A Machine to See With - Blast Theory

However nice it is to visit a city with a partner, friends or family, there is something undeniably joyful about spending time wandering alone - there are no compromises on what to eat, no discussions on whether do shops or museums, and no agreement needed on which direction to drift. There can be few things more pleasurable than doing all this amongst the excitement of an unseasonably warm late summer day in Brighton.

This was the situation I found myself in recently while visiting to take part in Blast Theory's 'A Machine to See With', which had been redesigned for the Digital Festival in their home town, following a critically acclaimed run at Edinburgh. So while in a way it was a shame to drag myself away from the market stalls & people-watching in the Lanes, I had high expectations for the experience - it cam off the back of taking part in the excellent 'Ulrike & Eamon Compliant' in Sheffield, and I was trying to see as much of their work as possible with a view to a possible future collaboration.

With all their expertise in this form of performance, it was no surprise that Blast Theory are very skilled in arranging the setup, instructions and meeting point. Phone messages - a week before and morning of my allotted time - gave clear instructions as to the meeting place and that I was to come alone with my phone and cash. As the moment approaches (and then passes) and I am stationed nervously underneath a railway bridge, I begin to think that there has been a mistake - perhaps Im in the wrong place? But then the phone buzzes, and Im engrossed in the details; Im not to answer my phone to anyone except the automated voice. Im responsible for my actions if I get arrested. I am going to be robbing a bank.

Much like the experience of other 'single-player' interactive walkabout performances (surely a new term needs coining), Blast Theory immediately exploit the participant's state of excitement and anticipation to make the everyday come to life. Simple instructions for the precise route to take mix banal details into a more poetic urban narrative - and suddenly, walking down a street or back alley becomes a gripping experience. The walking element form roughly half of the overall performance, with the rest made up of carefully timed interactions as it becomes apparent that this isn't a solo mission after all, but I am undertaking the heist as part of a team. The first hint of this is when directed into a pub toilet cubicle - "lock the door behind you" and answer a series of questions on my personality (here it does feel a bit like being on the phone to a customer service desk), which later transpires to affect what role I will play in the robbery. Meanwhile I must hide all of the cash I'm carrying "somewhere on my person". The experience of being enclosed heightens the stress - blurring the tension built by the fiction with other questions wondering if the pub are in on it - are people queuing to use the toilet?

Back out in the bright sunlight Im behind schedule - I must hurry to the meeting point at the NCP car park with cash rattling around in my trainers, and the phone is beginning to feel hot on my face. A place in the city that is associated with another everyday activity - parking for the shops - takes on an altogether different filmic association (a deliberate choice Im sure). We have all seen enough Hollywood heist or spy films to fill in the gaps of the vague plot of AM2SW (for the whole hour I have imagery from the Bourne series and Un Flic running through my head), and in part of my brain the rooftop of the car park becomes a set - or maybe - just for a moment- even a 'real' meetup point prior to a 'real' heist. Either way, the Silver BMW I am supposed to get into already has 2 of my 'partners' inside, so instead I am instructed move off the bank itself.

Once more, the timing is calculated and very carefully explained - so that as the voice counts down from 10 you must be inside the bank ready to reach the counter.

This type immersion takes a very different from other media - it could be argued that depth of experience is all of your own making with the audio narrative simply as a tool to prompt the imagination. Depending on the will of the participant, at any point the fiction can be questioned and stopped by taking the phone away.

But its too late - I am walking into the bank heading towards zero when I hear THE HEIST HAS FAILED GET OUT OF THERE.

After the adrenalin of escaping a 'near-miss' the finale takes place nearby, outside another location that stirs the emotional imagination of cinema and youth - the arcades. Here the participant is faced with a choice; the heist went wrong but there is still a chance to make a difference, to somehow have an effect on the city. "It is not a personality test" but an opportunity to make a connection. I am instructed to take out all of the cash and give it to a stranger. This is something that on one hand sounds like a theatrical sleight of hand - while it is unrelated to the plot - it is an instruction that gets you thinking hard enough not to immediately question this. Can I do it? What will they say? Will they think I'm actually a 'real' criminal? After an hour or so invested really trying to feel the experience, the deliberate car crash of real and fiction is disorientating, not to mention the personal questions it raises in my (frugal) head about giving away £20. In Sheffield, a previous Blast Theory outing called for a similar choice (albeit without the financial sting), and agreeing to enter the story resulted in a final interrogation scene, so part of me wondered whether if I could do it, I would somehow carry on the adventure.

In the end, I don't and its over. And anyway its nearly time to get my train back to normal life. But for such a simple final question, it makes me think for a long time about myself, the nature of immersive theatre, and how suddenly I don't want to be in the city alone any more.