Here’s the first thing you should know about Annie Lesser’s ABC Project: each show is summoned into being when Lesser finds a venue that matches the corresponding letter of the alphabet. It’s an artistic limitation she’s put upon herself that’s driven the one-woman theatre company to create two critically acclaimed works so far.
The first, A(partment 8), was an intimate piece that created a wave of fans at last year’s Hollywood Fringe with a one-on-one that took participants down into dark psychological territory. The second, B(arbershop), was an experiment in fragmented narrative that again brought the audience into close orbit with a disturbed soul.
C(ovell), which had it’s preview Feb 26th at the wine bar from which it derives its name, is a wild departure from those two previous shows. Nevertheless it still manages to pull in the best of what Lesser does: creating a liminal space through lyrical dialogue and interactions with a talented cast that create moments which blur the line between the illusion and the reality of intimacy.
The centerpiece of C(ovell), which I was invited to see the final dress rehearsal of, is “The Game.” To discuss the exact nature of this game would be to give away some of the fun, but also somewhat besides the point. “The Game” isn’t the point of C(ovell) so much as it is the mechanism of the show and Lesser’s metaphor for life’s gambles.
It’s also an excuse to drink.
Sadly the rehearsal was dry, so we were left to only imagine how the open bar and mechanics of “The Game” would have added to the manic energy of the production. Yet the lack of booze didn’t detract from the joy brought by Lesser’s collection of clowns, vaudevillians, and circus freaks our test audience found themselves amongst.
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The space at Covell, the wine bar from which the show derives its name, is perfectly sized for an evening-length affair featuring nine actors engaging with a small audience. While “The Game” draws the whole crew together, some of the real wonder comes from what Lesser has put together in the pre- and post-“Game” segments. It’s here that her trademark lyricism and knack for crafting interactions you can lose yourself in appear. Or perhaps “lose yourself” is the wrong term, as there are few times I feel more present than when I’m in a scene with one of Lesser’s fictional creations.
No small part of that has to do with her cast. Lesser regulars Keight Leighn and Dasha Kittredge, who were part of the 2015 piece Getting To Know You, are both on board with major roles. Both immersive vets anchor key sequences that usher the guests into the world of the show. And what a world: a family of circus clowns and their vagabond compatriots, each with their own mythology, create the sense that they’ve slipped in from an alternate dimension where the rules of reality are slightly off.
There might also be a dangerous and ferocious tiger. Or that might just be your imagination.
Going into C(ovell) I wasn’t sure if Lesser was going to be able to sustain an evening long affair that revolves around a game. By the time the rehearsal was over I found myself wanting to stay inside the world that she had created. That’s a feeling that I’m always looking for in an immersive, and the longing to be back there in that room with those characters held on strongly for hours afterward.
We can’t go on with this, however, without addressing the elephant in the room: the price. The going rate on C(ovell) is $175 a ticket, making it one of the more expensive immersive experiences yet to grace LA. It’s not an easy price to surmount for everyone, and there’s been some pushback because of it. What’s missing from consideration in these discussions is just what it takes to pull together professional actors and vaudevillians, a private room at a working bar where the drinks are flowing freely, then rehearse and costume the whole damn thing. It’s not cheap, and thankfully C(ovell) doesn’t feel cheap either.
Fans of Lesser’s previous work should know that she’s firing on all cylinders here, and if you’re one of those who is debating the price of admission add the thought that you’re enabling an artist’s dreams to your calculations. Those who are unfamiliar with Lesser’s oeuvre are, admittedly, taking more of a gamble. If you want to break down the economics of it you’re basically paying $7 an hour per performer, and getting all you can drink. Well, at least, within reason.
That doesn’t change the fact that for a lot of us the price point is more than we can part with, not without feeling the bite. We do have to remember that immersive work is craft-driven, and the craft economy is one that values human labor over the mechanistic reproduction of cultural goods. Which means paying performers something approaching a living wage and finding ways for these productions to maintain a high degree of intimacy without driving the producers into abject poverty.
Could a version of C(ovell) exist that featured the core experience but cost less? Perhaps, but if it did it would almost certainly have to sacrifice the time that the cast has to pay individual attention to the guests. As this is the true magic of C(ovell) that would be quite literally throwing out the baby with the bathwater.
If you find yourself still reluctant after weighing all this: you’re probably not going to be able to let yourself go and enjoy the show.
But, really, when all is said and done what price can you put on a tipsy night in the company of gorgeous freaks?
C(ovell) by the ABC Project plays Sundays March 12-April 2 at the Covell wine bar 4628 Hollywood Boulevard, LA.
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