There was a sequence where Eliza Douglas, Imhof’s former partner and frequent collaborator, removed her shirt, lay on the floor, and ran a black marker across her nude back. There was a part in which one performer, the talented actress Talia Ryder, intoned the Jeremih song “Paradise” live, and another in which she and another cast member sprawled out together on a dirtied mattress strewn with shattered iPhones. There were many moments in which Douglas and others vaped, puffing strawberry-scented mist into the audience…
Her performers are stony-faced misfits who somnambulantly drift around, occasionally enacting balletic choreographies along the way. The entire performance has the cooler-than-thou vibe of a Balenciaga runway show, replete with a range of rail-thin zillennials in baggy jeans; it has all the surface-level appeal of a Vogue slideshow devoted to one of those events, too…
Why does one performer receive a back tattoo—seemingly for real, with no makeup or special effects—on top of an SUV?…
It’s glib, dull, and hopeless, and it expresses itself well within its first half hour, during a scene where the cast shouts in unison: “We’re fucked, we’re doomed, we’re dead. I think I made you up inside my head.”