THEATRE THROUGH GOGGLES

A 47-minute VR encounter turns a gallery
into the closest “front row” imaginable.

How would you like to attend a play starring Ian McKellen—and be seated front row center? Better yet, what if Sir Ian (along with Golda Rosheuvel, Arinzé Kene, and Rosie Sheehy) played directly to you, making sustained eye contact throughout? If that sounds enticing, this experience is guaranteed during An Ark, a 47-minute one-act currently playing at The Shed’s Level 2 Gallery.

Before the performance begins, however, there is a bit of preparation. Upon arrival, you check your coat and bags by simply entering your phone number. Your photo is taken, the last four digits of your cell serve as a paperless receipt, and a confirmation text is sent to your phone. (Nothing is allowed in the performance space, under or hanging from your chair.) Once inside the second-floor gallery, the next stop is for those who wear glasses. A gentle hint: if possible, wear contacts. Your glasses will not fit under the headset goggles required to view the play. A machine will read your eyeglass prescription and provide snap-on lenses for the headset. Next, check your footwear—wear socks. The reason is unclear, but the wall-to-wall red carpet makes the performance space feel unexpectedly cozy.

Once inside, take a seat in either the inner or outer circle of chairs. No matter where you sit, you are effectively front row center. A large white orb hangs above the center circle, subtly shifting colors as the mood of the play evolves (lighting by Seth Reiser).

Conceived and produced by Todd Eckert, Simon Stephens’ play is written in the second person, addressing us directly—as if we have experienced what the characters have experienced. Under Sarah Frankcom’s direction, the actors are seated directly in front of us on four wooden chairs. Aside from entrances and exits, there is no other staging. The characters wear contemporary clothing and are barefoot (set and wardrobe by Rosanna Vize). Through the required headset goggles, the four chairs appear vividly close. It is impossible to see all four actors at once; you must turn your head left and right to take in those seated at the ends.

The four actors enter one at a time, making direct eye contact—smiling, nodding, acknowledging your presence. They appear fully three-dimensional, only feet away, and the clarity of their gaze is uncanny. This is not AI-generated imagery. The actors were filmed in a studio in Grenoble, France, and because there was no opportunity for editing, the play had to be performed in its entirety multiple times. Unlike a film—where you are fully absorbed into a constructed world—here, you see past the actors to the other audience members, turning their heads as the dialogue passes from one speaker to another.

If you were to attend a traditional play featuring four actors seated in chairs, speaking directly to the audience with no additional staging or design, you might expect the conceit to wear thin. Here, however, the technology is so disarming and sophisticated that, for the entire duration, fascination alone sustains your attention.

Perhaps An Ark is closer to an art installation than a conventional play—or even a film. Or perhaps it signals the emergence of a new theatrical genre: pandemic theater, where we can watch safely through goggles and alone. A 4D theater?

The four characters are strangers—living or not—reflecting on life from birth to death. Because the dialogue is written in the second person, they speak from their own perspectives while simultaneously implicating ours. Life, after all, is universal. We recognize ourselves in their observations across the chapters of childhood, adolescence, young adulthood, middle age, and old age. Through unwavering eye contact, they share their lives as if recounting our own—capturing the fullness of being alive and the inevitability of moving on.

Whether An Ark is theater, film, or installation ultimately matters less than what it accomplishes. By collapsing distance and dissolving the fourth wall entirely, the piece redefines intimacy in performance. The technology becomes a vessel rather than a spectacle, allowing the audience to confront a complete human life at unnervingly close range. In doing so, An Ark suggests a new theatrical language—one born not of scale or spectacle, but of presence, attention, and shared vulnerability.

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photos by Marc J. Franklin

An Ark
The Shed’s Level 2 Gallery
545 W 30th Street, New York, NY
ends on March 1, 2026
for tickets, visit The Shed

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Gregory Fletcher is an author, theater professor, playwright, director, and stage manager. His publishing credits include a craft book on playwriting entitled Shorts and Briefs, as well as a collection entitled A Playwright’s Dozen: 13 short plays. Other publishing includes two YA novels (Other People’s Crazy, and Other People’s Drama), 2 novellas in the series Inclusive Bedtime Stories, 2 short stories in The Night Bazaar series, and five essays. Website, Facebook, Instagram.