In a gladiatorial race against time, four performers on moving treadmills perform an escalating series of tasks. Burnout Paradise is a hilariously cathartic caricature of a painfully familiar experience: running oneself ragged trying to get everything done. In Burnout Paradise, Pony Cam welcomes audiences with a simple wager: Can the four performers meet a dizzying array of challenges while collectively running 20km on treadmills before their time runs out? If they fail—and, they often do—they offer the audience their money back.
Is it gimmicky? Absolutely. Gimmicky on multiple levels at once, even: the treadmills, the time clock, the merch table. It’s chaotic and splashy and overwhelming and silly. But it’s nonetheless built on a foundation of real emotions: on the one hand the “runner’s high” of thinking you’ve cracked the code of doing it all; on the other, the weary recognition of the deep, exhausted pit of burnout. (The show introduces each performer with a graphic that includes their current stress level.) And while there’s something serious at the root of it, and the performers enact their tasks with utmost sincerity–even the most ridiculous elements–the overall tone also embraces the absurdity of the whole endeavor. (And they cap it off with a little pop of joy in the form of a treadmill-based dance number that you may recognize from a music video a while back.)
Burnout Paradise is a fun and quick evening at the theatre, and at first glance it does not hold enough water for cultural commentary. But as the Pony Cam members rated their individual levels of burnout, I found myself more invested in their self-assessment than in my own burnout. It was funny: I sat in the audience with my notebook, trying not to think too hard about thinking about the show before me, as I often must.
2024 | Off-Broadway |
St. Ann's Off-Broadway Production Off-Broadway |
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