It’s loud. It’s sweaty. Someone is wearing a neon spandex suit and a blonde wig, and they are screaming about the existential dread of being a 19th-century playwright. Welcome to Oscar at The Crown, a show that basically redefined what it meant to go to the theater in Brooklyn before it became a cult phenomenon.
If you weren't there, it’s hard to explain. Imagine a nightclub in a post-apocalyptic future where the only remaining cultural artifacts are the complete works of Oscar Wilde and the discography of the Real Housewives. It sounds like a fever dream. It was. But it was also a deeply smart, immersive musical experience that tapped into something very real about queer identity, fame, and the end of the world.
What the Heck is Oscar at The Crown Anyway?
Most people hear the name and think it’s a standard biographical play. It isn't. Not even close. Created by the performance collective The Neon Coven—specifically Mark Mauriello, who wrote and starred in it, and composer Andrew Barret Cox—the show is an immersive nightclub musical.
You don't sit in a velvet chair. You stand. You dance. You get hit by strobe lights.
The premise is wild. Far in the future, a group of "sequined survivors" has taken refuge in a bunker called The Crown. They’ve fled a world that has essentially collapsed. To keep their spirits up and maintain their culture, they enact the story of Oscar Wilde’s rise and fall. But they do it through the lens of modern pop obsession. It’s Wilde meets The Little Mermaid meets Real Housewives of Beverly Hills.
Honestly, it shouldn't work. The tonal shifts are dizzying. One minute you’re laughing at a dead-on parody of a reality TV reunion, and the next, you’re watching a devastating portrayal of Wilde’s imprisonment in Reading Gaol. But it does work. It works because it understands that Wilde was the original celebrity. He was the first person to be famous for being famous, and he was the first person to be brutally destroyed by that same public fascination.
The Immersive Experience at 3 Dollar Bill
You can't talk about Oscar at The Crown without talking about the venue. 3 Dollar Bill in Bushwick was the perfect home for it. It’s a massive, queer-owned warehouse space that feels industrial and raw.
When you walked in, you weren't "at the theater." You were at a rave. The atmospheric design by Lauren Nichols and lighting by Siobhán Sleath made the space feel both expansive and claustrophobic, like a bunker that was also a disco.
The performers didn't stay on a stage. They climbed on platforms, they moved through the crowd, and they looked you right in the eye. This creates a specific kind of energy. You aren't a passive observer; you’re a citizen of The Crown. When the cast starts chanting or dancing, the audience follows suit. It breaks down that "fourth wall" in a way that feels organic rather than forced.
Why Oscar Wilde?
Wilde is the patron saint of the misunderstood and the fabulous.
His story is a tragedy hidden inside a comedy. The show leans heavily into this duality. By using Wilde’s actual words—snippets from The Picture of Dorian Gray or his plays—mixed with driving synth-pop beats, the production highlights how timeless his observations on society really are.
Wilde once said, "One should either be a work of art, or wear a work of art." The Neon Coven took that literally.
The Music: Why You Can't Get It Out of Your Head
Andrew Barret Cox’s score is a beast. It’s heavy on the bass, dripping with 90s house influences, and catchy enough to be dangerous.
Unlike a lot of "theatre music" that tries to sound like pop, this actually sounds like pop. It’s the kind of music you’d hear at a circuit party at 3:00 AM. Tracks like "G-U-I-L-T-Y" and "The Chosen Ones" are high-energy anthems that serve a narrative purpose.
The music acts as a shield for the characters. In the world of Oscar at The Crown, if you stop dancing, the reality of the apocalypse starts to sink in. The beat has to keep going. It’s a survival mechanism. This is a recurring theme in queer history—using the dance floor as a space of resistance and safety when the outside world is hostile.
The Real Housewives Connection
This is where the show gets really weird and really brilliant.
Interspersed with the Wilde narrative are references to the Real Housewives franchise. At first, it feels like a cheap gag. But then you realize the parallel. The "Housewives" are our modern version of the Victorian socialites Wilde skewered in his plays. They are obsessed with status, reputation, and performance.
Watching the cast reenact famous "table flips" or iconic reunion arguments while dressed like futuristic scavengers is hilarious. But it also asks a pointed question: what do we value as a culture? Why are we so obsessed with watching people's lives fall apart for our entertainment?
Wilde’s downfall was a public spectacle. The trials were the tabloids of 1895. By weaving in modern reality TV tropes, the show proves that we haven't actually changed that much. We still love a scandal, and we still love to watch our idols burn.
The Cultural Impact of The Neon Coven
Oscar at The Crown didn't just appear out of nowhere. It’s the result of a specific pocket of New York nightlife where drag, theater, and club culture intersect.
The Neon Coven (Mauriello, Cox, and director Shira Milikowsky) created a blueprint for how to make theater accessible to a younger, "non-theater" crowd. You don't need to know Wilde's bibliography to enjoy the show. You just need to show up and be open to the experience.
It also challenged the traditional Off-Broadway model. It didn't start in a midtown house with a traditional subscription base. It grew through word-of-mouth in Brooklyn. It was gritty. It was queer. It was unapologetically loud.
Misconceptions About the Show
People often get a few things wrong about this production.
First, some think it’s a parody. It’s not. While it has funny moments, the core of the show is deeply sincere. It’s a love letter to Oscar Wilde and a mourning for the ways society punishes those who dare to be different.
Second, people assume "immersive" means you have to participate in a way that might be embarrassing. You don't. You aren't forced to get on stage and recite lines. You just exist in the space. The "immersion" comes from the proximity to the performers and the sensory overload of the music and lights.
Third, there's a belief that it's "just for the kids." While the energy is definitely youthful, the themes of aging, legacy, and social collapse resonate with anyone who’s ever felt like an outsider.
The Production History and Legacy
The show had its first major run in 2019 and became a breakout hit. It was supposed to continue, but like everything else, it hit a wall during the pandemic.
However, its legacy lives on in the way we think about "club theater." You can see its influence in other immersive works that prioritize atmosphere over a traditional seating chart. It proved that you could tackle heavy intellectual subjects (like Victorian legal standards and the philosophy of aestheticism) while wearing a crop top and covered in glitter.
The cast recordings still circulate in queer circles. The imagery of the "sequined bunker" remains a powerful metaphor for creating community in dark times.
Actionable Steps for Theater Lovers and Creators
If you’re inspired by the chaos and brilliance of this show, there are ways to engage with this style of performance today.
- Follow the Creators: Keep tabs on Mark Mauriello and Andrew Barret Cox. They are constantly pushing boundaries in the New York performance scene. Their work often moves between nightlife and traditional venues.
- Explore 3 Dollar Bill: If you’re in New York, check out the calendar for 3 Dollar Bill in Bushwick. They continue to host events that blur the line between party and performance.
- Listen to the Soundtrack: Find the Oscar at The Crown cast recording. Listen to it from start to finish. It’s a concept album that tells the story even if you missed the live show.
- Read "De Profundis": If you want to understand the "ghoulish" side of the show, read Wilde’s letter from prison. It provides the emotional weight that anchors the flashy musical numbers.
- Support Immersive Queer Art: Look for local collectives in your city that are doing "site-specific" work. These smaller, DIY productions are often where the most interesting storytelling happens.
The era of the "polite" theatergoer is shifting. Shows like Oscar at The Crown pushed us toward a more visceral, connected way of experiencing stories. It wasn't just a night out; it was a reminder that even when the world is ending, we can still find a reason to dance.