The interactive theatre experience is given a thorough workout in a wildly energetic production that drops us right into the throbbing heart of an illicit high school after-ball. 

An intricately co-ordinated rotation has the audience split into small groups and corralled through the labyrinthine stairways of The Basement theatre for an up-close and personal introduction to the mayhem of teenage nightlife. [More]

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In the digital age, interactivity is hot. If we’re not reacting on Twitter or Facebook or hasty online comments, are we really feeling? Theatre has followed suit. There has been a shift to give audiences – especially theatre aimed at gaming-literate younger audiences – a more immersive experience. The local originator of the concept is rollicking space nailbiter Apollo 13, which recently returned from a successful tour of the States. And earlier in the year, zombies invaded a makeshift venue in Aotea Square for Apocalypse Z. This time around, it’s not about space or zombies but vomit. Well, youth binge drinking actually, but that inevitably involves a lot of vomit.

Like There’s No Tomorrow takes place at a teenage party shortly after the death of gregarious Joseph, who wants to be remembered for his jump (not missing the pool and smooshing his brains on its edge). The audience is invited into the Basement’s main theatre as if guests at an illicit bash where we meet Joseph, who promptly tells us he is not a ghost but a collection of memories projected by three of his dearest – his best mate, his girlfriend and his sister. This is a smart device from writer Eli Kent and forms the basis of the play as the audience is separated into three groups, following each key character and their gang of mates as they navigate the raucous party and grapple with their grief. [More]

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If you can convince your teenager to see one play this year, make it this one.

Leave your handbag at home, Like There’s No Tomorrow is what can only be described as ‘next level’ immersive theatre: we traipse up stairs, down corridors, over the dance floor, out to the car park and into hidden rooms, uncovering the secrets, fears, hopes and irreversible actions of a group of young people, united by a friend’s tragic, drunken death: Joseph, played by Andrew Gunn.  

Firstly, Eli Kent’s script is a stunner. Imaginative and innovative, he sets moments of deep, existential reflection amongst the chaos of an illegal school after ball. Although Joseph narrates much of the play from his (dead) perspective, he is not a ghost; this is not a play about his unfinished business. He is a memory, playing out according to how his friends, sister, girlfriend, remember him. Gunn’s acting is a little melodramatic at times, but he certainly commits to the party animal character.

The beginning of the show is a little awkward, as it is not immediately clear how much we are meant to play along. Once we relax into it though, the authenticity is impressive. Designers have set The Basement up to convey perfectly the cramped, messy, grungy scene that is teenage parties.

Set in over six different parts, both inside and outside of the theatre, cast and crew make what should be a logistical nightmare into a seamless, believable experience. Semi-improvised transitions between spaces are well-executed, despite the actors (who never break character) and various hidden stagehands having to organise groups of thirty or more people through narrow passageways.

The technical aspects of the show are slick, and exciting. Sound and lighting move effortlessly between natural and heightened, and innovation again shows. Taking a show outdoors can be difficult, but the use of a car stereo to play mood music, and the rolling down of a garage door to end a scene is just beautiful.

Emily Campbell, as Stacy (Joseph’s girlfriend), is heartbreakingly believable. At one point, all the female audience members are crowded into the girls’ bathroom, and Campbell calls Joey on her cellphone. To be able act at such a proximity to the audience is simply incredible; it is so moving we have to restrain ourselves from giving her a hug.

As a young woman, it is a tense, awkward scene upstairs where three couples lose (or try to lose) their virginity that I find the most powerful. A single, hand-held torchlight illuminates a lesbian in denial, a boy who can’t “get it up”, a young man who we realise, with horror, has forgotten “you know, that thing, you need, for sex.” This should be an uncomfortably voyeuristic scene (and it is), but set designer Jessika Verryt softens the blow by shrouding each couple in their own personal bubble of sheets of thin, billowing, semi-transparent plastic – nothing less than inspired.

In the aftermath of the deed, I am stunned at how deeply it has affected me. There is such relief that drunken fumbling in the dark with a stranger was not my first time experience, but such sadness that for many of my friends, and other young people in New Zealand, it was.

Luckily, to contrast these heavy topics, there are wonderful moments of comic relief.  Uce (Isaac Nonu) and Dox (Lole Kata) are the party DJs, who have some seriously epic freestyle rap skills and a laid back attitude that has the audience in stitches. Kengo Hosaka is nothing short of adorable as Japanese student Kenji, dressed as Godzilla and trying to find his homestay family.

Like There’s No Tomorrow is an extraordinary theatre experience. Never have I ever been able to feel so close, so connected to a set of characters. The emotions are raw, the drama is high and while the participation-optional dance floor and drinking games have me missing my more irresponsible days, by the end I am glad to be heading home safe.

New Zealand’s drinking culture is a tough nut to crack, but get your teenagers along to Like There’s No Tomorrow and it certainly makes a start.

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