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Santa Fe, N.M. — Meow Wolf is coming to Los Angeles. And with its move to the Southland, the experiential art collective isn’t just taking over a former movie theater, it is, in a sense, placing a skewed spotlight on Hollywood’s grandiosity itself.
Born in Santa Fe, N.M., more than a decade ago, Meow Wolf’s fast-tracked rise has taken the company to Denver, Las Vegas, Houston and the Dallas suburbs. Along the way the firm has skirted the line between theme park-like interactive experiences and hand-made, outsider art, pitching itself as a new form of all-encompassing, maximalist, sensory overloaded entertainment — or, in the words of one of its creative directors, “that classic feeling of good confusion.”
Destined to open in late 2026 at West L.A.’s Howard Hughes entertainment complex, Meow Wolf has kept much of its plan for Los Angeles under wraps. Until now.
It’s been known that the installation would be taking over a large section of what had long been the Cinemark movie theaters. Meow Wolf, however, is using the location to lean into one of L.A’s longest standing — and currently troubled — ritualistic experiences. In the same way exhibitions in Santa Fe or Las Vegas begin in an otherworldly house or an extraordinary grocery store before getting truly psychedelic, Meow Wolf Los Angeles will launch via a fantastical movie theater, one complete with a concession stand — beware of the animated, sentient candy — and a grand auditorium. Here, describes co-founder and executive vice president Sean Di Ianni, guests may spy transparent seats that appear to be floating.
“Over your head will be etherealized seats — sculptures of these kind of translucent seats that will be animated with light and hyper-directional sound,” Di Ianni says. “You might hear the inner monologue of a previous audience.”
When Meow Wolf announced Los Angeles as its next destination for a full-scale, walk-through exhibition in 2024, it did so during a time of tumult, the company having just undergone a round of severe layoffs. And thus, Los Angeles became not just Meow Wolf’s next step but its rebirth.
During a two-day tour of Meow Wolf’s Santa Fe headquarters late last year, the company unveiled multiple pieces of art in various stages of planning, with installation in Los Angeles set to ramp up in the coming weeks. Though Meow Wolf is keeping certain story elements off the record for now, and some plans may shift as art is completed, expect an exhibit based around an intergalactic roadside attraction, a location destined for a pilgrimage. Throughout, guests will explore the hulls of a spaceship, hop on planet-traversing bikes and uncover a divey greasy spoon at the end of the galaxy, complete with sculptures of the proprietor at various stages of his life.
But by grounding it in the nostalgia and timeless appeal of a movie theater, the hope is to also learn some lessons from more linear entertainment. “We pushed really hard on this one to take that story experience to the next level,” says Shakti Howeth, creative director. “We got so much feedback from other shows that people want more of that. They want it to make sense. They want to understand it. They want to think about it afterwards. They want to grab onto certain characters.”
Thus, it will be Meow Wolf’s first exhibition with a firm beginning, middle and conclusion, even if the latter is a bit open-ended. Meow Wolf is known for its byzantine tales, but here the company is aiming to simplify, zeroing in on a story that coalesces around our instinct for a rite of passage. Think, for instance, of the way humans may trek to witness a newborn panda, or similarly cross the globe to capture the aurora borealis. Locally, ceremonial destinations such as Disneyland or the corner chapel spring to mind — anywhere people gather craving community, connection, reverence and, hopefully, a revelation.
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The Times spent two days in Santa Fe to preview the exhibition, set to take over part of the Cinemark complex at Howard Hughes Los Angeles.
Though narrative plans date to 2022, before Los Angeles was chosen as the locale, once the team knew it was moving into a former movie theater it was sold on the concept. That’s in part due to the transcendent nature of cinema, but also a recognition of what Los Angeles represents culturally.
“It’s cool that we’re creating a story about a pilgrimage because L.A. is that for so many artists, especially people involved in storytelling,” says Howeth. “It’s one of those places that’s built on layers and layers of dreams, and we’re really exploring that here. Not only dreams, but broken dreams — the compost that can happen when you digest broken dreams.”
It’s not the only way the exhibition hopes to reflect Los Angeles. Throughout, we’ll follow the lives of three characters, some known to Meow Wolf die-hards and some new creations, such as a Boyle Heights-raised usher. Elsewhere, an installation bathed in neon and shape-shifting projections nods to Frank Lloyd Wright’s Ennis House. And Meow Wolf recently completed the filming of multiple short movies that serve as cinematic parodies — a Bob Fosse-inspired musical, a Clint Eastwood-style western, a “Lethal Weapon”-like action flick and more. They’ll be shown throughout the space, and expect to encounter characters possessing a cult-like obsession to the films.
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1. Work in progress pieces by aritst Jess Webb. 2. Costumes by Emmanuelle John. 3. Chris Hilson’s space bike model. (Gabriela Campos/For The Times)
It isn’t lost on Meow Wolf creatives that they’re dabbling in themes of religious-like devotion to the art of storytelling at a time when Hollywood is in flux. The very venue for the exhibition, for instance, was open to the team largely because of the struggles that movie theaters have had to confront.
Early concepts had the exhibition starting, perhaps, in a motel, or a work that nodded to L.A.’s Midcentury architecture. “But being in L.A., a number of sites, due to the dire state of the movie theater business right now, were movie theaters,” says James Longmire, who works on Meow Wolf’s story development. “So why not a movie theater? Why not lean into that? In my mind, that immediately started to connect and feel a lot more resonant to this idea of art and story being important forces in humanity and human growth and how we grapple with not having answers to big questions.”
And it will be interactive. A spiritual temple, for instance, will house a secretive space that Meow Wolf creatives refer to as a “reverse escape room,” in which guests will have to work together to find and break into. Creative director Elizabeth Jarrett, who worked on Scout Expedition’s long-running immersive L.A. show “The Nest,” is helping to devise a handful of quests and what Meow Wolf is calling “story moments,” which will take over an entire space. Lighting and visual cues, for instance, may direct audience members to collaborate or reposition themselves — a psychic motel room, perhaps, where a tree has grown into a couch. Sit in the right spot and cause the room to come alive with projections and cinematics.
It was important, says Jarrett, for the so-called story moments to be triggered by the audience. “The audience has a sense of agency in the story advancing,” Jarrett says. “We’re communicating when an opportunity is arising for you to choose to engage. The guests are a protagonist and a character as much as any other character in this world. There are characters who speak directly to the audience. We’re experimenting with breaking the fourth wall.”
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Experimental art collective Meow Wolf aims to turn Los Angeles’ most ritualistic experience — that is, the act of going to the movies — into an interactive, art-driven wonderland.
Not all of the art, of course, will reference film. Meow Wolf is planning, for example, a two-player game in which tarot cards will be digitally constructed exquisite corpse-style. And art curator AJ Girard is working closely with dozens of L.A. artists to bring them into the space. Gabriela Ruiz is one such artist who will have a large presence in the exhibition, a part of Ruiz’s work being an adorably vibrant, multicolored insect that will serve as a periscope.
“I thought about a little bug because they have the ability to see infrared and visualize the world differently than we do,” Ruiz says.
Girard, too, views the space as something of a commentary on L.A. “Social media and social capital is so relevant in our city,” Girard says. “How do we make fun of it in an avant garde, punk, radical way? How do we poke holes at it?”
It won’t be easy, especially for a city that sometimes takes its main, exportable art a bit too self-serious. But if Los Angeles has long viewed the movie theater as a temple, perhaps it’s time someone turns one into a playground.
“It’s partly our job to be playful with it, to not let that weight crush us,” Di Ianni says. “Let’s poke fun at movies. Let’s celebrate them. Let’s have fun with the reputation of Los Angeles and its insane impact. We have to play. That’s what we’re inviting the audience to come in to do. They’ll hopefully have meaningful, emotionally resonant experiences that show them a different perspective on their own stories, but to get them there, they’re going to have to play.”
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Todd Martens is a features columnist at the Los Angeles Times who writes about theme parks and West Coast Experiences, among other topics. Martens joined the Los Angeles Times in 2007 and has covered a mix of interactive entertainment as its game critic and pop music as a reporter and editor. Previously, he reported on the music business for Billboard Magazine.
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