Manifesto, Moscow’s premiere nightclub, incorporates relentless sound, color, and motion. Psychedelic visions splash across screens and illuminate vodka bars. The floor grows so crowded people can only dance in place, something six-foot models in six-inch heels still manage gracefully. Amid clouds of smoke, strobe lights, and the deafening beat of house music, the new lords of oil, nickel, and natural gas swarm on Manifesto with women as mute and beautiful as cheetahs on a leash. Not in the mood? Retire to Block 1 or Block 2. Here a person can sip Johnnie Walker Blue, light a Cuban cigar, unwind, and make more money.
Main club and theme
Manifesto is located in a massive bunker-size club inspired by the various powers of the 20th century. The central dance floor is a lavish spectacle, a two-story room with a full surround mezzanine under vibrant ceilings from which enormous sculptural shapes are suspended. The DJ pulpit elevates the greatest DJ in the world front and center. Intimate circular seating areas are cramped with those suffering from electronic dance fatigue or seeking bottle service.
The space is divided between the main club venue, known as Manifesto, and two smaller lounges known as Block 1 and Block 2.
The décor of Block 1 is an ethereal setting of mystic porn set against a gothic backdrop, and parodies of ancient art and religious iconography. The main lounge is set under a large dome, bottle service can be delivered in private booths cantilevered overlooking the space or in more social settings.
A tall, narrow passageway that forces people to funnel close together leads to Block 2. This is a geometric space decorated in red and black, splashed with dramatic lighting, and grounded by cement floors and stone columns. Hand-picked dancers or contortionists perform silently in creepily preserved torture cells suspended above, out of reach of those below. The main space is long and narrow, seated with black furniture onyx tables.
In this cacophony a millionaire could expand and relax. For one thing, no guns are allowed inside. The club has a 40-person security force, and any customer who felt in dire need of protection is assigned a personal bodyguard. A bomb dog sniffs the perimeter, and security briefings alert the staff about special needs, such as certain guests who do not want to be photographed drinking champagne with scantily clad models.
Manifesto provides the rich the chance to “flaunt it, baby, flaunt it,” while assured that “face control” will stop undesirables at the door. Face control is executed by employees who in a glance can determine your financial profile and celebrity status. And whether you are carrying a gun.