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Rachel Syme
Staff writer
It is a truth universally acknowledged that a journalist in possession of a juicy story about cults or scammers—or both—must ride that scoop all the way to a streaming series. There’s a predictable formula: First, the victims of predatory behavior spill their sorrows to a sympathetic—if not overly eager—reporter, who knows that these types of stories are catnip for both readers and Hollywood producers. The reporter then publishes a splashy exposé, which gets optioned by a streaming service, which converts the I.P. into a three-part documentary or a lightly fictionalized drama. Sometimes a story is so enticing that several adaptations appear at once—see the duelling Fyre Festival docs, one on Hulu and one on Netflix, or the five (and counting!) shows and documentaries covering the GameStop controversy.
So it’s no surprise that this spooky season there are duelling documentaries about the Twin Flames Universe, an online community run by a married couple who call themselves Jeff and Shaleia Divine, and who sell exorbitantly expensive video classes and coaching sessions promising to help members find their one true love. The first documentary, “Desperately Seeking Soulmate: Escaping Twin Flames Universe,” which landed on Amazon Prime on Oct. 6, is based on a 2020 Vanity Fair article by Alice Hines, who appears in the film as the main interviewee. The second, “Escaping Twin Flames,” which premières on Netflix on Nov. 8, presents the work of Vice’s Sarah Berman, who also published an investigation into the Twin Flames grift in 2020. Both series unfold in three parts and both feature many of the same former members, but I did not much mind the overlap: the subject matter is bonkers enough that I was glued to the screen twice.
“Twin flame” is a New Age term for a kind of cosmic mega-soulmate—a person who was put on this earth to function as your other half. The expression has gained popularity in recent years—Megan Fox, for example, has said that her “twin flame” is Machine Gun Kelly. Of course, when a woo-woo idea starts to gather steam, it’s ripe for someone to swoop in and make a profit. The Divines (born Jeff Ayan and Megan Plante) did just that, declaring (on YouTube, where else?) that they were “twin flames” who had achieved a “harmonious union” and that they could help others do the same. They founded an online program called Twin Flames Ascension School, which charged members thousands of dollars, and rebranded themselves as leaders of a religion, run through Facebook groups and YouTube links; they also encouraged members to go to wild lengths to secure a soulmate, including, according to the Netflix documentary, prompting one person to stalk her crush until she ended up violating a restraining order. Things just get battier from there, but I won’t spoil it. Both series sag a bit in the middle, but they also deliver on their promises, delving into a bizarre virtual scam that is completely of the moment. Rather than thinking of the two documentaries as redundant, I prefer to think of them as twins.
Spotlight
Photograph by Landon Nordeman for The New Yorker
Above & Beyond
Ralph Lee, an avant-garde puppeteer and the founder of New York City’s Village Halloween Parade, died in May, at age eighty-seven. He left behind quite a legacy: what started in 1974 as small “transient entertainment” has, fifty years later, ballooned into the world’s largest Halloween parade and a beloved New York institution. Lee launched the event, in partnership with Theatre for the New City, as a bohemian happening featuring D.I.Y. puppets and eccentric floats; now it’s a massive spooky-season tentpole that floods the West Village with costumed revellers, live music, and hectic hoopla. If you feel moved to join the throng, the festivities begin at 7 P.M., at the corner of Canal Street and Sixth Avenue.—Rachel Syme (Sixth Avenue from Canal Street to 15th St.; Oct. 31.)
About Town
The Theatre
There’s a thin line between making a sharp satire and making your audience watch the kind of show that you’re trying to poke fun at. “Gutenberg! The Musical!,” by Scott Brown and Anthony King—directed by Alex Timbers—falls into the latter category, leaving Josh Gad and Andrew Rannells to spend their talents on middling laughs. Gad and Rannells play friends who have written a poorly researched musical about Johannes Gutenberg and the invention of the printing press, and they’ve rented out a theatre for one night in the hope of attracting a producer. These guys are sweet, but neither has a discernible personality, or even quirks of character, until the show’s almost over. We watch their bad show, waiting for the one surrounding it to get good. It doesn’t.—Vinson Cunningham (James Earl Jones Theatre; through Jan. 28.)
Dance
Wire walking and rock climbing count as extreme sports. But although these daredevil activities appear throughout “Corps Extrême,” a dance-theatre work by the French Algerian choreographer Rachid Ouramdane, the focus of the performance isn’t on risk and adrenaline but on meditative calm and grace. There is a climbing wall, a high wire, and a cast of acrobats who erect human towers and toss one another through the air, but, instead of cymbal crashes and gasps, there is spare music and soft landings. Not only is a man on a wire suspended high above the ground—the whole production seems to float.—Brian Seibert (BAM’s Howard Gilman Opera House; Oct. 27-29.)
R. & B.
Photograph by Mike Excell
With Jorja Smith’s new album, “falling or flying,” the British singer has grown into a master of a vulnerable yet collected self-expression. Her début, “Lost & Found,” from 2018, announced her as a mesmeric performer with delicate, layered R. & B. songs animated by a soothing but authoritative voice, earning her a Best New Artist nomination at the Grammys. “Well no one can understand confusion like I do / These blue days are my truth,” she sings on “Tomorrow,” hinting at a clearheadedness amid emotional turmoil. On “falling or flying,” Smith’s songs are even more vibrant and attentive, and on such confessionals as “GO GO GO” and “Too many times” she channels both poignance and resilience in every single breath.—Sheldon Pearce (Apollo Theatre; Oct. 26.)
The Theatre
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