Tell someone about “The Cortège,” and it may inspire as much apprehension as it does curiosity.
A theatrical procession running this month at the Los Angeles Equestrian Center, “The Cortège” promises to explore grief, loss, mourning and our collective disconnection from one another. It’s a dramatic interpretation of a funeral, albeit one with jubilant street-inspired dance and a Sasquatch-like creature. And robots and drones.
I arrived at “The Cortège” just weeks removed from attending a very real, deeply personal funeral for my mother. Did I want to revisit that space as part of my weekend’s entertainment, and would the show inspire a new round of tears? The answer to both turned out to be yes.
“The Cortège” is alternately playful and serious as it explores the cycle of life.
(Emil Ravelo / For The Times)
For “The Cortège” approaches a difficult subject matter with an imaginative question: What if we explore grief not with isolation or solemness, but with wonder? It’s a prompt that’s ripe for an era of divisive politics, financial stress and often isolating technology.
Beginning at twilight and extending into the evening, “The Cortège” starts with an overture, a six-piece band performing in the center of the field. We’re seated either on the grass on portable pads with backs or in folding chairs on an elevated platform.
Soon, a mist erupts on a far end of the field; a lone figure emerges who crawls and then walks to the center. He’ll move in place for much of the show, remaining silent as a fantastical life transpires around him — dancers, ornately costumed characters and larger-than-life puppets will surreally reflect the journey of life.
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Inspired as much by Walt Disney’s approach to fairy tales as, say, Carl Jung’s theories of collective consciousness, “The Cortège” is a revival of an ancient art — the procession — that aims to be a modern rite of passage. A ritual, “The Cortège” is a communal experience, one that seeks to erase borders between audience and performer while imagining a more optimistic world.
Think of it as theater as a healing exercise, or simply an abstracted evening with elaborate, vibrant costumes and choreographed drones creating new constellations in the sky. It’s also a bit of a dance party, with original music composed by Tokimonsta, El Búho and Boreta.
““The Cortège” builds to a final that invites audience participation — and maybe a little dancing.
(Emil Ravelo / For The Times)
“The Cortège” comes from Jeff Hull, a Bay Area artist best known for devising participatory and mysterious experiences that have used real-world settings as a game board — some may recall the beloved underground experiment “The Jejune Institute.” This, however, is a more personal show. It’s informed as much by the struggles and challenges of adulthood as it is the awe and playfulness that Hull experienced when he was younger, specifically his time working as a teen at Oakland’s Children’s Fairyland, a theme park-like playground for young kids.
“Every day I would follow the yellow brick road and have a magic key and slide down a rabbit hole, and I would wonder why the rest of the world wasn’t like that,” Hull says. “I’ve been trying to make it like that ever since. Why can’t we play? Why does it all have to be barriers? That’s the motivation from a childlike place, but now I also have motivation from a wise elder space.”
In turn, “The Cortège” is part festive renewal and part philosophical recollection. At the start, music is mournful but not quite sorrowful, a lightly contemplative jazz-inspired feel anchored by a steel hang drum. The music shifts through reggae stylings and Eastern rhythms. Performers are robed and instruments are carried on ramshackle wheelbarrows, setting up the transitory mood of the night.
What follows will touch on religious and mystical iconography — we’ll meet three lantern-carrying masked figures, for instance, with exaggerated, regal adornments as they herald a birth. Expect a mixture of old and new technologies. Drones will form to mark a passage of eras, a marching band will conjure New Orleans revelry, and towering, furry creatures may invite youthful spiritedness while militant, robotic canines will represent clashing images of human ingenuity and violence.
Think of “The Cortège” as a ceremonial rite of passage — a show that wants audiences to find healing via community.
(Emil Ravelo / For The Times)
For much of the show, we are asked to wear glowing headphones. Their luminescence highlights the crowd while also creating a more intimate, reflective atmosphere. It’s not quite a sound bath and it’s not quite a play, but as more figures enter the field — some haunting and dreamlike with their bodies shaped like arrowheads, and others sillier bursts of feathered color — “The Cortège” takes on a ceremonial, meditative feel.
While some may indeed come for the outsized costumes and extended dance sequences, Hull says the show is the entertainment equivalent of “shadow work,” that is the therapeutic uncovering of suppressed, forgotten or hidden memories.
“Shadow work is something we need to do as individuals, but it’s also something we need to do as a culture,” Hull says. “Let’s look at ourselves. Let’s look at what we don’t want to admit about ourselves. How can we bring that to life? When you do it as an individual, we’re actually partly doing something for the collective. That’s a big aspect of ‘The Cortège.’ Let’s do shadow work as a cultural moment. It’s not all just meant to be entertainment.”
Audiences are asked to wear headphones during “The Cortège,” creating an intimate relationship with the music.
(Emil Ravelo / For The Times)
Ultimately, however, “The Cortège” is an invitation, a hand extended to the audience asking us to consider and reimagine our own journey through life. Emerging from both the traumatic end of a relationship and the death of my mother, I appreciated the way in which “The Cortège” sought to put our existence in perspective, to reinterpret, essentially, the individual as the communal for a celebratory reminder that we’ve all struggled as much as we’ve dreamed.
Hull says “The Cortège” was born from a time of strife.
“What you mentioned, losing a loved one and going through a separation, my version of that is I had Guillain-Barre Syndrome and was walking with a cane. My wife was diagnosed with cancer and then she lost her father. And this was all during a time when the sun didn’t come out. It was dark out, all day, because of the California wildfires. It was a shift between taking everything personally and realizing that all the things I mentioned were things we all have to go through.”
The show is purposefully abstracted, says Hull, to allow audience members to attach their own narratives. It’s a work of pageantry, inspired in part by Hull’s fascination with medieval morality plays, specifically the story of “Everyman,” an examination of self and of our relationship to a higher power.
“The tale of ‘Everyman’ was one in which a universal protagonist met with all of the challenges of life and a reckoning with himself and with God,” Hull says. “That’s literally what we’re doing here. It is a revival of ancient European pageantry.”
Drones will form constellations in the sky during “The Cortège.”
(Emil Ravelo / For The Times)
Hull’s name is well-known among those who follow what is the still-emerging niche of so-called immersive entertainment, media that, broadly speaking, asks participants to take on an interactive role. Those who went deep into “The Jejune Institute,” which ran in the late 2000s in San Francisco and inspired a documentary as well as the AMC series “Dispatches from Elsewhere,” could discover a narrative that examined the fragility — or the allure — of human belief systems. It was often, for instance, compared to a cult.
“The Cortège” is clearly a departure. And Hull today is skeptical of the word “immersive.” Though “The Cortege” invites audiences onto the field in its final act and then asks participants to join in a reception (the afterlife), Hull finds much of what is classified today as immersive to be lacking, emphasizing spectacle and imagery over human emotion.
“The Cortège,” says Hull, is “not a metafiction.” Or don’t think of it as a show about a rite of passage. It’s intended to be a rite of passage itself. “That’s kind of the thesis of this piece,” Hull, 56, says, before expanding on his evolved take on the immersive field.
“There’s this world of immersive entertainment, but what are we immersing ourselves in?” he says. “Is this just sensory stimulation? Is this gesturing at the numinous? Is this referencing the mystical? There’s no meta-narrative here.”
Hull’s hope is “The Cortège” will erase the line between the performative and the restorative. “We all want to have a pretend metafictional relationship to transformative experiences rather than genuine transformative experiences,” he says.
Not quite a play and not quite a dance show, “The Cortège” incorporates elements of both during its procession.
(Emil Ravelo / For The Times)
We can get there, Hull believes, by engaging with an art form that has largely been discarded by the Western world.
“We are reconnecting a lost lineage to that which is ancient and to that which is eternal,” Hull says. “A procession is people walking together; that is simply what a procession is. Where are they walking from? They’re walking from their past. Where are they walking to? They’re walking toward the future. That’s what we’re doing.”
I won’t spoil the moment that made me tear up other than to say it was not due to the jolting of any memories. For “The Cortège” is also exultant — a procession, yes, but a walk into an imagined world.