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‘Doomocracy’ Looms at Fright Night in Brooklyn At ‘Doomocracy,’ It’s Fright Night in Brooklyn
(35 minutes later)
Halloween started early this year. I’d put the date at July 18, opening night of the 2016 Republican National Convention. Trick-or-treating has been nonstop since. The tricks have included a couple of Creature Feature debates, email scandals, xenophobic rants and personal attacks, all of which have too often been received as sordid but tantalizing treats by audience and news media alike.Halloween started early this year. I’d put the date at July 18, opening night of the 2016 Republican National Convention. Trick-or-treating has been nonstop since. The tricks have included a couple of Creature Feature debates, email scandals, xenophobic rants and personal attacks, all of which have too often been received as sordid but tantalizing treats by audience and news media alike.
Action in the electoral arena makes any art pale by comparison. But this hasn’t prevented Pedro Reyes, an artist-activist from Mexico City, from creating his own bit of fright-night political high jinks in “Doomocracy,” an elaborately trenchant performance piece presented by the nonprofit Creative Time in the Brooklyn Army Terminal.Action in the electoral arena makes any art pale by comparison. But this hasn’t prevented Pedro Reyes, an artist-activist from Mexico City, from creating his own bit of fright-night political high jinks in “Doomocracy,” an elaborately trenchant performance piece presented by the nonprofit Creative Time in the Brooklyn Army Terminal.
The setting, on the Sunset Park waterfront, is ideally spooky. If you imagine the concept of a military-industrial complex translated into power architecture, that’s the terminal. Built in 1919, a military supply depot through two World Wars, it’s monstrous: a 97-acre, multi-building complex with two eight-story concrete warehouses and enough space to park 20 ships and a train. Although much of it is now given over to light industry and boutique businesses (furniture designers, chocolatiers), the place still projects a mausoleumlike chill, especially at night.The setting, on the Sunset Park waterfront, is ideally spooky. If you imagine the concept of a military-industrial complex translated into power architecture, that’s the terminal. Built in 1919, a military supply depot through two World Wars, it’s monstrous: a 97-acre, multi-building complex with two eight-story concrete warehouses and enough space to park 20 ships and a train. Although much of it is now given over to light industry and boutique businesses (furniture designers, chocolatiers), the place still projects a mausoleumlike chill, especially at night.
And, appropriately, night is when “Doomocracy” happens, on Fridays, Saturdays and Sundays, from 6 p.m. to midnight.And, appropriately, night is when “Doomocracy” happens, on Fridays, Saturdays and Sundays, from 6 p.m. to midnight.
Visitors first gather in a soaring glass-roofed hall dominated by one of Mr. Reyes’s wood sculptures. A surreal fusion of the Statue of Liberty and the Apocalyptic Beast, it hints of disorientations to come.Visitors first gather in a soaring glass-roofed hall dominated by one of Mr. Reyes’s wood sculptures. A surreal fusion of the Statue of Liberty and the Apocalyptic Beast, it hints of disorientations to come.
From that starting point, small groups are admitted, one at a time, to the main event under close supervision on what feels like a cross between a guided tour and forced march. (Tickets are free but must be reserved in advance.) A group is loaded into a van and driven to a distant location on the terminal campus. As the group nears its destination, a disruption occurs.From that starting point, small groups are admitted, one at a time, to the main event under close supervision on what feels like a cross between a guided tour and forced march. (Tickets are free but must be reserved in advance.) A group is loaded into a van and driven to a distant location on the terminal campus. As the group nears its destination, a disruption occurs.
The van is flagged down by figures who are not, as it first seems, parking attendants, but military police in SWAT gear. They yank the van doors open, flash lights in your eyes, order you out and herd you into a pitch-black building, barking commands: put your hands on the wall; behind your head; line up; move. You know this is theater, but you also discover that being yelled at and light-blinded makes your pulse jump; disarms your defenses; persuades you to do what you’re told.The van is flagged down by figures who are not, as it first seems, parking attendants, but military police in SWAT gear. They yank the van doors open, flash lights in your eyes, order you out and herd you into a pitch-black building, barking commands: put your hands on the wall; behind your head; line up; move. You know this is theater, but you also discover that being yelled at and light-blinded makes your pulse jump; disarms your defenses; persuades you to do what you’re told.
The rest of the show, which is basically a 45-minute mobile drama in a dozen or more short acts, alternates staged reality with zany satire, though, as usual, Mr. Reyes tends to resist making clear distinctions between modes. For earlier projects, he gathered automatic weapons that were turned in or seized by the Mexican Army from drug cartels and melted them down to make garden shovels and musical instruments. He has also organized exhibitions that have fused performance art, sculpture and psychotherapy.The rest of the show, which is basically a 45-minute mobile drama in a dozen or more short acts, alternates staged reality with zany satire, though, as usual, Mr. Reyes tends to resist making clear distinctions between modes. For earlier projects, he gathered automatic weapons that were turned in or seized by the Mexican Army from drug cartels and melted them down to make garden shovels and musical instruments. He has also organized exhibitions that have fused performance art, sculpture and psychotherapy.
Ambiguity of tone and purpose is one of the elements that makes “Doomocracy” dramatically effective.Ambiguity of tone and purpose is one of the elements that makes “Doomocracy” dramatically effective.
Another is the rapid-fire pacing established by the performance’s director, Meghan Finn. One scene bangs into another. The SWAT team hustles you down a corridor, then disappears. Now you’re in a polling station, being registered to vote while watching ballots being shredded before your eyes. Next, you take a breather in a comfy suburban living room, only to hear a pair of gun-toting housewives warn about unwelcome “new additions” to the neighborhood. The trigger-happy duo have barely warmed to their subject when you’re moved on again, into a doctor’s waiting room, where an opioid-addicted soccer mom hits you up for a fix.Another is the rapid-fire pacing established by the performance’s director, Meghan Finn. One scene bangs into another. The SWAT team hustles you down a corridor, then disappears. Now you’re in a polling station, being registered to vote while watching ballots being shredded before your eyes. Next, you take a breather in a comfy suburban living room, only to hear a pair of gun-toting housewives warn about unwelcome “new additions” to the neighborhood. The trigger-happy duo have barely warmed to their subject when you’re moved on again, into a doctor’s waiting room, where an opioid-addicted soccer mom hits you up for a fix.
And you go on: to a corporate boardroom to vote on advantageous deals for the privileged (meaning yourself); to an elementary school classroom that teaches false history (slavery wasn’t all that bad) and supplies you with bright-red bulletproof shields; to an anti-abortion witch hunt (this is the show’s big song-and-dance number); to a factory that markets artisanal Himalayan air to an environmentally ravaged world. (“Only God breathes air this pure.”)And you go on: to a corporate boardroom to vote on advantageous deals for the privileged (meaning yourself); to an elementary school classroom that teaches false history (slavery wasn’t all that bad) and supplies you with bright-red bulletproof shields; to an anti-abortion witch hunt (this is the show’s big song-and-dance number); to a factory that markets artisanal Himalayan air to an environmentally ravaged world. (“Only God breathes air this pure.”)
And in one amusing moment along the way, you emerge from an elevator into a cocktail party in a collector’s penthouse. The scene, like the art world itself, is a pure cliché: Champagne-serving waiters, an air-kissing hostess, a Christopher Wool word-painting on the wall, and an antsy, importunate artist in residence pitching his latest product. (“It’s about gentrification!”)And in one amusing moment along the way, you emerge from an elevator into a cocktail party in a collector’s penthouse. The scene, like the art world itself, is a pure cliché: Champagne-serving waiters, an air-kissing hostess, a Christopher Wool word-painting on the wall, and an antsy, importunate artist in residence pitching his latest product. (“It’s about gentrification!”)
There’s more, quite a bit, concluding with an ostensibly nonpartisan, viewer-participation take on the current election battle as a political World Cup match with Earth as the ball in play. Then suddenly you’re on your way out of the show, passing a grumbly street prophet wearing a sandwich board and handing out “Doomocracy” fliers.There’s more, quite a bit, concluding with an ostensibly nonpartisan, viewer-participation take on the current election battle as a political World Cup match with Earth as the ball in play. Then suddenly you’re on your way out of the show, passing a grumbly street prophet wearing a sandwich board and handing out “Doomocracy” fliers.
Given the performance’s speed and the pileup of sensory input, it’s impossible to take everything in. Enough to say that, while all parts of the piece are not equally strong — satire has to be right on the nose, weirdness-wise, to work, and some of this is too easy — the level of visual invention is high, and the cast of more than 30 actors (among them, a Chihuahua named Dreidel) is impressive. Paul Hufker’s script, with contributions by Nato Thompson, Creative Time’s artistic director, sounded, on a one-time hearing, sharp, up-to-date and wide-ranging in its talking points, some of which Mr. Reyes cites in the definition of “doomocracy” he has printed in the flier:Given the performance’s speed and the pileup of sensory input, it’s impossible to take everything in. Enough to say that, while all parts of the piece are not equally strong — satire has to be right on the nose, weirdness-wise, to work, and some of this is too easy — the level of visual invention is high, and the cast of more than 30 actors (among them, a Chihuahua named Dreidel) is impressive. Paul Hufker’s script, with contributions by Nato Thompson, Creative Time’s artistic director, sounded, on a one-time hearing, sharp, up-to-date and wide-ranging in its talking points, some of which Mr. Reyes cites in the definition of “doomocracy” he has printed in the flier:
1. A form of government in which the supreme power is vested in a tyrant by a terrified general electorate.1. A form of government in which the supreme power is vested in a tyrant by a terrified general electorate.
2. The esoteric arithmetic that makes the electoral process malleable.2. The esoteric arithmetic that makes the electoral process malleable.
3. A corporate coup d’état in slow motion.3. A corporate coup d’état in slow motion.
4. Permanent global war waged in the name of freedom.4. Permanent global war waged in the name of freedom.
At present, we’re experiencing all of that, not to mention planetary destruction and international homelessness. And if the standard for judging the success of “Doomocracy” is whether it’s weighty enough for its subjects, it fails. Most political art does. In a global media age of perpetually cycling digital drama, it feels dwarfed and static. And the audience that really needs to see it won’t.At present, we’re experiencing all of that, not to mention planetary destruction and international homelessness. And if the standard for judging the success of “Doomocracy” is whether it’s weighty enough for its subjects, it fails. Most political art does. In a global media age of perpetually cycling digital drama, it feels dwarfed and static. And the audience that really needs to see it won’t.
Mr. Reyes knows this, and he knows you have to make the art anyway, and he makes it well, shrewdly and with upbeat panache. When you emerge from “Doomocracy” you’ve felt the visceral thrill, the thrill that good theater delivers, the sense of having been through something energizing and focusing. You may also feel a reassuring sense that, no, it’s not just you; American reality, in 2016, is every bit as out of control as you think it is.Mr. Reyes knows this, and he knows you have to make the art anyway, and he makes it well, shrewdly and with upbeat panache. When you emerge from “Doomocracy” you’ve felt the visceral thrill, the thrill that good theater delivers, the sense of having been through something energizing and focusing. You may also feel a reassuring sense that, no, it’s not just you; American reality, in 2016, is every bit as out of control as you think it is.
Hold onto that reassurance. You’re going to need it. The show wraps up on Nov. 6, two days short of the presidential election. And that event, no matter what the results, will not bring Fright Night to an end.Hold onto that reassurance. You’re going to need it. The show wraps up on Nov. 6, two days short of the presidential election. And that event, no matter what the results, will not bring Fright Night to an end.