



Players open their initial packet of clues as Midnight Madness 2012 kicked off. Joshua Schwimmer

Back then Mr. Solomon was a scruffy, bespectacled musician who answered a casting call for a new Disney teen film. The two young writer-directors, David Wechter and Michael Nankin, plucked him out of the crowd. They had found "Leon."

The script they wrote was based on "The Game," an underground event that led teams of contestants around Los Angeles in an all-night race that involved solving puzzles to find the next clue and, eventually, the finish line. Leon would be the mad genius in the fictional version, recruiting five teams of college classmates for his "Great All-Nighter." The movie featured a then unknown Michael J. Fox and Paul Reubens (aka Pee-wee Herman).

The movie had a disastrous showing at the box office. Then cable channel HBO proceeded to broadcast it constantly, cementing cult status for the film among millions of fans now in their late 30s and 40s.

"We never dreamed it would last," says Mr. Nankin, now a 56-year-old television producer.

More a collection of sight gags than a battle of wits, the plot involves teams racing across Los Angeles over the course of a single night to win Leon's race. Highlights include a player diving into a vat of beer in the Pabst Blue Ribbon brewery, being accosted by fake cult members in Los Angeles International Airport and infiltrating a luxury hotel dressed as maids and bellhops. Many children of the 80s remember lines such as "FAGABEEFE"—a botched puzzle solution by a dimwitted contestant now in The Urban Dictionary. A few, like Mathew Laibowitz, became obsessed.


Unfamiliar with the film when he arrived at Columbia University in 1993, he had a roommate who played "Midnight Madness" constantly in their dorm room. Watching the film again and again "became drinking-game-style lunacy," says Mr. Laibowitz, a 38-year-old interactive design specialist.

By his senior year, he channeled his inner Leon. "I was like: 'That's it, I've got to design one of these games!' "

He and another roommate, Dan Michaelson, organized eight teams to play Midnight Madness in New York City. As with the fictional version, potential players scoffed at first.

"It was exactly like in the movie when at first they didn't want to do it and then said they'll be dying to play," recalls Mr. Laibowitz.

After graduation, they organized several more games in New York whose popularity spread by word-of-mouth. Their version wasn't the only one. In some cases, revival screenings of the film are followed by a great all-nighter. "Some groups try to follow the movie and others will be a little looser," says Mr. Solomon.

One of the New York game's regular players would help turn the Laibowitz and Michaelson version into what may be the most-elaborate Midnight Madness ever. Elisha Wiesel, now a 41-year-old banker at Goldman Sachs, heard about the event from a friend but had no idea how frenetic it would be. He conked out at 4:00. "I woke up the next morning and thought, 'what an amazing evening!' "

He promptly "became an addict." After Messrs. Laibowitz and Michaelson stopped running the event in 2007, there was a void. Last May, Mr. Wiesel approached them about a new, professionally designed Midnight Madness. The funding would come from personal donations plus matching funds from Goldman with the goal of raising money for Good Shepherd Services, a charity for troubled youth. The 2012 event was a hit, raising $1.4 million through 195 players on 20 teams.

Players in Midnight Madness 2012 await instructions from Game Control. Joshua Schwimmer

The intricate puzzles spread across 17 locations ranged from the majestic to the offbeat. One was an old synagogue in Manhattan. By assembling various electronic components picked up during the course of the game, a circuit was made that turned a piece of Plexiglas transparent, revealing a map location. Another involved remotely changing the lighting of Manhattan skyscraper One Bryant Park.

This year's Midnight Madness, beginning on Oct. 5, will be even bigger with teams drawn from several financial institutions. The setup costs hundreds of thousands of dollars as opposed to zero in the old days. "We were basically hacking the city then—leaving clues without permission," explains Mr. Laibowitz.

For example, players barged into Lincoln Center and the Waldorf Astoria Hotel. That's not an option when respectable financiers rather than college kids are playing. "Now we notify the authorities and make sure that it's an aboveboard event run legally," explains Mr. Wiesel.

Some old puzzles, such as fake bombs requiring players to snip the correct wires, are a no-no in post 9/11 New York.

"We're a little more risk-averse now," explains Mr. Michaelson, 38, a partner in a New York graphic-design firm.

In the celluloid version, hopelessly sidetracked teams got back into the race through serendipity or cheating in order to make the finale more exciting.

A clue is revealed inside an old Manhattan synagogue Joshua Schwimmer

"We took some liberties because we wanted to have everyone go down to the wire together," says Mr. Wechter, a 57-year-old TV producer today.

As a professional game designer, Mr. Solomon says a system of clues is needed to keep a real game exciting. That's actually a feature of the modern version. A key difference between 1980 and 2013, though, is the advent of smartphones.

"Anyone can look up an anagram in five seconds today so puzzles have to be more interactive," explains Mr. Laibowitz.

Mr. Solomon, recalling his Disney experience, says he relished his role but missed roaming Los Angeles with the others. When shooting was done, though, Disney threw a party for the cast and organized a real-life all-nighter. That's the only time Mr. Solomon got to play, but it gave him insight into the games' staying power.

"I know why people do it—because it's really, really fun."

Write to Spencer Jakab at spencer.jakab@wsj.com