In a hidden
alleyway behind a desolate street in downtown Los Angeles is
the entrance to the Edison. It looks quaint, with a smoking
room to the left and a demure hallway down the right,
not hinting at the elaborate, gargantuan space
that lies below. Tucked in the basement of the
historic Higgins Building -- once a power plant -- is
an underworld that spans 10,000 square feet and instantly
catapults you back in time, landing you
somewhere between the Victorian era and
Prohibition.
Descending the
staircase, one is treated to sights from all directions.
Original boiler-room machinery sets a
turn-of-the-century industrial tone, while
leather lounge seats beckon patrons toward curved wooden
bars. Silent movies starring Louise Brooks play above the
stage while modern-day, tattooed Brooks look-alikes in
bobs and flapper get-ups saunter past.
Male employees
wearing bowler hats, white shirts, and suspenders deliver
drinks ranging from period classics to James Bond's famous
Vesper martini to something even more
decidedly anachronistic -- like perhaps a
Scharffen Berger chocolate martini. Dark red-hued walls
shimmer under candlelight flickering from faux-antique
lamps. A woman stands in the corner with a tray full
of lightbulbs filled with glowing absinthe.
Designed by
Andrew Meieran, the Edison is the perfect setting for the
Lucent Dossier vaudeville troupe of fire-breathers, belly
dancers, trapeze artists, and
otherwise confoundingly skilled
performers currently taking up residence every
Wednesday night.
Performances take
place throughout the evening and throughout the venue,
with attention-grabbing acts occurring every 15 minutes
or so. The troupe is dressed in tattered, muted,
turn-of-the-century costumes reminiscent of those
in Jean-Pierre Jeunet's film TheCity of Lost Children, a look that fits in
perfectly with the Edison's moody
atmosphere where the industrial past meets the
future. Bygone-era outfits are paired with futuristic
makeup designs painted on faces and bodies; likewise,
some performances are set to old-world ditties while
others are accompanied by industrial techno.
Between acts,
roving performers interact with audience members on the
floor -- sometimes passively (one performer hugged me
because she said she thought I was snuggly), sometimes
aggressively (think dirty dancing). Amid
the highlights was a man in pantaloons twirling in
a hoop suspended from the ceiling's center.
More inventive and quirky was the Creative Station,
where a woman -- who was donning a beautifully
weathered, corseted Victorian dress and a teeny hat
perched jauntily to the side -- encouraged audience members
to make watercolor paintings and gave out good-luck
creative energy stones.
Such
diversions were worlds classier than some of the
troupe's hypersexualized dance numbers, which conjured
a Janet Jackson video more readily than 1930s
vaudeville. In the case of Lucent Dossier's mixed
bag of performance art, newer wasn't necessarily improved,
and the past seemed perfect.