The Under Presents review: apocalyptically vaudevillian

I love the central setting in The Under Presents: a nightclub on the edge of existence, situated on desert sands in a bizarro alternate universe combining apocalyptic aesthetics with vaudevillian vibes. The eponymous speakeasy-like club has the expected elements of such a venue—a bar, tables and chairs, a stage, drinks—plus a huge analogue clock suspended from the ceiling. But it’s also exposed to the elements, large gaps where walls once were opening up into vast nothingness, reminding me of the wrecked theatre on the beach in Baz Luhrmann’s Romeo + Juliet.

The missing chunks of walls imply The Under Presents is crumbling and decrepit; a shadow of its former self. But in fact it’s a hive of activity—depending on which night you’re there. It’s not just a key setting but a social hub where you encounter other VR users. When I first played The Under Presents, not long after its launch, I was delighted to encounter a stage performer who was an actual human: an actor using a headset, with access to special features, performing a semi-finessed routine. Occurring early in the pandemic, the actor jokingly encouraged users to sterilize their hands using a virtual salt shaker he passed around, then hosted a series of games including one called Don’t Push the Red Button.

This game was simple: he presented a giant red button that players could choose whether or not to push. The first two people in my group decided not to push it. The third whacked it without reservation, resulting in everybody being turfed out of the club and plonked in the middle of the desert. These moments were fun and something I hadn’t experienced before, requiring from the performer elements of immersive theatre, including impromptu in-character responses. When there are no paid actors in The Under Presents (which is most of the time) computer characters take to the stage and perform uninterruptible routines; for instance there’s a musician, a stand-up comedian, and a crappy motivational speaker. 

Scattered throughout the venue are photo booths, through which a core element of The Under Presents can be activated: a single player narrative segment titled Timeboat, which is disconnected from the goings-on at the club. It’s structurally similar to The Invisible Hours, in which the player wanders around a mansion attempting to piece together a murder mystery, armed only with the ability to rewind and fast forward time. An additional feature in Timeboat is the ability to switch to a third person, diorama-esque perspective, enabling us to zoom out of the ship and observe it from above.

There’s also (in Timeboat and across the whole experience) the ability to move via “scrunch”—a novel form of navigation triggered by reaching out, holding a button, and bringing the background towards you. It looks and feels great. 

The key task in Timeboat is to piece together what happened to the crew of a large ship that embarks on a scientific voyage to collect radiation samples from nuclear bomb tests, encountering surreal phenomenon right out of a sci-fi horror movie. Like in The Invisible Hours, the writing is serviceable but nothing special: whiffs of intrigue here and there, but the story doesn’t spring to life. It feels like an interesting botched experiment, the developers at Tender Claws (whose other productions include Virtual Virtual Reality and Stranger Things VR) dabbling in a format nobody has nailed yet. 

Significantly more engaging is a lengthy prologue that introduces the titular location and its eccentric MC: a flamboyant humanoid dressed in a black suit and a steak-shaped golden mask, who emerges from a large garbage bin and escorts us inside. The MC imbues these early moments with an air of enigmatic theatricality reflective of the broader experience, contextualizing the present time as very far along in the venue’s history—well past its prime. “Here we are, backstage!” he exclaims, leading us through the club’s messy rooms and pokey passages. “It’s a little different than in the heyday, but think of it as a monument to history,” the MC continues, commenting on various props and doodads.  

The trippy vibes of this world, which feel half in reality and half out, go to the next level when we enter a warehouse-like space with around half a dozen doors, separate from any walls or structures. Some lead nowhere, others into the main area of the club—that very cool, very memorable space I began this critique discussing. When I think about The Under Presents, I think about this wonderfully designed location. It returns to life in my memory, rooted on the outskirts of my psyche, situated nowhere and nowhen. I always look forward to returning.