‘Night Fever’ Glows in the Dark (A NoPro Night Out)

If there’s one thing I really appreciate about a JFI Productions show, it’s how the world they’ve built seems to luxuriate in its porous boundaries, spilling out into the real world, and making the queuing experience more interesting.

Case in point: well before I reach the official entrance to Night Fever, I spot performer Nicky Romaniello tap dancing for money in a dark alleyway in DTLA. Once again, he’s been kicked out of the club where his girlfriend works. I drop a $1 bill in his till before making my way down to the entrance proper, where a small crowd is clustered around a velvet rope. The bouncer is refusing to let a handsome young man dressed in paisley in; there seems to be some trouble with the guestlist at the moment. However, my name (and my 70s-inspired outfit) passes with flying colors and a compliment from the security guard, and I am whisked inside The Queensbury, a subterranean lounge that’s the location of tonight’s shindig; this new cocktail bar is now masquerading as a 1977 New York City dance club twice a month as part of JFI’s new pop-up series. And as soon as I reach the bottom of the stairs, a scantily clad performer runs out of the “dressing room” and pulls me into a “dance rehearsal” that’s about to begin.

As a holder of a “VIP” Night Fever ticket, I am able to join the festivities at 9pm, one full hour before the general admission crowd, which allows me extra time to acclimate to the party atmosphere and get the lay of the land. It’s odd, though, framing being “early” to a party as a perk — there’s a certain energy that a full dance floor has, the kind of energy that a sparse dance floor lacks. So despite a fair amount of coaxing from the performers, the crowd of VIPs often clusters against the edges of the room, unsure where to go or what to do next. This is exacerbated by the fact that the room with the disco dance floor isn’t serving alcohol yet. The idle barkeep instructs me to go to the other room (There’s another room? I think to myself), get a drink there, and bring it back.

Get Kathryn Yu’s stories in your inbox

Join Medium for free to get updates from this writer.

SubscribeSubscribe

Confused, I head back into the hallway and open a closed door to find: the unisex restroom. Huh. I head to the next closed door, and open it to find another, larger lounge area, where the bar is indeed open. (Sidebar: years of immersive theatre-going have left me loathe to open closed doors.) I spot two friends at the bar, so I stroll over try to ascertain what, if any, valuable intel they’ve picked up so far, but the music is so loud that it’s difficult to understand what anybody is saying. I meet a journalist and the club’s bookkeeper briefly, but another participant grabs the bookkeeper’s attention away from me, and I can’t tell what the actor is saying after he’s facing the other direction. Unfortunately, the inability to eavesdrop on a nearby conversation or talk to a performer without shouting will plague me for the rest of the night. Even though I meet some intriguing characters — the cross-dressing accountant, the slimy club owner, a busboy-turned-hustler, said hustler’s boyfriend, the flamboyant drug dealer, and a stripper wearing pasties and little else — it’s difficult to understand what’s going on much of the time or if there’s a central plotline that I should be glomming onto.

I soon begin to suspect that there isn’t something that ties it all together and the best way to “play” Night Fever ends up being to not look for an overarching plot. I careen back and forth between the two main rooms, at a loss, for a little while. Then I finally find the event’s sweet spot. You see, the best way to have a ton of small group actor interaction — and to find one of the few places where you can have an actual conversation — is to get invited back into the club’s dressing room. That’s where I soon find myself putting glitter on my cheeks, zipping up the back of a performer’s dress, and sipping champagne on the toilet, even as Nicky busts through the door, chasing after his girlfriend Sarah, just before he gets kicked out of the club. Again. (Funnily enough, the “dressing room” of Night Fever is actually the men’s room of The Queensbury so I was definitely sipping champagne… next to a urinal.) But the room is fairly small and gets crowded quickly, so I leave and return a few times, just to get some air. JFI has done a lot with the limited real estate available, but, as I often do, I wish they’d had a wee bit more space to work with.

Shortly after a drag performer finishes a most excellent rendition of “I Will Survive” at midnight, I exit the experience having spent over three hours there and knowing I’ve got school the next day. But I am also left wondering: 1) how long everybody else will stay out on a school night; and 2) if I am missing out on some big set piece, perhaps one that ties up multiple narrative threads or has some soft of big emotional impact. The setting of a boozy, drug-soaked, disco nightclub practically screams drama with a capital D. I’m told there was no moment like this, so I am left a little disappointed that there wasn’t a large scale scene that screamed This Is The Ending of The Show. But, hey, after the bar set by the gory and shocking ending in Haus of Creep, it’s tough to live up to those standards.

Night Fever is unabashedly an “immersive party,” with the emphasis on the party. It’s a sandbox where skimmers and dippers will have a lot of fun, particularly if they like to dance, although divers may be disappointed if they’re looking for more of a story. But I will also say that LA does go all out when asked to dress up for the occasion. In fact, the crowd was so well-dressed, the only way to quickly tell the audience from the cast was if someone was obviously using a smartphone, taking a selfie, or holding a handbag. Perhaps not every night will be like this, but if it is, then count on a significant portion of the audience to support the worldbuilding elements through their retro outfits and eager willingness to play along. And the cast of characters in Night Fever embody all of the stereotypes of people you might find at a nightclub, but with their friendliness meter turned up to 11. I’ve never been slipped so many (fake) drugs and phone numbers in one night in my life… and, after all, is that really such a bad thing? (Don’t worry, Mom. They’re just Tic Tacs.)

Night Fever continues March 26 and 29 at The Queensberry in Downtown Los Angeles. Tickets are $30–54.

NoPro is a labor of love made possible by our generous Patreon backers. Join them today!

In addition to the No Proscenium web site, our podcast, and our newsletters, you can find NoPro on Twitter, Facebook, YouTube, Instagram, in the Facebook community Everything Immersive, and on our Slack forum.

Office facilities provided by Thymele Arts, in Los Angeles, CA.