There are few things a Los Angeles local is less likely to do than take a Hollywood sightseeing tour on a big, garish bus. Only rush-hour traffic and $20 tacos inspire the same level of dread.
Yet nearly everyone aboard the open-air bus for a Tuesday night production of “California Gothic: A Bus Tour” was an L.A. resident. The show, which is produced by the aggressively hip New Theater Hollywood, recently wrapped its third “season” after debuting in February and returning for an April encore. Set on a moving bus, the 1.5-hour-long experience is part esoteric Tinseltown history lesson, part immersive theater. The narrative conjures meaning from the Los Angeles cityscape by fusing a hodgepodge of textbook theories about the sprawling metropolis onto the gritty reality of daily life.
“We originally organized this thinking there would be more people coming who aren’t from here,” said Oliver Misraje, the show’s writer and primary tour guide, as the bus pulled away from the curb at Santa Monica and Wilcox. “But this just goes to show how much people love the city and are from here, contrary to popular belief.”
In lieu of celebrity-hungry tourists, “California Gothic” has been packing its bus twice a night with rowdy young scenesters and in-the-know locals eager to absorb its heady mix of California history, public intellectualism and performance artistry.
While the show wrapped its latest run in mid-June, it will reopen its automated doors during the last week of October for a special “ghost tour” edition co-written by Misraje and New York it girl Ruby McCollister.
My tour was far less steeped in irony than I feared. As the bus wound its way through the streets of Hollywood, starting at the New Theater’s doorstep before eventually circling the Hollywood Walk of Fame, Misraje led the audience through his take on the death of the “California dream” and the rotting carcasses of empty buildings and broken promises left in its wake. Along the way, we encountered a haunted-eyed Marilyn Monroe impersonator (Brooks Ginnan), a masked Hollywood legend known as the Duchess of Argyle (Shauna Frente) and a singing, swaggering “Rat Czar” with a lot to say about real estate developers (Loren Kramar).
Yes, it’s whimsical, and yes, it references Mike Davis’ “City of Quartz” more than any of the TMZ-type excursions it gently parodies, but it’s still, at its heart, a bus tour.
In a nod to classic Hollywood tour advertisements, the show’s winkingly all-caps poster declares, “You Will See: The Hollywood Sign, Marilyn Monroe, the Schizo City State.” There is also a stash of BuzzBallz ready-to-drink cocktails for trivia winners, but Misraje and his cast do not deliver their performances with smirks or smarm. They commit full-throatedly to playing out Misraje’s vision of a Hollywood haunted by the dreamers it’s wronged and the secrets it’s plastered over.
“Ultimately, we are trying to pay homage to the bus tour format, which is intrinsically ‘carny,’” Misraje said, likening himself to a carnival barker espousing aesthetic philosophy aboard an ever-changing “Ship of Theseus.”
Before the performers infiltrate the ship, “I’m trying to intentionally set up audience expectations to think they’re going to get this run-of-the-mill Hollywood death tour,” he explained. “I consider myself a kind of impish person, but still fundamentally sincere.”
Given the show’s monologue-heavy format and bevy of literary references, it’s no surprise that the concept began as an essay. Misraje, a 27-year-old writer and self-described “Hollywood hustler” raised primarily in the Inland Empire, was inspired after the 2025 Palisades and Eaton fires to stage a piece he had written bridging his love of Gothic literature with his “welfare class” upbringing in a family of seven raised by a single mother, which he considered gothic in its own right.
“We were in the Inland Empire and it was the 2008 financial crisis,” he said. “There was all this imagery of things famously California-coded, like the suburban house, the pool, the strip mall, and when we were there, it was just, like, destroyed. There were abandoned housing subdivisions rotting in the sun.”
The perfect setting, he explained, for the kind of “literature that emerges after the failure of a historical project.”
After reaching out to New Theater co-owner Calla Henkel and conceiving the project, Misraje and his producers elected to turn the funhouse mirror onto Hollywood, framing the neighborhood with historical context and Freudian theory but ultimately letting it speak for itself.
The highly mutable nature of street life and the participatory character of the show means its tone can shift drastically from tour to tour, even within the same night. Sometimes, the streets appear glittering; other times, seedy and dangerous. Once, there was a showdown with another tour bus — one presumably not carrying theatergoers. At a different show, a drunk pedestrian tried to board the bus during faux-Monroe’s speech. One particularly harrowing night, someone circled the bus on an electric scooter, shouting homophobic slurs at the all-queer cast.
“It’s almost like surfing,” Misraje said. “There’s so much chaos you’re confronting, and you have to find a way to ride it and let it be a part of the show.”
The show’s high production costs make bringing in a profit difficult, but Misraje said he and the New Theater Hollywood team plan to revive it periodically, with an evolving story and cast of characters.
On my tour, no performer better represented the blurred line between theater and street life than the Duchess of Argyle, a.k.a. the Mysterious Masked Lady of Hollywoodland, a.k.a. Shauna Frente, a busty Blanche DuBois figure in an eyeless flapper mask and gartered stockings. Just three days before, she had been evicted from a home on Argyle Avenue that once allegedly belonged to Cecil B. DeMille. This happened after a lengthy legal battle, during which the show helped raise money for temporary housing.
As the Duchess spilled neighborhood secrets, our bus repeatedly passed an Extra Space Storage facility painted with images of old Hollywood behemoths: Lucille Ball, Groucho Marx and the like. The intermingling smells of sizzling hot dogs, urine and marijuana wafted through the open windows.
Hollywood may be ghostly, the Duchess told us, but it was hers to haunt.
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