Make Sure to ‘Stay on the Line’ For a Thrilling Treat (Review)

“Mr. Watson come here. I want to see you,” Alexander Graham Bell first said on March 10, 1876. With his groundbreaking invention, the telephone, the world became connected in a way previously thought unfathomable. But it’s easy to forget in the smartphone age how the telephone didn’t instantly connect everyone 24/7. People were first forced to wait on the line, listening to the telephone endlessly ringing, pondering the infinite possibilities of why the other person wasn’t picking up. Was it a bad connection? Were they even home? Had something happened? It is the telephone’s delicate, dependent, and precious connection between people that The Martin explores with this year’s edition of Stay on the Line, themed “Waiting.”

It’s been snowing all day on Halloween, slowly coating every surface as the temperature drops with the setting sun. Yet, that doesn’t stop families from trick-or-treating in Chicago. I spy the tiny ghouls and monsters wearing heavy duty winter jackets to stay warm. These oddities set the tone for a unique Halloween night as I enter The Martin’s storefront space in Humboldt Park.

As I shake off the snow, I’m immediately provided noise cancelling headphones to shield me from the previous attendee’s experience occurring behind a series of partitions. Stay on the Line is The Martin’s yearly immersive Halloween experience; for each performance, only one audience member at a time takes in two of nine possible ten-minute experiences. It dawns on me that in a world filled with a plethora of options to steam and binge watch in solitude, I know of no such parallel option for the theatre. As I wait, chewing on this realization, and hearing the faintest music and sound cues through the headphones, my excitement builds.

After the previous audience member leaves, I’m provided a rundown of the rules, how the scene transition will work, and I’m strongly encouraged to “play.” I step inside, the partitions softly closing behind me, and find myself standing in a sterile but comfortable waiting room. This is Pardon Me by Emily Sharp. The most intriguing element of the room is the brochures for funeral homes placed over on a coffee table, asking me if I’ve prepared for my last major decision in life. They set a somber tone as a woman (Emily Sharp) comes in, apologizing for running late, and tripping over every word she speaks. We begin a conversation whose depth and context slowly reveals itself, the funeral arrangements I’m making taking on a sudden, plot-twisted immediacy.

Pardon Me is a perfect example of the concept that “the more you put in, the more you’re rewarded.” While I can see some audience members getting hung up on how exactly they came to be dealing with the funeral arrangements, I elect to improvise with Sharp instead, detailing the choices we’re making in the present. It makes for a richer experience, with my subconscious filling in reasons on why I would find myself here. Additionally, it dawns on me how quickly anyone could find themselves in a similar situation. With the arrangements complete, Sharp departs, leaving me alone to answer a ringing phone in the corner of the room. When hanging up on the conversation I've just had, I’m shocked at how at ease I am, realizing that the fiction of my experience pales in comparison to the crushing finality that people in real life experience in this unique situation.

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After a brief transition, I find myself in a different and ominously crimson waiting room where a different woman (Nicole Faust) sits on her knees in front of the phone as a host enters (Whitney LaMora). She has an ocular intensity that both unnerves me while demanding my full attention. She asks me how I’ve been sleeping. Terribly, I reply. She’s thrilled to hear this, informing me that my insomnia will be helpful since I need to stay awake for what comes next. I’m then blindfolded, with eclectic noises playing around me. Sitting in the darkness, it feels like I’m sinking deeper and deeper into the unknown.

When the blindfold comes off, the ten-minute experience — Whatever Shapes Your Devils Take by Nicole Faust — only gets weirder in the best possible way. It’s David Lynch-ian in its story and message like I’m Special Agent Dale Cooper from Twin Peaks, trapped in the Black Lodge with only Laura Palmer to guide me into the elusive mystery that’s consumed us both. Faust’s performance is infectious as we bounce around in completing tasks and having ever increasingly deep interactions, as the thought-provoking questions of Whatever Shapes pile atop each other. It’s only at the end when the host returns for me, do I realize how much has occurred in a short time.

Stay on the Line is everything I could want from an immersive theatre experience. I leave the show having taken part in something where each performance is truly unique, where each audience member’s agency dramatically affects what happens, which exemplifies the best of use of the one-on-one format. My answers to the personal questions posed in Pardon Me and Whatever Shapes reflect who I am alone and wholly myself, fostering a welcoming thought-provoking self-review of my actions afterwards.

Stay on the Line is also to be commended for the economy of its design, as the creators have elected to focus on character-building and audience interaction rather than plot and intricate settings. I was transported to the worlds of Pardon Me and Whatever Shapes with nothing more than a small room, four chairs, a handful of props, and three performers running the entire experience. It gives me pause to consider how many lesser shows are smothered in excess of spectacle to elicit any audience response.

While a telephone played a key part in the scenes I experienced in The Martin’s Stay on the Line, connecting me in very important ways to those unseen yet still heard, I realized there’s also deeper power to Bell’s invention. While the telephone is capable of providing vast amounts of information quickly and efficiently, it’s really the human thoughts and feelings that matter when staying on the line. Despite only seeing two pieces of The Martin’s 9-piece Stay on the Line, I know for certain that I won’t be hanging up any time soon.

Stay on the Line runs through November 16. Tickets are $20.

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