Performing Self-Discovery with ‘The Caravan’ (Review)
The intimate online experience fails to transport this solo traveler
“Many via the multiverse have experienced The Caravan’s magical migration, but none shall reveal its secrets.” Until now.
The Caravan is a mystery-shrouded online party for one. This “journey of self-discovery” is tailor-made for people who miss Burning Man and want a (remote) space to connect with kindred spirits, dream-logic narratives, and a mute camel named Chaaba. My time with The Caravan was filled with light-hearted improv — thanks to an especially enigmatic pre-show questionnaire — but no two experiences will be the same. Want something heavier? That may be up to how you respond during your hour. “Push your comfort zone while delving into play, emotion, vulnerability, and elevation,” reads the flyer. “The more you put in, the more you will get out.”
I’d like to say up front that I’ve had a hard time finding any information online about the people behind The Caravan. The event was originally listed on Co-Reality Collective’s website, which led to my misattributing them on April 27, 2021 as the show’s producers. A post-show email lists Ricky Thomas & Tanner Wells as producers and mentions The Co-Reality Collective and Metaforyou as supporters. (I reached out to the company for clarification about Co-Reality’s relationship to The Caravan, but have not received a response.)
This lack of transparency is part of what caught my attention in the first place. I’m a sucker for shows that require a lot of work from their audience. Give me secret phone numbers and hidden rooms; let me give you something of myself that you can mix back into your art to make it richer and more diverse. These days, this sort of work takes the form of burner Instagram account pre-shows that are weird enough to generate buzz. When cryptic posts with next-to-no information show up in my feed, I take note. The Caravan post that caught my eye was especially juicy: a logo, a link, and a few choice reviews. Their stylized camel logo looked retro and vaguely established. Had I seen it before? I wasn’t sure, but I wanted to find out. “Space is extremely limited so apply early.” Alright, I was intrigued. Normally I’d start Googling for information at this point but clicking through to the event page didn’t give me much to go on. What was I getting into? “Details of what the experience entails will not be provided.” Who was producing this experience? “We are a community to be called upon, an experience to be felt, a secret to be summoned, a migration waiting to happen…” Well, then. I suddenly had a lot of questions and no answers.
Two things The Caravan is transparent about are pricing and engagement. “In order to create the most impactful experience you can have, two things need to happen. 1. We need to put in a lot of time, resources, and manpower to give you the focus and attention you deserve 2. You need to be fully committed and ready to delve headfirst into whatever we can throw at you.” Fair payment is something I’d like to see more of in the immersive community, so having that first point addressed up front made me feel great about going in blind on a relatively expensive ticket. Point number two piqued my curiosity and sealed the deal. Feeling pleasantly frustrated and adventurous, I bought that golden ticket.
The written voice of what I’ve come to think of as The Caravan’s pre-show was lyrically gnomic. It communicated feeling more than fact and was delightful enough to distract me from something I didn’t notice until a few days later: nothing about this production felt like part of a cohesive whole. The graphics that had caught my eye didn’t have anything to do with the mystical questionnaire which, it turns out, didn’t have much to do with the cheesy-but-sincere experience design. It would be more correct, of course, to say that I noticed these incongruities, but thought they were part of a larger story. Unfortunately, what I had taken for hallmarks of a rich immersive experience turned out to be happy accidents of an incomplete process. There wasn’t a bigger story. This was creative play-acting dressed up as enlightenment.
(Minor spoilers follow.)
How The Caravan positions itself to the public goes a long way towards explaining why I was ultimately disappointed with my experience. It’s not a bad show. It’s just different from what I had hoped it would be. Instead of getting something that centered my experience as the sole ticket-holder, I got a multi-scene improv exercise based loosely on my answers to the earlier questionnaire. It’s hard to compare notes when it comes to single-audience shows, but I’m 90% sure that The Caravan’s structure is rigid. You will always encounter the same five-or-so scenarios, you will always spend around 10 minutes in each scene, and how you react will not change the outcome of your experience. You may find some of the scenarios challenging, but that has less to do with the show’s content and more to do with its lack of safety protocols.
Had I looked into The Caravan a little harder before diving in, I would have found the show’s Terms and Conditions statement: “The only terms and conditions are the ones that you define and apply.” That’s all well and good when people have a clear idea of what they’re in for, but it’s a poorly thought out policy for a show that repeatedly plunks its audience into a series of surprise scenarios. The ticketing page does include a disclaimer that warns “aspiring new migrants’’ to be aware that the show might present triggering or disorienting content — but there’s no information about what kind of content we’re talking about. Should we prepare for violence? Adult language? Loud noises? When a show asks its audience to engage authentically and with vulnerability, it has a responsibility to think beyond the confines of its runtime. What might seem like overkill for a Zoom party or a Broadway show is a baseline requirement for interactive theatre. This level of emotional forethought is uncharted water for lots of immersive theatre, but it’s something LARP (live action role playing) has perfected. The Caravan dipped its toes into a few LARP-esque safety mechanics at the top of its experience: you’re given a safeword to use if you want to tap out and there was some instruction about communicating with Chaaba that I didn’t fully understand, but I think was safety-related. I’d like to see the producers push that process further.
In any case, I’m here for emotional and psychological risk, so The Caravan’s anti-policy worked for me. I wanted to be triggered! I wanted catharsis and exploration. Instead, I got a few lovely, well-acted improv scenes that used my questionnaire answers as prompts. I was occasionally made uncomfortable with how the show approached mental illness, religion, and authority in ways that didn’t seem strictly necessary — either for the narrative or as a stepping off point for my personal growth. But I never felt personally challenged to change or grow.
I went into The Caravan with high hopes. Overall, I enjoyed myself, but I didn’t feel especially seen or understood and I don’t feel like The Caravan delivered on its grandiose promise of becoming a place “where your wildest dreams can roam untamed” or where you might “lean yourself far past the limitless ledge.” For $95*, I wanted a more cohesive show with fewer narrative rails and a more nuanced approach to themes of morality and mental health. It seems like there’s a sizable community of talented artists behind The Caravan, so it’s possible that the show will grow into itself over time. When that happens, I’ll come back to recommend it more universally. Until then, this is an experience for people who prefer their theatre chaotic and their self-discovery performative and borderline absurd.
*Financially inclusive ticketing is available upon request.
The Caravan next departs on May 23rd. Tickets are $95.
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