Get Involved With That (or Don't): A Guide to New York Theater's Interactive Offerings

I entered my mini-tour of New York’s interactive theater offerings intending, fully planning, to join in as much as possible. On that front, I was about one-third successful. 

What I discovered along the way, though, was a more unique joy: the experience of a packed theater audience moving as one living, breathing collective, a mini-community born in a moment and united by one shared objective.

“Am I just one infinitesimal part of an atom..,” wonders Yasmine, the center of new interactive musical Night Side Songs, “…one atom of a bajillion that make up some massive organism?”

In attending either Night Side Songs at Lincoln Center Theater, Every Brilliant Thing at the Hudson Theatre or Burnout Paradise at the Astor Place Theater, you might feel just like Yasmine: one small yet essential part of a larger ecosystem, moving joyfully as one. 

And you don’t even have to take part.

It might be surprising to hear Night Side Songs described as joyful, given that it is a tale of sickness. Written by Daniel and Patrick Lazour (We Live in Cairo), this gorgeous song cycle follows Yasmine (a tremendous Brooke Ishibashi) through her illness journey following a cancer diagnosis. As an audience, we all become Yasmine’s support system along that journey.

Our support comes in the form of communal song. The audience is invited, at varying points over the course of the show, to join together as a chorus of care. Songbooks are handed out at the top of show by the performers, who stress that joining in will not be required. Indeed, no-one in the audience is singled out (though three-time Tony Award nominee Mary Testa might stare you down a little bit). 

At my performance, much of the group singing was delicately led by the endearing Taylor Trensch (filling in for Robin de Jesus, who stepped away briefly following the loss of his own mother from ALS). Trensch is a gentle, jubilant presence—guided by him, who wouldn’t want to do their part in telling Yasmine’s story? Besides, the more voices chime in, the stronger our bond. 

Night Side Songs didn’t require me to jump out of my seat and take solo action. Instead, all of us moved as one, taking the show’s profound invitation to spend a couple hours together on that other side—the “night side” of life, as Susan Sontag once dubbed the illness experience.

A similarly gentle trick is being pulled by Harry Potter star and recent Tony Award-winner Daniel Radcliffe over at the Hudson Theatre. The topic of his one-man show Every Brilliant Thing is, again, not a happy one: the struggle of our narrator’s mother with depression and suicidality. In Duncan MacMillan’s monologue, co-written by originating performer Jonny Donahoe, our (unnamed) storyteller recalls the decades-long experience of compiling a list of “brilliant things” as an effort to lift his mother’s spirits. 

Arriving at the Hudson, you will immediately spot Radcliffe darting around the house, enlisting audience members one-on-one for tasks essential to the show ahead. Most of these tasks involve yelling out one of the “Brilliant Things” when prompted, though a few audience members take on characters in the story. A cheaper seat won’t stop you (or save you) from getting involved, as Radcliffe finds time to sprint up to the dress circle and balcony as well. 

As he darted around seeking volunteers, I did attempt to catch Radcliffe’s eye. From my aisle seat in the orchestra, this writer tried to appear approachable and enthusiastic, ready to help out. But no luck. Perhaps he saw through my ruse and sensed a fraud who, in truth, was frightened to take on a task. More likely, there was no reason at all. Not everyone can take part, right? 

But in truth, just as in Night Side, we are all essential to the success of this performance—regardless of whether we have lines. That collective task is most strongly felt in the play’ s final section, when our narrator shifts focus from his mother to an honest, open-hearted assessment of his own mental health struggles. We become, with that shift, an organism of shared purpose. The man in front of us is suffering—and together, we can help. 

That’s an equally apt way of describing Burnout Paradise, the madcap creation from collective Pony Cam now off-Broadway at Astor Place Theatre. In this one-of-a-kind piece, four performers run on four treadmills, fulfilling a litany of escalating tasks while they sprint: cook a meal, submit an application, perform a monologue, etc.

It is literally not possible for these performers to do it all without our help. (If they don’t break their own distance record, we are told at top of show, refunds will be on offer.) Again, my intention here was to jump on stage and dive right in. I regretted not doing so at St. Ann’s Warehouse, where I previously experienced this thrilling show in 2025. But once again, I confess, I wasn't up to it. What can I say: running onto a stage and helping to cook pasta is a scary prospect. 

Not that I was especially needed. Tons of audience members got involved at my performance of Burnout, leaping on stage with abandon. One patron in the balcony held up a basketball hoop for performer Hugo Williams to toss a ball into. Probably the highlight of my show was cheering on understudy Chan Lin, stepping in for the first time, as she worked hard to keep up—like us, Lin was on this crazy ride for the first time. 

Even Burnout Paradise is not without its darker themes. Daily life can indeed feel, more and more, like an endless treadmill: a barrage of tasks are thrown at us, as we desperately try to keep moving forward. We should help each other. In a hands-on way, if you can. But if you can’t, whether out of preference or (in my case) a bit cowardice, your vibes are equally appreciated. 

All three of these shows are offering, as a solution to the barrage of noise, the simple answer of community. Sing a song, yell out a brilliant thing, cook some pasta. But most importantly: start moving like collective atoms, in a shared organism. We’re all in this together.