To those earnest Meowists: What’s new, pussycat?
“Wow. You’re leaving already?” the nice young lady at the front desk queried us as we left the wildly anticipated and ballyhooed Meow Wolf art collective’s full-scale, Middle-American funhouse/ installation in the old Silva’s Bowling Lanes. “Yes, we think so. Why?” “Well, because most people spend like an hour, at least.” “Oh, we’ve seen enough, thanks. You see, we grew up in a house like that, but much scarier. Haha.” A quizzical look. We did not say that, in addition to our stated aversion to spook houses due to memorable personal experience, the notion that things are not what they seem; that appearances are deceiving; that new realities lurk behind closed doors — even as skillfully conceived and executed as that notion is here — is an old and somewhat faded one. But whatever.
The same very nice young lady had welcomed us, not that much earlier, as noted, with an encouraging, “PLEASE, be as INTERACTIVE as you want!” Interactive? We entered with mild trepidation. But, fear not, it was more tepid than trepid and good clean fun, all in all. But, huh? Throngs of children overly interacted throughout the claustrophobic, two-story, suburban home — a kind of Ozzie-and-Harrieton-acid meets Alice in the Underworld, Narnia Chronicles and Harry Potter.
In all the press meowing about this rather costly-to-construct and pricey-to-enter show, phrases like “makes you feel like a child again” and “like being a 9 year-old!,” etc. were repeated. And children were, in fact, loving it.
But being 9 wasn’t all that great the first time around, as I recall, and, besides, my aesthetic needs, expectations, hopes and standards have changed, and aren’t those of a visually over-stimulated, contemporary 9-year-old. So that was one problem.
(Did we mention that the Santa Fe Children’s Museum is still closed? It has been since January — money trubs.)
The Meowist collaborative has succeeded in making a cool movie set-like series of environments with some cool stuff, and some stimulating spectacle and sensation. Perfect for our sensibilities shaped by the pervasive atmosphere and influence of the Entertainment-Industrial Complex.
It is where the jobs are in New Mexico, we are told, and, in a way, you could look at this as a sort of trade school for film, theater, opera, you name it. (It is noted that a BIG financial and creative supporter of Meow Wolf is the King of Spectacle right now, George R.R. Martin, the creator of the Game of Thrones Empire — or, as we call it, “Blood and Boobs” or “Cleavage and Cleavage” — in book and on HBO.)
It is all show and no drama, though. No tension. Is that kid in the white lab coat in the weird upstairs study a real Meowist playing a fake resident, was he actually doing something? I wanted to ask, but he was so earnest.
And that’s another thing. It’s all so earnest. For all the trickery and scenicmaking skill, there is very little really witty or funny. And nothing is as leaden as earnest, self-conscious “fun” of the “Look! Aren’t we having fun?!” variety.
Back when the Meow Wolf enterprise was announced, I recall one of the founders quoted in the press saying something like whatever they came up with, it would certainly be a heck-of-a-lot more entertaining than bowling. I hate to tell you, but it’s not. And don’t let The Dude, or Walter, or Donny, or Jesus hear you say that.
Meow Wolf and its playhouse, I am sorry to report, are as “ironic” as the name; and, in an Age of Extremism — from the Taliban to Trump — this is like going after a $2 T-bone steak with a butter knife. It ain’t gonna cut it.
If you want some irony, here’s a Modest Proposal for the next playhouse/movie set. How about a double-wide trailer out on the South Side in which three generations of two undocumented families are living; the adult women get up at 6, get a bus and clean houses on the East Side, and the men hang around outside in front of Our Lady of Guadalupe Church looking to work for less than minimum wage.
You could make it as interactive as you want.
Believe me, I’m no Maoist reactionary proclaiming that art must serve the Masses and the greatest common good. No. But I’m no Meowist and art shouldn’t pander to the masses, either.
(And did I mention that the Santa Fe Children’s Museum has been closed since January? Maybe Mr. Martin could throw a bit of cash their way, too?)