The lights are off. Smartphone flashlights are prohibited. You are instructed to walk down a hallway and reach the entrance of a house. Through the locker room, we are transported to a rickety porch. And then it appears like an apparition.
The Ministry of Peculiarities is an escape room on paper, but it begins and unfolds like a ghost story. The woman in front of us doesn't give us rules; instead, she begins to tell a story. The mystery of a dysfunctional family unfolds, and our mission is not to escape but to learn and discover why this spirit, Dolores (played by actress Emma Kuhn), has been trapped and abandoned on this mortal plane.
The character Dolores, played by Emma Kuhn, places her hands in a peculiar position. (Allen J. Schaben/Los Angeles Times)
The character Dolores, played by Emma Kuhn. (Allen J. Schaben/Los Angeles Times)
Its ghostly existence does not lead to capitalism. In a tight housing market, their presence is hurting home values. The surprising sensation, then, is not that of solving puzzles but that of embarking on a research mission.
Throughout the experience, the Ministry of Peculiarities unleashes theme park-like effects, as finding a solution will bring reels of black-and-white family history films to life. Screens that were previously hidden will suddenly materialize into mirrored wall fixtures and rooms will begin to feel as if they are alive. In one, the frames speak to us. The frames are not very happy with their current location on the dining room wall and make it clear what they think of the consecrated person next to them.
From time to time, your group will split up and communicate only via a makeshift dumbwaiter in Byzantine rooms that create the feeling of being in a maze-like mansion. And the ghost that started us on our journey will appear in disturbing and surprising ways, each appearance more disturbing than the last, but also an indication that we are on the right path to solving the mystery.
Think of the Ministry of Peculiarities as part escape room and part theatrical production, bordering on immersive theatre. Tucked inauspiciously in an Azusa shopping center and hidden behind pillars advertising a pool hall, the real-world setting for the show helps sell the idea that something not quite normal is about to happen.
Nina Chatman, who plays Alice, in the Ministry of Peculiarities.
(Allen J. Schaben/Los Angeles Times)
Nina Chatman walks down the hallway at the Ministry of Peculiarities.
(Allen J. Schaben/Los Angeles Times)
The conceit is that a clumsy paranormal investigation company is setting us on a fact-finding expedition, and each room we discover helps sell the idea that we're descending further into the unknown by increasing the interactivity and tension. But in an escape room twist, there's no clock and no real way to lose. Instead, the Ministry of Peculiarities is as much a narrative as it is a game.
“There are a decent number of escape rooms that use actors, and some even do it quite well. The Ministry is particularly good as a creative team at building a world with people in it,” says Noah Nelson, founder of immersive theater site No Proscenium and architect of Next Stage, an annual immersive summit. “They set the tone and the story in a way that makes you really feel like you're playing with the characters, both physically present and not, rather than the game director playing with them. That's weird.”
It was not designed, its creators say, to be scary. Because no matter how ghostly its setup is (dark rooms with busts and family history photographs, boxes of possible poisonous liquids), the Ministry of Peculiarities flirts with the absurd. As we learn more about a deadly family history, we also discover stories of pettiness and superficiality. A specific dining room puzzle, in which some paintings hanging on a wall seem to speak to us, has multiple solutions. It's less about creating the perfect puzzle and more about showing an imperfect family with outsized personalities.
A view of the antiques on display at the Ministry of Peculiarities. (Allen J. Schaben/Los Angeles Times)
Jonathan Berk co-founded the Ministry of Peculiarities and plays the character Stephen. (Allen J. Schaben/Los Angeles Times)
Co-founder Benjamin Berk, who plays Higgins, in The Ministry of Peculiarities.
(Allen J. Schaben/Los Angeles Times)
Tonally, The Ministry of Peculiarities is similar in spirit to Disneyland's Haunted Mansion, where the situation in which we are trapped in a residence full of ghosts soon turns into a story of illusions full of revelry. The special effects in the Ministry of Peculiarities are more of a do-it-yourself type, but no less effective, as the foreboding atmosphere and narrative rhythms that trigger sound and visual cues make us feel as if we are in the presence of something from another world. .
Clues, for example, are given in the character and in the story. As I struggled to organize a mini suitcase of poison, I knew I was on the wrong path because I was admonished for not understanding the personality of one of the family members.
“Seeing some of the dysfunction in our families is what initially inspired me to write the story. I don't want to say that what happens reflects what happens in any of our families, but that was the inspiration,” says co-founder Jonathan Berk, who founded Ministry of Peculiarities with his brother Benjamin and close family friend Adam Moody. They are all between 30 and 40 years old.
“Just like the ridiculousness and meanness of some of the things that happen in family situations. The dining room is a great example of this, with paintings that refuse to hang side by side. It gave us a chance to achieve our tone, which is kind of a combination of creepy and ridiculous.”
Ultimately, it all creates a feeling of intimacy. Riddles arise from family heirlooms or clothing items rather than coded messages that eliminate stories. While many of the best escape rooms have elaborate settings and an underlying plot to set events in motion, merging the story with game-like missions remains a challenge.
A view of one of the many rooms of the Ministry of Peculiarities.
(Allen J. Schaben/Los Angeles Times)
A mirror in the Ministry of Peculiarities reflects the view of a room.
(Allen J. Schaben/Los Angeles Times)
That's partly why the creators removed an industry staple from the experience: the watch. By freeing the game from a time-focused rigidity, we can linger on a puzzle or an object. It creates the feeling that we are getting to know characters rather than simply solving a challenge.
“I want to see the outcome of a story or the outcome of a conflict,” Moody says. “We've all had the feeling that we're going to succeed or fail halfway through an escape room. Getting to the end and knowing that you're failing and also not knowing the end of the story, whether it's compelling or not, was definitely one of our biggest pet peeves in the industry.”
It all started in 2017, when after years of discussing ways to merge escape rooms and immersive theater, the three built a makeshift haunted house at Moody's house in Rancho Cucamonga. “It was a small shelter, but focused on the escape room,” Moody says. “But doing something so fast and improvised gave us confidence.”
By the end of 2021, the Ministry of Peculiarities was a reality in Azusa. The room, largely self-funded with the help of a small business loan, operates most Wednesdays through Sundays and is designed for groups as small as four, but can expand to 12. Two more rooms are in the works, with the hope that one day they will work. three rooms outside the Azusa space. First they will need to get more people through the door.
“We're pretty far into the second experience, but construction hasn't happened yet,” Moody says. “Financially, I wish things were a lot easier for us.” He notes that the bar for accessing the space is becoming higher, as guests often expect escape rooms with high production values.
For now, the sweet spot is probably six or seven participants for the debut experience of the Ministry of Peculiarities. In one room, several members of the group will simultaneously work on a series of puzzles that delve into the family's history. Someone, for example, may be arranging wine glasses, while another member of the group searches for missing pieces of a family member's signature outfit. The key, however, is that each solution results in a recorded or live performance that brings the group back together.
The Ministry of Peculiarities wanted to make sure that one person did not become the only one solving the puzzles. They also sought to invent a way for those who wanted to take a step back to enjoy the narrative. In the years before the Ministry of Peculiarities was created, the group estimates they participated in at least 100 escape rooms and wanted to correct what they see as two main criticisms. “I hate failing at escape rooms,” says Jonathan. “And I hate not seeing content, even if I'm not the puzzle solver. “At least I want to know what happened.”
A view of the antiques on display at the Ministry of Peculiarities.
(Allen J. Schaben/Los Angeles Times)
No Proscenium's Nelson says Ministry of Peculiarities doesn't disrupt escape room conventions so much as decenter them. While the experience isn't timed in the traditional sense, expect to spend about 90 minutes in the room, and there will be some hints or hints from the character if a group is falling behind.
“Your experience is timed, but not in the sense of pass or fail,” Nelson says. “You just have a lot of time to stay in the sandbox and get as much story out of it as you can. No matter what you feel, there is more to the world than what you found, but what you found is your story, and that is satisfying in itself.”
After all, that's the goal of successful game design: to feel like you're the one creating the story, no matter how linear or scripted it is.
The Ministry of Peculiarities
Watch LA Times Today at 7 pm on Spectrum News 1 on Channel 1 or stream live on the Spectrum News app. Viewers on the Palos Verdes Peninsula and Orange County can watch it on Cox Systems on channel 99.
