The lights are turned off. Flashlights for smartphones are prohibited. You are instructed to walk through a hallway and arrive at the entrance of a house. We are transported to a rickety veranda via permanent furnishings. And then she appears as an apparition.
The Ministry of Oddities is an escape room on paper, but it starts and unfolds like a ghost story. The woman standing before us gives us no rules; instead she starts telling a story. A mystery of a dysfunctional family unfolds, and our mission is not to escape, but to learn and discover why this ghost, Dolores (played by actor Emma Kuhn), is trapped and abandoned on this mortal plane.
The character Dolores, played by Emma Kuhn, places her hands in a special position. (Allen J. Schaben / Los Angeles Times)
The character Dolores, played by Emma Kuhn. (Allen J. Schaben / Los Angeles Times)
Her ghostly existence is not conducive to capitalism. In a tense housing market, her presence damages the value of the house. So the surprising sensation is not that of solving puzzles, but of embarking on a research mission.
Throughout the experience, the Ministry of Oddities produces theme park-like effects, as stumbling upon a solution will bring black-and-white reels of family history to life. Previously hidden screens will suddenly appear in mirror wall fixtures and rooms will feel alive. In one, picture frames talk to us. The frames aren't too happy with their current placement on the dining room wall, and they make it clear how they feel about the person standing next to them.
Occasionally your group will be divided and communicate only through a makeshift dumbwaiter in the Byzantine rooms that create the feeling of being in a maze-like mansion. And the ghost that set us on our journey will appear everywhere in disturbing and surprising ways, with each appearance more disturbing than the last, but also an indication that we are on the right track to unraveling the mystery.
Think of the Ministry of Oddities as part escape room and part theatrical production, bordering on immersive theater. Inconveniently nestled in an Azusa strip mall and hidden behind pillars advertising a billiards room, the show's real-world setting helps sell the idea that something not quite above expectations is about to happen.
Nina Chatman, who plays Alice, at the Ministry of Oddities.
(Allen J. Schaben / Los Angeles Times)
Nina Chatman walks through the corridor at the entrance to the Ministry of Special Affairs.
(Allen J. Schaben / Los Angeles Times)
The conceit is that we're sent on a research expedition by a clumsy paranormal research agency, and each room we discover helps sell the idea that we're descending further into the unknown by increasing the interactivity and suspense. But in an escape room twist, there is no clock and no real way to lose. Instead, the Ministry of Oddities is both a story and a game.
“There are a fair number of escape rooms that use actors, and some even do quite well. The Ministry is particularly good as a creative team to build a world with people in it,” said Noah Nelson, founder of immersive theater site No Proscenium and architect of the Next Stage, an annual immersive summit. “They adjust the tone and story in a way that really makes you feel like you're playing with the characters – both physically present and otherwise – rather than playing with the game master. That is rare.”
It was not, its creators say, designed to be scary. Because no matter how spooky the setup is – darkened rooms with family history busts and photos, chests with so-called poisonous fluids – the Ministry of Oddities flirts with absurdity. As we learn more about a deadly family history, we also discover stories of pettiness and superficiality. One dining room puzzle in particular, in which paintings on the wall seem to speak to us, has multiple solutions. It's less about creating the perfect brainteaser and more about showcasing a flawed family with outsized personalities.
A look at antiques on display at the Ministry of Oddities. (Allen J. Schaben / Los Angeles Times)
Jonathan Berk is the co-founder of the Ministry of Oddities and plays the character Stephen. (Allen J. Schaben / Los Angeles Times)
Co-founder Benjamin Berk, who plays Higgins, at The Ministry of Peculiarities.
(Allen J. Schaben / Los Angeles Times)
Stage-wise, the Ministry of Oddities is similar in spirit to Disneyland's Haunted Mansion, where the setup of us being trapped in a ghost-filled dwelling quickly becomes a tale of revelry-filled illusions. Special effects in the Ministry of Peculiarities are more DIY variants, but no less effective, as the ominous atmosphere and narrative beats that create audio and visual cues make us feel as if we are in the presence of something alien are. .
For example, clues are provided in character and in story. When I was struggling to organize a mini case of poison, I knew I was on the wrong track as 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. Not to say that what's happening is a reflection of what's happening in any of our families, but that was the inspiration,” says co-founder Jonathan Berk, who, along with his brother Benjamin and close family friend Adam Moody, runs the Ministry of Peculiarities founded. They are all in their mid-thirties or early forties.
“Just like the ridiculousness and pettiness of some of the things that happen in family situations. The dining room is a good example of this, with paintings that refuse to hang next to each other. It gave us a chance to hit our tone, which is kind of a combination of creepy and ridiculous.”
Ultimately, it all creates a sense of intimacy. Puzzles emerge from family heirlooms or items of clothing rather than coded messages that remove the story. While many of the best escape rooms have elaborate sets and an underlying plot to set the events in motion, combining story with game-like quests remains a challenge.
A view of one of the many rooms of the Ministry of Oddities.
(Allen J. Schaben / Los Angeles Times)
A mirror in the Ministry of Particulars reflects the view of a room.
(Allen J. Schaben / Los Angeles Times)
That's why the creators partially removed an industry component from the experience: the clock. By ridding the game of a time-oriented rigidity, we can get stuck on a puzzle or an object. It creates the sensation 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,” says Moody. “We have all had the feeling halfway through an escape room whether we would succeed or not. Getting to the end and knowing you're failing and also not knowing what the end of the story is, whether it was 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 in Moody's Rancho Cucamonga home. “It was a small, small venue, but it was focused on the escape room,” says Moody. “But doing something like that quickly and spontaneously gave us the confidence.”
By the end of 2021, the Ministry of Oddities was a reality in Azusa. The room, largely self-funded with the help of a small business loan, is open Wednesday to Sunday and can accommodate groups of just four people but can go up to twelve. Two other rooms are in the works, with the hope that they will one day be operational. three rooms from the Azusa room. They need to get some more people through the door first.
“We're pretty deep into the second experience, but the build-up hasn't happened yet,” says Moody. “Financially, I wish things were a lot easier for us.” He notices that the bar for entering the space is increasing, as guests regularly expect escape rooms with high production values.
For now, the sweet spot is probably six or seven participants for the Ministry of Oddities' debut experience. In one room, several group members work simultaneously on a series of puzzles that delve into the family's history. For example, someone is arranging wine glasses, while another group member searches for missing pieces of a family member's signature outfit. Most importantly, each solution results in a recorded or live performance that brings the group back together.
The Ministry of Oddities wanted to ensure that one person would not become the sole puzzle solver. They also tried to come up with a way for those who wanted to take a step back to enjoy the story. In the years before the creation of the Ministry of Oddities, the group estimates that they participated in at least a hundred escape rooms and wanted to correct what they say were two major criticisms. “I hate failing escape rooms,” says Jonathan. “And I hate not seeing the content, even if I'm not the puzzle solver. In any case, I want to know what happened.”
A look at antiques on display at the Ministry of Oddities.
(Allen J. Schaben / Los Angeles Times)
No Proscenium's Nelson says Ministry of Oddities doesn't so much turn escape room conventions on their heads as they push them off center. While the experience isn't timed in a traditional sense, you can expect to spend about 90 minutes in the room, and there will be some character incentives or hints if a group falls behind.
“Your experience is timed, but not in the sense of success or failure,” says Nelson. “Just that you have as much time to stay in the sandbox and get as much story out of it as you can squeeze. No matter how you feel, there is more to the world than what you have found, but what you have found is your story, and that in itself is fulfilling.”
After all, it's the goal of successful game design: to feel like you're the one creating the story, no matter how linear or scripted it may be.
The Ministry of Oddities
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