Review: The Liminary
- ThomM
- May 7
- 7 min read
Updated: May 7
“Tomorrow we disappear!” proclaims the leader, but how it will happen is the question. By force or by choice, maybe you’ll help them decide.
Immersive Scene Los Angeles 2026 Review
There’s plenty going on in Last Call Theatre’s immersive presentation of The Liminary, and it reveals itself in ways that are both intriguing and, at times, a bit perplexing. First, the intriguing.
You’d be hard-pressed to find a more interactive experience than the one offered in the current production of The Liminary. The involving show offers its audience not just an opportunity to be part of the action, but the license to help reshape it in substantial ways. Willing attendees can engage in constant and meaningful back-and-forth with the game cast, ultimately influencing the conclusion of the piece. According to Last Call, any given performance can end in a multitude of ways, each shaped by the suggestions and wishes of its roughly 40 audience members. Fans of deep interactivity eat this stuff up.
The show easily sets the high bar for the sheer amount of time it spends blurring the line between actor and visitor. To appreciate that fully, you need only jump into the action at most times during the roughly 90-minute drama. In fact, only ten minutes or so solely involve the cast without audience participation, these brief segments reserved for pivotal set pieces. The rest of the time, you’re not merely watching - you’re smack dab right in the middle of the rebellion, an active force helping to inform and steer the outcome of the drama.
The drama in the case of The Liminary is the cast-devised story that unfolds in a near- future America where an authoritarian government has clamped down full force to stop immigrants from getting into America, or staying here if they have. I wonder where they came up with that one? The dreaded 4A, aka, Agency for Assimilation and American Activities — think ICE on steroids — has instilled paranoia and fear across L.A. stand-in, Angel City, creating a society of the fearful and oppressed, especially those who are hiding, plotting, waiting, and, daring to hope for a better life in this very room.
Here in the safehouse of the title’s name, you join a collection of freedom fighters, sympathizers and dreamers who are, for the moment, seemingly secure. That is, as long as the haven’s location remains secreted from the ever-encroaching government-directed thugs determined to root it out and unleash their full xenophobic fury on those inside. If they succeed, it won’t simply mean expulsion from America, it could very well mean expulsion from life itself. 4A’s kill list grows larger every day. Most here are already on it. Now, you may be too.
Just look around the room and you’ll hear stories of executed family members, missing children and lives upended when unchecked power is left to grow into a cancer. But tonight, this one night anyway, should offer a respite to breathe, maybe even celebrate. The intrepid founder and leader of the Liminary, Darah (Noite), is having their farewell party before heading south to La Jolla, where another safehouse in the underground awaits them.
“Party” might be too strong a word, given the turmoil raging right outside on the volatile streets of 2042 America. Still, after everything that Darah and their fellow Liminarians have done to keep this hideout secure, they've earned this chance for a moment of relief. Tonight will be both a thank-you for Darah's decade of leadership and, perhaps, an opportunity to appoint their successor.
But the façade of a calm night quickly vanishes. Tension inside these protective walls begins to coil when a spy is revealed, motives are questioned, revelations surface and the very future of the organization debated - then decided. No one will get exactly what they want.
With the story’s expositional table properly set, The Liminary proceeds to take us down a road where it seems something incendiary must erupt at some point. However, it doesn’t quite reach that. Instead, the piece focuses on the relationships and interpersonal dramas of the characters literally holding down the fort. That’s not a deficit, necessarily, as several of these threads are compelling enough to sustain the evening.
Among them are Eden (Ronen Rinzler), the dedicated yet demanding firebrand seemingly at odds with many; Wes (Bryan Siu), a passionate activist who is on the “kill list” himself and who has already lost much of his own family to 4A; Amaranta (Michu Cure), the healer trying to keep everyone together; and Gemma (Ashley Busenlener), who has managed to infiltrate the enemy’s ranks to stay one step ahead of a raid. And there’s the newcomer, Sam (Michael DiNardo), a recently exiled 4A officer who is suddenly thrust into their midst, still deciding which side he’s truly meant to fight for.
All of these characters have something to say, and each actor more than holds their own, but it’s also where the show gets a bit knotty. The physical “sandbox” atmosphere — so much happening at once in a single shared space — makes it challenging to follow it all. The room’s acoustic signature presents the challenge: cement floors, industrial vibe height and hard services (perfect for the setting, not so for sound), swallow a surprising amount of the dialogue. Even in close proximity the actors, as you’ll often be, means having to lean in to hear what’s being said. Some of the performers instinctively compensate, having mastered that rare skill of projecting without tipping into loudness. Others either speak too softly or get drowned out by the other simultaneous breakout scenes and their combined volume. And it’s no help that the ever-present, yet plot-critical Liminary radio — broadcasting through much of the show — competes for your ear space.
This issue seems fixable enough, but the larger challenge involves a story element, namely the absence of a particularly memorable ending. As compelling as the first hour plus is, a narrative of this type practically begs for a powerful final act — or at least the sense that something explosive is about to go down. Blackout. On the night we attended, while there were certainly meaningful moments, the threat of the encroaching oppressors never landed with the weight it needed. In lieu of 4A breaking down the doors or even a climactic standoff, we’re left with relationships, conversations, and plans. Engaging, sure, but not the “wow” moment that brings home the danger.
This may be the result of the story’s origin. Rather than being shaped by a single writer, the premise was created by director Liviera Lim and then further devised by the cast during rehearsals, with emphasis likely devoted to character relationships and dynamics. It’s all an interesting experiment with plenty to keep you involved, but there’s also a wish for what could have been done to result in a more potent wrap-up.
Even without an action-driven finale, director Lim still keeps the interwoven stories around the room engaging enough that you remain invested throughout. With multiple scenes unfolding simultaneously across the performance space, often while you’re being pulled or coaxed from one corner to another, the core narrative never gets lost on the audience. The structure mirrors Last Call’s previous show: a brief audience welcome, let loose the guests to free-roam and interact with cast, bring all together for an important story beat, let loose to explore again, and finally a group convergence for the curtain, sans actual curtain. While it felt a bit familiar it also worked for this show’s approach.
Lim is smart about carving out semi-private performance zones for each actor, separating them as far away from other action as possible. This affords the personal material, some of it drawn from the cast's own lived experiences, to play believably. A practical tip: seek out actors who aren’t overly surrounded by audience members. If you can keep to clusters of no more three to five others, you’ll get meaningful and even poignant time with each, even with the pesky sound issues that come up. And there’s really no rush. If a character is swarmed by a large group, wait awhile and circle back later.
The young cast is uniformly solid — and brave — opening themselves up to full-access performance, fielding constant questions, and navigating the always close-quarters presence of the curious audience. At our performance, Rinzler’s fiery Eden, DiNardo’s conflicted Sam and Siu’s impassioned Wes drew particular note in their dramatic work. On the improvisational side, Busenlener’s indefatigable, against-all-odds Gemma and Noite’s grounded, committed Darah, were especially adept at playing off whatever the audience threw their way.
The setting — a multi-story, warehouse-like building tucked away in mid-City (though escape-room aficionados may recognize the vibe) — is a perfect place to hatch a show like this. If we ever do end up in a society as terrifying as the one imagined in The Liminary, this is exactly the kind of building you’d want to take shelter in. And the service-elevator ride up several floors to the performance space is a mini-show in itself.
Once the lift delivers you, you’ll discover a large, single-floor playing space, the Liminary, where the resistance welcomes you into their fold. The environment feels lived in, genuine and believable thanks to clever set-dressing details and understated illumination that defines playing zones without blasting them up like a prison yard. There’s plenty to explore, so take time to dig around: poke through the scattered objects, read the posters, play a bit of metaphorical chess, and piece together the world through the abundant ephemera strewn across the room. And if you’re good at deciphering puzzles, unlike me, who failed miserably despite the heroic assistance of a nearby couple, try your hand at one that may or may not provide valuable intel. I wouldn’t know.
So, to sort of quote the Clash: should they stay or should they go now. The answer, for future nights in the world of the show’s characters, is partly up to you to help decide. And if the $#+! ever hits the fan at a Liminary-level in real life, here’s hoping a safehouse like this one could be out there, ready to make the difference for those that still believe it’s possible.
We’re believers in what Last Call Theatre continues to bring to the immersive/interactive realm and look forward to their unique productions. Their team takes risks not only in how they create their shows, but in the gutsy way they put themselves directly into the hands of their audience. It’s true performance tightrope walking, and it’s admirable. Last time out, they took us on a trippy ride through time; this time they’ve dropped us into a dark world in desperate need of more compassion. Let’s see where their collective vision takes us next.
Last Call Theatre
1919 3rd Ave.
Los Angeles
May 7-16 (Thur, Fri, Sat) 2026
Tickets: $ 68-84
