Off-Broadway Review: VIOLA’S ROOM (Punchdrunk & The Shed)

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by Paola Bellu on June 28, 2025

in Theater-New York

IN THIS BEAUTIFULLY MOODY MAZE, THE LINE
BETWEEN ENCHANTMENT AND ENTRAPMENT BLURS

I have yet to encounter an immersive theatrical experience that captivates me as deeply as a well-staged play, a beautifully choreographed dance, or a masterfully performed concert. Something always feels off; sometimes, these experiences remind me of poorly designed video games, visually ambitious but emotionally hollow. Other times, it’s the general atmosphere, like wandering through a high-end haunted house in an artsy amusement park. Punchdrunk, the British immersive production company responsible for Sleep No More, is back in New York with Viola’s Room, an immersive theatrical feast served barefoot and with a side of goosebumps. I had to check it out.

Nestled in The Shed, it is a labyrinthine descent into a world where the gothic meets the sensorial, a guided experience shaped mostly by light and sound. Our small group of four was asked to place all personal belongings, shoes included, into designated boxes. The barefoot element is intentional, designed to heighten the tactile dimension of the experience. Admittedly, my first thoughts veered toward fungal, bacterial, or parasitic risks, despite the copious amounts of disinfectant provided. We were also given headphones and an audio device to guide us through the space, with built-in support if needed. The experience included moments of total darkness, haze, flashing lights, and loud recorded sounds that surrounded us from all sides.

Conceived and directed by Felix Barrett, it unfolds a sinister plot inspired by Barry Pain’s 1901 story “The Moon-Slave,” with the adaptation written by Daisy Johnson. What follows is an atmospheric journey guided by the velvety, haunting narration of Helena Bonham Carter, whose voice is definitely the best part of the experience. The plot follows a young dancer named Princess Viola, a graceful but emotionally detached young woman irresistibly drawn to dance, especially under the moonlight. Though betrothed to Prince Hugo, she feels only indifference.

One night, during a palace ball, she discovers an abandoned maze and a moonlit clearing at its center. There, enchanted music mysteriously plays, and she dances with wild abandon. After that night, Viola becomes trapped in a bizarre cycle: every full moon, she is compelled to return to the maze and dance. The joy of the dance fades, replaced by dread and exhaustion. She hides her pain, hoping marriage to Hugo might free her. On the eve of their wedding, during a total eclipse, Viola is again summoned by the moon. Bleeding and desperate, she dances through the night, until a dark, unseen presence seizes her hand. She disappears and Prince Hugo finds only a few traces: blood, worn sand, and her footprint next to another–an unmistakably inhuman large cloven foot.

The set design, courtesy of Casey Jay Andrews, is a chiaroscuro dreamscape where shadows and flickering light dance in a space that feels even too intimate, sometimes claustrophobic. The maze is uncomfortable but props are brilliant and the production could use more of them or give them more importance. Viola’s bohemian room is a collage of memory and mood. The walls are covered in a busy, botanical patterned wallpaper, and over this, numerous posters, flyers, notes, and magazine cutouts are plastered, creating a layered and textured look, fragments of an interesting young identity: A Massive Attack’s Mezzanine poster; glimpses of Tori Amos, Radiohead, and Keith Haring; a cluster of white cotton undergowns suspended from above that evoke the disorienting wonder of childhood–like wandering through rows of drying laundry; a set dinner table that appears out of nowhere; shadowplay; a stark tree whose branches bear worn ballerina shoes placed at the end of the maze; and a lot more. Simon Wilkinson’s lighting design and Gareth Fry’s soundscapes punctuated the experience, adding suspense to Viola’s tale.

Did I feel completely immersed in the story? No, but it is certainly a better experience than Life & Trust or Rolling Stone’s Amplified, if only for Helena Bonham Carter’s voice whispering an English gothic tale in my ear. Germaphobes and claustrophobes, you’ve been warned. But if you have ever longed to drift through a dream world with Bonham Carter as your ghostly chaperone, this is your haunting.

photos by Marc J. Franklin

Viola’s Room
The Shed’s Level 4 Gallery
545 West 30th St, between 10th and 11th Ave’s
approximately one hour; begins every 20 minutes
ends on October 19, 2025
for tickets ($72), visit The Shed

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