I know something you don’t know.
Perhaps you’re infuriated. Perhaps you’re mildly curious. Perhaps you don’t care.
I hope it’s one of the first two. People like me can’t bear the thought of our smugness being ignored, that time and energy invested might be worthless.
I’ve been to Secret Cinema and I know. Not only what will happen to those who go, but where it is and what film they’ll watch.
“Tell no-one” say the organisers. I've agreed not to. But why would I?
Like the Wu Tang Clan album created as a one-off, a chunk of the thing’s value is its exclusivity. I’m in a club. The knowers.
The event might have seen a rapt audience sit in perfect silence round an empty can of beans straining our ears for the sound of each other’s farts while images of cats anuses fluttering with the wind are projected on giant screens all around.
Like the album owner, I’d probably never admit it was rubbish, even if it was.
That would dilute my power, leave it flat like squash with too much water. No spoilers follow.
It’s not only me that wants to preserve the potency of my knowledge.
There’s a feeling Secret Cinema cannot quite work out when to whip the tarpaulin off its great concealment.
A lengthy preamble, where audience members are assigned roles and given a bamboozling array of tasks, is confirmation for buffs but puzzlement for the less well-watched.
Consequently the surprise of the screening is muted. A few people walk out, which is a shame as this is the best mixture of live action and film Secret Cinema has yet managed, the result of an ongoing evolution.
The itchy reality of world-changing events is all the more uncomfortable as it’s played out in three dimensions by people you were chatting with only a few minutes ago.
I’m not completely convinced the immersive entree is quite right yet, however.
There’s not enough clarity that there are no audience members – everyone attending is part of the play.
You only get out what you put in and the more timid risk being on the fringe of things.
This is exacerbated by the small amount of concrete achievement available to ticket holders in the sea of busy work given to attendees.
This threatens to sail into time-killing before the flick starts and a lack of structure leaves some foundering in a sea of confusion.
As a member of the press, cast and real, the experience is something of a busman's holiday.
That said, Secret Cinema still delivers a vital, market leading rush. The actors are, without exception, superb and unrelenting.
For those who do engage, they make a generous toy to play with, even at around £67 a go.
It’s also good to see lower prices for food and drink a feat presumably achieved by offering less competition to vendors.
Just as well, as the falafel I had at Star Wars felt like an uncomfortable encounter in a prison shower with Jar Jar Binks. Abrasive.
So all in all, this latest iteration is worth a punt.
After all, where else can you be called out as a communist to your face for an apparent imbalance in the size of your feet or a dislike of cheese?
From 6.15pm, various dates until Sunday, March 20, London (location remains secret until ticket purchase)
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