Sleep No More, No More

In a special dispatch from NYC, Brittany Menjivar is but a walking shadow in the background of immersive “Macbeth” production “Sleep No More.”

By Brittany MenjivarJanuary 4, 2025

SLEEP NO MORE, The McKittrick Hotel, New York, December 21, 2024.

Minor spoilers for Sleep No More follow.

The actor’s golden rule: “Don’t say Macbeth in a theater.” If you utter the forbidden title rather than replacing it with “The Scottish Play,” you’ve cursed the production at hand; thus, I was especially vigilant while making conversation in line for Sleep No More. Sure, I had yet to reach the coat check—but when it comes to immersive theater, it’s hard to determine where the proscenium begins. And stepping into the McKittrick Hotel, the massive building that houses this interactive interpretation of Macbeth (set in 1939, largely silent, conveyed through gestures and dance), I immediately felt a witchy presence.

Any modernized Macbeth adaptation is of particular interest to me, as I once directed such an adaptation myself. McDeath, which took place in an American high school circa 1999, caused a mild stir on Yale’s campus due to its depiction of youth gun violence; it also made me an expert on all things Thane of Cawdor, including notable reimaginings. As a fervent teen playwright, I pledged to make the pilgrimage to Sleep No More’s hallowed halls someday. Directed by British theater company Punchdrunk, the production has gained notoriety for its bold creative choices—guests must wear beaked white masks and cannot speak to performers unless asked to; full-frontal nudity and mild gore are present. After its 2011 premiere in New York, it racked up multiple awards; it was even featured on Gossip Girl (2007–12) and Broad City (2014–19). When I learned that the show would close in January 2025, I went through toil and trouble to secure my spot.

Before ascending to the second floor, I placed my phone in a pouch that would remain locked for the duration of the show. After a brief visit to the Manderley Bar, which served as both the first “set” and a holding space for guests before they were fully unleashed upon the premises, my group was pulled aside to mask up. A host took about 20 of us to the top floor of the hotel—but after the first guest stepped out, he closed the elevator doors behind her. Up and down he bounced, separating friends and family all the while. I was dropped off on the third floor, in the midst of a dimly lit apartment—the Macduff family abode, I would later learn.

Guests at the McKittrick aren’t encouraged to follow any particular route—rather, they can freely roam the sets (which include a village, a forest, a hospital, and other locations in addition to the hotel area) as actors move about. They can stop to watch any scenes they encounter, or continue exploring; once a scene finishes, they may choose to trail one of the actors to their next interaction or forge their own course. The narrative, which runs for an hour, loops thrice, so guests can catch multiple plotlines in one night.

Nary an actor interrupted my initial tour of the area. Ominous music blasted as I poked around the family’s bedrooms; highlights included a nursery with headless baby decor and a trick mirror that presaged the aftermath of a slaughter. As I wove through corridors and stairwells, I often found myself face-to-face with a life-size statue or a taxidermied beast. Running into another white mask never detracted from my experience; in our anonymity, we shed our humanity and became ghosts.

The sense that I was in a haunted house dissipated when I found my first character—Malcolm, a noir-style detective in this retelling. As I fell into step beside him, any unease melted away. Part of the uncanniness of a haunt lies in the fact that patrons and performers alike must adhere to fixed routines; as patrons wind down claustrophobia-inducing paths, performers’ comings and goings are concealed, their movements rote, their dialogue limited. Sleep No More’s open-world environment ironically made interactions with actors feel fated. Shared sacrosanct silence ensured a strange kinship. Moments of eye contact were like mind reading.

Malcolm’s plotline was the perfect introduction to the McKittrick’s unique mythology, influenced not only by the Bard but also by Daphne du Maurier’s Rebecca (1938), with a few original characters in the mix. I watched as he pored over a dead bird, a scene clearly inspired by Macbeth’s animal auguries; I also poked around his office drawers and found letters pointing toward new mysteries, from a colleague’s sudden departure to the case of a missing woman. I wandered off in search of clues—and was sidetracked by some phenomenal dance sequences. In one, an actor flipped through the air and landed atop a towering stack of boxes; in another, alluding to the original text’s famous prophecy scene, a trio of witches stripped, screamed, and tossed around a blood-soaked infant while strobe lights flashed.

Although intimate moments abounded, the actors’ moves were choreographed to direct audiences toward grander, pivotal scenes throughout the evening. And thus I stumbled upon a ball where all the hotshots—Macbeth, Lady Macbeth, Duncan, etc.—swirled around to Glenn Miller. I chased after Duncan and bore witness to many of the tragedy’s most moving moments, from Duncan’s murder to Macbeth’s demise.

I could go into more detail—but even with the show closing soon, it feels sacrilegious to spill Sleep No More’s secrets (plus, you can find comprehensive spoilers elsewhere). Here’s what I will say: while a good show feels true to life, a great show recreates life in its image. When I checked out of the McKittrick, it really did seem that all the world was a stage: everything that caught my eye deserved extra scrutiny, and every stranger held a story. Here’s hoping that someday, somehow, I may check in again.

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Photo by sleepnomorenyc.

LARB Short Takes live event reviews are published in partnership with the nonprofit Online Journalism Project and the Independent Review Crew.