To Serve Man…Food, That Is, In ‘Open Spaces: An Art Dinner for Aliens’ (Review)
A delicious dinner with strangers overshadows The Martin’s thought provoking experience
Like any nerdy adolescent introvert, I loved sci-fi adventures where I could imagine myself zipping around in a uniquely-designed spaceship with a crew righting the wrongs in our galaxy. With the goggles of white cis gender privilege strapped on tight back then, different worlds and their alien species were only different because my kind was the norm. A common sci-fi trope is when the American or British crew of men met other species, there’s an expectation that they need to teach them, that the different species is the one lagging behind in how to behave, function, and think properly.
In getting older, and frankly the more woke I became, I left sci-fi elitism behind and instead thought on how when encountering new worlds we should learn from a new species we’d met among the stars. But learning from others is a two-way street and I equally became interested in what other species think of how our culture functions. The real question I believe is in observing us, what would another species take away from our culture?
This appears to be a key question at play in The Martin’s Open Spaces: An Art Dinner for Aliens. Open Spaces is a collaboration between The Martin founders Whitney LaMora and Lora Miller and freelance chef Emory Hall where self-described aliens wish to present their current understanding of human culture. Having apparently a decent enough understanding, the aliens have elected to use the most time-tested human construct to meeting strangers: hosting a dinner party.
In arriving at The Martin’s store front space in Humboldt Park, I’m waiting outside with the audience to enter, my stomach growling since I spent the late afternoon fending off snacking in order to not spoil my appetite. When the door opens we enter one at a time to meet a self identifying alien who informs us that they’re only of all aliens we’ll meet this evening that currently speaks our language. In my first contact, there’s nothing “alien” about these aliens; they are humanoid with no visible distinctions different from a human. As this human-woman-looking-alien explains to me the rules for the evening, along with ensuring I have no food or drink allergies, I’m instantly chewing on the concept of what exactly makes someone alien if there are no clear physical differences.
I’m the first to be sat at an empty table that has two candles burning with forks and knives out atop napkins with bottled water for each guest, matching the setup of two other tables in the space. I pass the time eating the first course, a truly spicy Yuzu Gelatin for a Midwesterner who thinks mild is hot enough, until another guest is sat with me and the classic script of small talk begins. But with the elongated nature of how the dinner guests are being sat one at a time at each table, our small talk quickly evolves into an actual conversation. By the time three other guests have joined us, one who’s a casual acquaintance I hadn’t seen in nearly a decade, a rhythm of quickly overcoming our strangeness to each other is set. By the time we are finished with our second course, our table’s topic of discussions range from Prince Harry to drug experimentation to Star Trek.
Between courses our alien hosts leave printed note cards for activities guests are allowed to participate in with someone else at their table. Being down for anything, our table was constantly getting up in pairs to try either making an origami paper alien or picking out a stranger’s note on the ideal way to relax and leaving your own note as replacement for someone else at the party to possibly choose later. I found the latter striking in demonstrating how similar we all are even as supposed strangers, something I believe that’s become lost in today’s ever escalating us-versus- them culture fueled by politics.
With the final course happily consumed, our alien hosts announced that in observing each table’s conversations, they have been able to learn our language and quickly take a bow with bringing out Hall to say a few words about the meal. With that, they inform us that we’re welcome to move freely around the space, it’s clear that the experience has come to an end yet I sit there wondering what action was occurring in Open Spaces. The aliens only interactions with the guests was to serve them food and drinks so learning through interaction clearly wasn’t occurring and at no point did I feel an observing gaze from them clueing me into their goal. Without any stakes, the characters and story of Open Spaces could easily be interchanged with any setting requiring strangers to be marooned at a table, leaving me feeling dramatically underwhelmed.
But maybe the choice of using aliens to color the experience didn’t matter. Initially strangers, my table of guests quickly connected, making those first few awkward minutes of meeting a forgotten memory. If given enough time, I believe friendships were blossoming at our table because in reconnecting with my casual acquaintance it felt like no time had gone by at all. In leaving us alone the aliens forced communication to occur, shedding a light on the alienation we humans put between each other though the personas we publicly display, a damning observation I love.
Yet this is only a best guess on what Open Spaces was trying to achieve. Without any dramatic structure or question proposed to what the audience agency should be, I can only offer a shot in the dark as to what Open Spaces wants me to walk away thinking and feeling. I welcome the chance to chew on a thought-provoking, open-ended question yet simply wish I knew the question being asked. During dinner only I kept bringing up questions of what the alien’s goal was and how best we should interact with them, seemingly not forefront on anyone else’s mind. When the activities began, my table was the only one participating with only a couple of other guests between the other tables leaving to experience something else in the space. I wondered if anyone was making a distinction between this being an immersive experience or simply attending a friend’s dinner party with a theme layered on for flavor.
Or maybe they elected to sit the entire time because of the amazing food prepared by Hall. While preferring a well cooked meal of quality ingredients, I’m not a connoisseur actively seeking the best meal regularly. Yet the moment I learn Hall is running a kitchen in the future, I’ll be the first to make a reservation. Every course was brimming with rich flavor that was uniquely delicious in the simplicity of the indigents. My favorite course was the pickled root vegetables with everything grown from Earth tasting as if it was freshly plucked from the ground moments ago, especially the crunchy and creamy peanut crumble. Hall’s courses made me realize we need to do more to become less dependent on processed foods when everything we need is naturally grown for our nutritional survival.
While the food was wonderful, The Martin’s Open Spaces: An Art Dinner for Aliens seemingly asked little of its guests. Without clear direction on what was happening or engaging with the audience regularly, it seemed most guests were simply happy to chat and eat, the dinner party aspect of the experience overshadowing any thought provoking dramatics that were being asked of its guests. While making friends with strangers I met, the moment everyone was allowed to get up and mingle as a large group, my new friends return to those they knew, leaving the nerdy introvert alone to wonder what I was supposed to take away in learning about how my species interaction between themselves.
Open Spaces: An Art Dinner For Aliens has concluded.
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