evenings. I had missed, for example, a pig's head and something that a friend referred to as a 'rope sex magic thing.' Others had failed to spot the secret passages. Having been mesmerized once, it's obvious why someone might want to return — for the glamour, for the dancing, for the comfort that history, even violent history, provides. It's no surprise how this one ends. The parallels between 'The Death of Rasputin' and our country today aren't straightforward, and thankfully the collective doesn't contort them to fit this moment. As in most immersive shows, you can't really join the revolution or resist it — only watch from the margins and try to stay out of the way. Maybe that's true of most people during most real insurrections. And it's too much for a show to offer a real alternative. At least in this revolution you can dance.
