Theatre review: The Last Resort cruises into Polynesian purgatorial paradise at the Waldorf
Leis, limbo, and lots of dance as adrift characters lead viewers through a warped retro universe
The Last Resort. Photo by Chelsey Stuyt
The Last Resort continues at the Waldorf Hotel on Sundays, 2 and 8 pm, to November 24
HOW DOES PLAYING LIMBO while actually in limbo sound? Writer-directors Fairlith Harvey and Andy Garland take this idea and run with it in their latest immersive theatre experience.
Part campy, part metaphysical, and full of feverish nostalgia, the show's premise is this: you’re a guest boarding The Last Resort cruise (that’s the name of the show too), a ship that sailed into the Bermuda Triangle in 1971 and has been stuck in some kind of a time vortex ever since. Set inside Vancouver’s historic Waldorf Hotel, right as you enter, you're handed a lei that lets you choose how involved you want to be. Go with a colourful lei if you’re ready to jump in, or choose a plain white one if just watching is more your speed.
Those familiar with the Waldorf’s vintage Tiki Bar can probably picture how seamlessly the show’s premise blends with the venue. With its time-capsule décor and "exotic" mid-century aesthetics (built in the '50s, after all)—a ceiling dotted with tiny star-lights, tall fake palm trees, and bamboo matting—it merges so naturally with the show’s ’70s tropical fantasy setting that it’s hard to tell where one ends and the other begins.
Guests can choose to arrive early or just in time for a quick briefing, after which they're beckoned down the spiral staircase of the Polynesian bar to where the real action unfolds: the downstairs area. A carefully curated soundtrack of sunny retro tunes, from Elvis Presley to disco, pumps through the hallways and fills the two main spaces that the audience is free to roam. There’s the main stage and dance floor, where a disco ball spins endlessly, and the Tiki Lounge, a cozier (and at times seedier) spot with couches.
As for any actual limbo games, I can’t say there aren’t any, but I personally didn’t see or join in. That’s the thing with immersive theatre; what you experience can be completely different from the next person. Early on, though, I got pulled into another game. I followed a group led by a performer in a sparkly suit who looked like he was definitely in charge. He arranged us in a semi-circle for a number-guessing game. After a few people took their turns, he handed them envelopes, casually announcing their fates were sealed. When my turn came, I opened my envelope to find a card that read, “You cannot release yourself from a prison that was never really there.”
Little touches like this, as well as getting handed the Tower Tarot card while spectating a neon-lit striptease, really drive home the themes of destiny and perpetual stasis, all while keeping you guessing about what else might be in store.
The performers, a talented mix of dancers, jugglers, magicians, and more, play either cruise staff or fellow guests, giving the audience something to latch onto amid the daze. The acting smartly leans into classic archetypes, with distinct personalities and roles made even clearer by the eye-catching, glittery, flowery, colourful costumes.
You’ll encounter an image-obsessed playboy and probably witness many of his romantic conquests go awry. You might catch a starlet and a femme fatale battling for the spotlight during cabaret-style performances. You’ll definitely see a quiet, nervous writer pacing around throughout the night, seemingly trying to finish a book, his cryptic writings strewn about for you to peruse. And when walking past one of the bars, you’ll come across one of my personal favourites: a bartender who forces endless dance routines on thirsty patrons. I counted about 16 characters in total, each one like a soul clinging to remnants of their former life, unable to let go, trapped in an afterlife where time and place are out of sync. Many of their scenes unfold through dance that’s both playful and racy.
Like a lot of immersive theatre, the show leans heavily on movement and physicality over dialogue, which makes it hard to pinpoint a clear storyline, though the tension between pleasure and unrest is clear from the get-go. At one point, I overheard one of the actors say something about “souls crashing into each other”, and honestly, that's probably the best way to sum up my experience: enigmatic figures drifting and bumping into each other—or into you, if you’re lucky or eager enough—as they wander through their purgatorial paradise.
Some might find this setup challenging or feel the urge to unravel the show’s mysteries. Maybe if I’d followed a single character all night—like I tried to do with the writer before getting sidetracked—I might have pieced together a more cohesive narrative, but to me, The Last Resort feels like a collage of moments, more about the atmosphere and the emotions it stirs than about telling a straightforward story. It’s the kind of unique theatrical experience where you might find yourself disco dancing to “The Hustle", whether from the comfort of the sidelines or right in the middle of the dance floor. 
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