In Good Hands

"Immersive" is a big buzzword these days. For the last decade and some change, immersive experiences have offered a counterbalance to the flatness of our digital lives, in which we stare into a two-dimensional portal for hours on end. (Is there anything more indicative of the modern condition than one’s weekly "Screen Time Report"?) In this two-dimensional world, one can zoom into a photo of a distant geographic point via Google maps, but can’t smell it, or feel its temperature on the skin, or hear the way the wind sounds whistling through a far-off tree. This access-to-everything, sensual-experience-of-nothing life has everyone from technologists to game designers to marketing agencies clamoring to deem their particular product "immersive." The "immersive" label promises to lure a target audience by offering something more volumetric than what they can glean from their ubiquitous six-inch screens.

But what distinguishes the marketing concept from an artform? I’m not one to get too hung up on policing what constitutes immersive art, but it’s probably also a cop out to apply Jesse Helms’ definition of pornography: "I know it when I see it." I admire folks whose definition of the term "immersive" is not an attempt to claim or gate-keep it, but to assist those who desire to get after it, create it, and understand it.

At April’s Tilt West roundtable, PLAY: Imagination and Worldbuilding, prompter Courtney Osaki-Durgin, a gifted immersive maker, introduced the writings of Margaret Kerrison who authored three books on immersive work.[1] The goal of these books is to establish guideposts for creating immersive experiences, informed by her work as a former Disney Imagineer and on several prominent immersive experiences, such as Star Wars: Galaxy’s Edge, Avengers Campus and the NASA Kennedy Space Center Visitor Complex. Kerrison identifies five core tenets of successful immersive works. They:

1. 1. Are emotional
   2. Engage all senses
   3. Create a believable sense of time and place
   4. Invite us to participate and play
   5. Promote social interaction

Courtney used Kerrison’s writings as a launchpad (pun intended) for a discussion about the fourth aspect–how we play in the immersive container. As a creator of immersive theatre, I was thrilled to be in the mix for this conversation.

A few concepts kept surfacing in the discussion. The most significant was that in order to play in an immersive experience, folks need a feeling of safety. But that safety, I think, wasn’t defined simply as physical safety . The phrase "in good hands" popped up more than once.

There is much talk of safety in the theatre industry these days, and I find myself a little conflicted about it. Of course I want folks to be physically safe–to believe otherwise is psychopathic. But I am a proud Gen Xer who grew up in Houston, riding my bike until sundown without my mother knowing where I was, catching frogs in the bayou water that contained god knows what, climbing magnolia trees and hanging out with neighborhood pals on precarious branches for hours at a time. These early doses of freedom and adventure, of being a part of the wilder, sensual world, are something I aim to capture in my own work, especially in the outdoor immersive pieces that my company, The Catamounts, creates. So that phrase "in good hands" feels crucial. How can immersive creators invite audiences into their spaces, and encourage them to make themselves vulnerable to play and participation and the unknown? We have to make them feel they are "in good hands," to create a container, but one not too restrictive that allows for growth and adventure to unfold.

A tangent with a point: I used to be terrified of flying until I directed a play about a plane crash. The piece, United Flight 232, was based on a detailed account of a tragedy. My research, a necessary part of directing such a play, revealed that pilots are incredibly well trained, and their responses reflect this training even in moments of rare catastrophe. Each time you board a plane, you are in extremely good hands. As someone who loves travel and adventure, I flew in spite of my terror. But now I fly reassured that each time I travel, there is someone at the helm who is as knowledgeable about that mode of transport as it gets. This allows me to relax and go on the ride, to feel thrilled at the prospect of a new destination and new experiences.

How can immersive creators assure their audiences that they are in good hands so that the audience can relax and go on the ride? We identified few key things during our robust conversation:

1. Hospitality: ensuring that audience members are greeted with warmth and welcome.
2. The offering of food and drink, a gesture of hospitality.
3. Ritual, structure, or a form to connect with, that is already known or quickly knowable.

Any good host knows you greet your guests with warmth, an offering of food and drink, and an idea of what to anticipate for the evening ("We’ll sit down to dinner at 7.") This allows a guest to relax, to be open to the spontaneity of the evening, and even to the surprise.

I want my audiences to feel safe physically, yes, and I want them to feel safe to play. I know that the latter will draw them into the same world my performers inhabit. As someone who has worked in theatre for over 30 years, I can tell you that there is nothing quite like being in a play, when a director sets up a room of experimentation, rigor, wonder, and joy. Some of my richest relationships have grown out of the rehearsal and performance process, as brief as they can be. A good rehearsal space is like those hours spent with childhood friends in the branches of a magnolia tree: ostensibly precarious but exhilarating and free. And what an aspiration, to create that same space for performers and audiences alike.

To experiment, to participate, to engage, to be in relationship with the narrative, you have to feel you are "in good hands." And so that is the task, for we immersive creators, both to be those good hands, and identify ourselves as such.