8 Reasons You Should See New York's 'Queen of the Night'

What looks like a construction site—newspaper-covered windows, a coat check in a makeshift plywood box, and a stairwell decorated with dusty discarded champagne flutes and peeling paint—is actually an entry concept designed to take guests on a surreal journey, to a place where pageantry, magic, and sex combine to create a feeling of well-burnished decadence.

And nothing tells the story more than the crashed chandelier that landed in a stairwell, apparently right on top of a huge pile of champagne glasses.

Somehow among Messrs. Rosen and Weiner and other partners, $20 million was spent making the entire club seem like a pristine restoration, but don’t be fooled (like I was). Every single thing is brand-spanking-new.

In one area, a multicolored series of bulbs in ceiling fixtures play off the brass wall decor and stair rails. Elsewhere, an ornate brass elevator door, which the kitchen staff told me was just a fake, will, I hope, one day ferry hotel guests to and from the hotel lobby.

A bejeweled leopard is but one of many tableaux/attractions that viewers can mingle in and around before the show starts.

There’s also a reading room with a naked poetry lass; a hall of trick drawers, some opened, some didn’t, some had surprises, some had nothing at all; and a Frankenstein-like bar with water-filled lighting fixtures that bubbled and oozed ominously while the bartenders served up complimentary, but largely unidentified, cocktails. One drink I had was reminiscent of an insalata caprese, with basil, a grape tomato, and citrusy vodka (I think).

For the really brave, there was a gyroscope you could get strapped into, and then have a greeter spin you in every which way. Nick Gattuso of Syracuse, New York described the experience as follows: “They spun me like a rat, round and round... My phone dropped. I felt like I was going to die,” confirming my suspicion that losing one’s phone, to many people, is more concerning than actual death.

The cast and paying guests alike take turns paying homage to the titular queen of the night, who has a number of costume changes, all of which would look right at home on Lady Gaga.

Some supplicants appear before the queen in sheer tulle, with only a thong. Customers who are selected by cast members are blindfolded and brought before the queen—I couldn’t tell if she touched them or spoke to them. In fact, l experienced the same frustration at this show that I did as a child going to a three-ring circus: where to look.

The queen is played by Martha Graham principal dancer Katherine Crockett, who moves at a glacial pace throughout the evening. At the end, when her robes are taken from her, she does a hauntingly beautiful death dance.

The reason that Queen of the Night is more than just an amazing show is because of the absolutely crazy food and beverage service that accompanies it.

There’s an intermission about halfway through and the servers stand on stage at the start of the interlude with giant birdcages stuffed full of cooked lobsters. The waiters bound off the stage and the steaming lobster is deposited at your table. From the stage wings come alternating giant trays with roast suckling pig on a skewer and a whole rack of short ribs, which looks like something out of The Flintstones (the bones are skewered upright on a custom-made rack).

Once all the food has been deposited, the servers explain that if you don’t like what gets plopped in front of you, then you tear off a hunk and go barter with your neighbors, which gets the people mingling. Red and white wine is in carafes on the table, and it seemed like if you wanted something stronger, it was available.

It’s a real mess, to tell the truth, but tremendous fun, and the food, by executive chef Jason Kallert, was surprisingly good. The pig had crispy skin and the lobster is accompanied by beurré monte. For the killjoy vegans, there was the obligatory kale salad.

The main portion of the show consists of a circus-like lineup of athletic performers, acrobats, knife-throwing (harrowing!) acts, etc., all with a dark twist. One guy, Dmitri, keeps trying and failing, to commit suicide.

It’s not a narrative-style show, but the gist seems to be that everyone is trying their damndest to perform tricks that please the queen.

It is a carefully choreographed act, with explosions, snapping whips, and brilliant flashes of light. One of the show’s producers, Jennie Willink, told me that while all of the lighting and sound equipment is digitized, the show is called live every night. There are hundreds of cues and I didn’t see a single error. More than once I thought a performer would go crashing into the guests, and once an acrobat missed his somersault through the hoop, so in true circus fashion, he did it again.

The show’s hero, Tamino, played by Mason Ames, lifts a woman aloft into the dining room’s dome, right in front of the horseshoe table.

But the show and the evening can be customized for event planners. Miu Miu took over the raw entry space and plastered the halls with high-fashion imagery and then screened a special short film during Fashion Week.

The price ranges from $155 to $525 per person, with all sorts of customizable elements, such as menu, number of seats, the wine list, and add-ons. The ultimate Queen’s table experience for $1,000 a head gets you, I gather, just about anything you want! The best person to call is Kristie Meluso, at 212.244.8866 ext. 129. Email her here.

The finale is actually quite somber and touching: as the queen does her death dance, troupe members perform a mesmerizing confetti drop using handheld fans.

Afterwards, guests are chosen and/or invited to mingle and dance with the cast. My guest had fallen in love with Tamino, who reminded her of one of the characters from Seven Brides for Seven Brothers, and, like in that musical, she hoped he would whisk her away to marry her, even going so far as to entice him by saying, after two hours of sweaty acrobatics, “Gee, you smell terrific!”