Though technically impressive, Dante or Die’s immersive theatre show exploring the fraught moments before a wedding from different perspectives is narratively trite and acutely embarrassing to experience.
In groups of around 12, the audience is shepherded through several rooms of the Malmaison hotel in Smithfield, clustering like awkward ghosts around the bride, the groom and sundry flustered relatives and guests. Rather than show how different viewpoints skew a story, a la Rashomon, threads of individual lives entwine here to form a humdrum whole.
Originally staged in the Islington Hilton in 2013 and revived now as part of the Barbican’s Scene Change season, I Do is more structured and purposeful than many shows of similar ilk. However, the manoeuvring within and between cramped spaces is awkward, and the proximity to the actors is uncomfortable. Rather than foster involvement, the effect is distancing, emphasising the artificiality of the whole affair.
Though the script deals in cliché and caricature, the organisational skills of co-creators Terry O’Donovan and Daphna Attias (who also directs) and writer Chloë Moss are impressive. The stories weave together neatly, and the action is “rewound” as we move from room to room by the hotel maid (Rowena Le Poer Trench), going through a corridor-cleaning routine in reverse. The song on her headphones, Sea of Love, is played nightmarishly backwards, too.
For the performers, it’s an assault course. Rather than concentrate on character, they’re forced to flap and faff to fill time in the precise schedule of interlocking events and endlessly calculate how they can stumble to the bathroom or bedside table without stepping on a punter.
My group first saw the bride’s estranged father (Jonathan McGuinness) awkwardly meet his soon-to-be son-in-law, Tunde (Dauda Ladejobi), for the first time in the bridal suite. Shortly after, the towels folded into the shape of swans on the bed are crushed by a couple attempting an illicit and quickly aborted shag.
In another room, the bride’s mother (Johanne Murdock) is stressed out by malfunctioning aircon and a choice of fascinators. In a third, the bride, Georgina (Carla Langley), twerks in ivory underwear with her sister and another bridesmaid. And so on.
Artificial tensions get characters in and out of each other’s suites. Tunde and Georgina have had a row (of course). Another couple is splitting up (of course). Voice notes and envelopes are ingeniously exchanged. There’s a runaway child and a pregnancy subplot.
A scene featuring the bride’s grandpa Gordon (Geof Atwell), wheelchair-bound and incomprehensible after a presumed stroke, is meant to showcase his dignity in suffering, but it feels hideously voyeuristic. The maid acts as our proxy, dipping into each scenario. When she writhes across the room while best man Joe (Manish Gandhi) rehearses a stereotypically awful speech, it’s a clumsy metaphor for the fact that she, and we, are largely unseen.
As is often the case with so-called immersive, site-specific shows, I Do gives the audience the illusion of agency and engagement while treating us like children, herded about and getting under people’s feet.
I seemed always to be in precisely the wrong place: perched on the bed in the middle of a half-naked tryst, third party in a sudden snog, almost bundled into a wardrobe at one point. It feels intrusive to be close enough to breathe on the skin of actors in their scanties. I Do transfers to Malmaisons in Manchester and Reading after its London run; I hope the spaces are less drab and poky there.
The more I see of this kind of theatre, the more convinced I am that it’s a terrible way to explore a coherent narrative. That’s why the masters of the genre, Punchdrunk, focus on vibes and FOMO – the promise that something unbearably exciting is going to happen in the next room.
All I Do has to offer is empty novelty. We’re supposed to buy into the idea that being a fly on the wall in a hotel is inherently cooler than a more conventional stage experience. Well, I don’t.
I Do at Malmaison, until 8 February, barbican.org.uk
