Review by Samuel L. Leiter . . .
It’s a stunt, it’s a game, it’s an event—it’s a show! Although how to define it is anybody’s guess. I’m talking about Burnout Paradise, which will surely fall into the Drama Desk’s “unique theatrical experience” category. I saw it in preview at the cramped Astor Place Theatre, long the residence of Blue Man Group, another —although more artful—work in this category. It’s hard to agree with those who call it “experimental theater,” but it does take place in a theater, and it tries things no one else has done so I guess that would qualify it for experimental.
Created by an Australian collaborative collective (there’s no director) called Pony Cam, and seen not only in its native country but at the Edinburgh Fringe Festival and, briefly, Brooklyn’s St. Ann’s Warehouse in 2024, it’s a bizarre, 75-minute concoction in which four tireless, youthful performers (Hugo Williams, Claire Bird, William Strom, and Domenic Weintraub) engage in a sort of contest to beat their own aggregated treadmill mileage record by walking, running, or, I guess you could say, moving, each on their own treadmill, for an hour of stage time.
Each treadmill is designated by a sign: Leisure, Performance, Admin, and Survival. While on the treadmills each carries out certain tasks, like cooking a three-course meal for Survival; writing a grant proposal (projected overhead) for Admin, performing something personal, like Hamlet’s “To be or not to be” soliloquy; or carrying out numerous mundane “to do” tasks, including brushing one’s teeth or surfing, written on a whiteboard.
The program is divided into four quarters, the end of each allowing a fifth performer, the hostess/mediator (Ava Campbell) to sum up the times accumulated. For diversity, the participants switch treadmills after each of the first three rounds. Meanwhile, two audience volunteers sit in a raised, tiny nook upstage left at a calico-covered table ready to eat the meal being prepared below them. And all along an endless supply of eager-to-volunteer spectators rushes to the stage to assist, such as by handing props to the performers or erasing the tasks on the whiteboard as they’re completed. Got it?
So, basically, what you’re seeing is a team of four Aussies with remarkable endurance and skillful feet, occasionally adding flaky costume elements to their style-deprived gym-wear, racing on treadmills while performing tasks both simple and complex, although nothing extra done while on a treadmill is simple. Moreover, they not only walk and run in traditional ways, but also unconventionally, like walking sideways or backwards (don’t try this at home) to accomplish their tasks.
And all of this is predicated on a bet the performers make with the audience. If they beat the record of their aggregated mileage (I think it was 17.3 miles), which the hostess said had been done at many performances, the cost of their tickets would be refunded. The record remained intact when I attended.
Now, of course, the point of all this chaotic silliness is to rouse hilarity in the audience. And some of it is indeed amusing, like the sight of the guy standing sideways on his moving treadmill as he pours water from a huge jug into a large pot, trying to prevent it from spilling. And with all the other participants going through their own difficult activities at the same time, it’s a little like hell having broken loose. Video enlargements (by Pony Cam and Jim Findlay) heighten the action, functional lighting (by Dans Maree Sherman) brightens the atmosphere, and music design (by Cody Spencer) helps pump up the adrenaline.
But there’s a limit to how far this kind of thing can sustain itself. If you’re the kind of audience member who gives themselves over to such experiences, rooting for an outcome as if attending a sports match, and ready to leap out of your seat to help, you’ll have a grand old time. If you’re the analytical type, who seeks meaning in every theatrical exhibition, no matter how abstract or borderline meaningless, you’ll find metaphors here aplenty, even if unintended: for example, the rat race (or treadmill) of life; the need to continue outperforming our personal bests; the obsession of fitness culture with digitally tracking our performance; or the extent to which we’re capable of multitasking before we collapse.
For me, though, the show outran its premise before my interest ran out. I marveled at the performers’ stamina and ability to not only perform their inane tasks without falling off the treadmills (I’d be surprised if accidents didn’t occur in rehearsals or at other shows). I was also impressed by how, on top of all their other responsibilities, they maintained a basic level of performative charm.
Judging by the general reaction at the preview I attended, there are audiences that will definitely rush to see Burnout Paradise. It’s the kind of event that rewards those willing to surrender analysis and simply root for the spectacle, with the added cachet of it being seen “Off Broadway.” Others will feel burned out before the first round is over.
Burnout Paradise is at the Astor Place Theatre, 434 Lafayette Street, NYC, through February 18, 2027.
Photos by Austin Ruffer.
