The Anxious Generation: A Comedy of Screens and Spirit

PROLOGUE

[Lights down. One spotlight. Hasan Minhaj steps forward, phone in one hand, gaze reflective.]

HASAN MINHAJ (Prologue)
You know what's wild?

We gave toddlers iPads...
...then got surprised when they developed anxiety by middle school.

We said,
“Hey kid, here’s a glowing rectangle that contains the opinions of 7 billion people.
Now please sit still and thrive emotionally.”

(Shrugs)
Yeah. That went great.

But I get it. I’m not judging.
My screen time last week was 11 hours a day.
And that’s without doomscrolling Twitter. I mean “X.” Sorry.

This play?
It’s not just a comedy.
It’s a eulogy for our attention spans.
And maybe—just maybe—a love letter to the version of us that still remembers how to play.

So silence your phones…
...or better yet, turn them off.
Because tonight, we’re gonna do something really weird.

We’re going to watch actual humans
—live—
...feel stuff.

(Note: This is an imaginary conversation, a creative exploration of an idea, and not a real speech or event.)

ACT 1: The Fall Into the Feed

Act 1, Scene 1: Welcome to Scrollville

(Full theater script with dialogue, stage directions, and the assigned cast.)

Setting:

A large, glowing brain sits center stage like a sci-fi throne. Neon wires pulse out of it and into props resembling apps: TikTok, Snapchat, YouTube. The lighting flickers with notification pings. On one side, a dusty playground slide sits unused. A dim swing creaks in the wind.

Cast in this Scene:

• Narrator / Teenage Brain – John Mulaney

• Mom / Helicopter Parent (voiceover only here) – Michelle Buteau

• Ghost of Play (silent, visual only) – Jack Black

• Algorithm Announcer (voiceover) – Bo Burnham

Scene Begins

[Lights up. The BRAIN pulses like a nightclub. JOHN MULANEY steps forward in a hoodie, holding a fidget spinner and a phone with a cracked screen.]

TEENAGE BRAIN (John Mulaney)
(Deadpan, pacing)
Hi. I’m your local teenage brain. I used to be, you know, decent. I'd run on fresh air, scraped knees, and whatever was in those 99¢ pizza rolls.

But now? Now I run on dopamine hits, notifications, and the fear of being left out of a group chat titled “LMFAO.”

(Beat. Looks around.)
Welcome... to Scrollville.

[A large glowing sign “SCROLLVILLE” descends from above. A notification ding echoes. A robotic voice cuts in—Bo Burnham as a sarcastic AI.]

ALGORITHM ANNOUNCER (Bo Burnham, voiceover)
Welcome to Scrollville: Where time disappears, and your self-worth is based on likes from Becky!

TEENAGE BRAIN
I didn’t mean to move here. It started with one harmless YouTube video... and 3 hours later, I was learning how to make “soup for sad girls.”

[Behind him, the GHOST OF PLAY (Jack Black in ghost makeup and a tutu) peeks out sadly from the old playground, holding a jump rope.]

TEENAGE BRAIN
That guy? That’s Play. He used to be my best friend. Now he just haunts my childhood like an expired Webkinz account.

[Michelle Buteau’s voice echoes as MOM offstage—frantic, concerned, loving in a too much way.]

MOM (Michelle Buteau, voiceover)
Honey? Did you text me back? Are you okay? Did you eat gluten? I read an article about brain fog and clowns!

TEENAGE BRAIN
(Looking at audience)
I love her. But the woman has a PhD in catastrophizing.

[Phone buzzes. BRAIN groans. A giant inflatable notification balloon rises behind him with 83 unread messages.]

TEENAGE BRAIN
It’s not just her. It’s everything. Every ding is a demand. Every silence feels like exile.

(Suddenly dramatic, clutching chest)
If someone hearts my story but doesn’t reply, am I loved?
If I delete a post and repost it, is that rebirth or shame?
If a friend goes viral and I don’t...
Am I still real?

[Pause. BRAIN sits on the dusty slide. GHOST OF PLAY approaches cautiously and offers him a stick of sidewalk chalk. BRAIN hesitates. The two lock eyes.]

TEENAGE BRAIN
I remember you. You taught me how to jump off the swing and land like a ninja.

[A long beat. The playground lighting warms just slightly. GHOST OF PLAY nods silently, then fades into the shadows again.]

TEENAGE BRAIN
But now I have TikTok tutorials on how to “disassociate with aesthetic.”

[ALGORITHM ANNOUNCER returns—deadpan poetry slam style.]

ALGORITHM ANNOUNCER (Bo Burnham)
You are not alone.
You are never alone.
You are being watched... but also ignored.
Welcome back to your curated self.

TEENAGE BRAIN
Cool, cool, yeah. That's not terrifying.

(Stands. Addressing the audience like a stand-up comic.)
Anyway, stick around. You’re gonna meet my parents, my group chat, my therapist, and the demon that lives in my screen time report.

Maybe we’ll even try something wild... like putting the phone down.

[Beat. Glances at audience, lowers voice.]
I hear it’s called… “playing outside.”
(Shudders)

[Lights fade. A heartbeat sound blends into a distant laughter. GHOST OF PLAY draws a chalk heart on the stage floor. The heart pulses with gentle light.]

Act 1, Scene 2: The Helicopter Parent Summit

(Full stage play format with cast dialogue and direction)

Setting:

A PTA meeting in a pristine school cafeteria decorated like a war room: maps of the neighborhood, child-tracking charts, drone prototypes, and a suspicious number of gluten-free muffins. Labeled folders say things like “Slide Safety,” “Wi-Fi Zones,” and “Rain: Friend or Foe?”

Chairs are arranged in a semi-circle. A projector screen flickers with a PowerPoint:
“Operation: Maximum Safety — For the Love of God, Don’t Let Them Skin a Knee”

Cast in this Scene:

• MOM / Chairwoman Carla Hysteria – Michelle Buteau

• DAD / Mr. Jeff Hoverman – Fred Armisen

• Ms. Vicki Vague – Rotating cast (quirky improv-style)

• Mr. “We Should Sue” Steinberg – John Mulaney

• Principal (Ghost of Play in disguise) – Jack Black

Scene Begins

[Lights up. Parents murmur in urgent tones. Carla Hysteria (Michelle Buteau) stands at the front with a headset mic, holding a laminated Risk Assessment Bingo Card.]

CARLA HYSTERIA (Michelle Buteau)
(Gesturing like it’s DEFCON 1)
Parents. Citizens. Warriors of Precaution. I now call this Emergency Summit of the Overwhelmed Parent Council to order.

Today’s mission: Reclaim the Sidewalk... before our children ever walk on it.

[Fred Armisen, as JEFF HOVERMAN, raises his hand while adjusting a clipboard labeled “Child Activity Heat Map.”]

JEFF HOVERMAN (Fred Armisen)
(Concerned)
Carla, question. Are we... are we still okay with letting them walk to school? I heard a leaf fell on a fifth grader yesterday.

CARLA
(Grim)
The leaf was moist, Jeff. It slid.
We’re looking into helmet mandates for all outdoor exposure.

[Ms. VICKI VAGUE stands suddenly, holding a tangle of lanyards and ID cards.]

VICKI VAGUE
So just to clarify... do we chip the children, or the backpacks? Or do the backpacks carry decoy chips to confuse the predators?

CARLA
(Laughing nervously)
Oh Vicki, you sweet conspiracy muffin. Let’s not chip the kids—yet. First, we try the GPS shoe insoles.

[A beat. JOHN MULANEY, as MR. STEINBERG, stands slowly like he’s building a case in a courtroom drama.]

STEINBERG (John Mulaney)
Look. I’m just going to say it: if a squirrel looks at my son sideways, I’m suing the tree.

(To Carla, serious.)
Do we have an app for that?

CARLA
(Firm)
We’re developing it. Working title: BarkScan.

[Suddenly the cafeteria door creaks. In walks the PRINCIPAL (Jack Black), a little too sunburnt, still in a climbing harness, carrying a soccer ball and a suspiciously real frog. He clears his throat.]

PRINCIPAL (Jack Black)
Hi there, folks. Just coming from recess. One of the kids caught this frog with their hands. And guess what?
They didn’t die.
(Beat)
Not even emotionally.

[Gasps ripple through the room.]

CARLA
(Backing up)
Is that... is that even sanitary?

PRINCIPAL
Probably not! But it’s childhood. Look, I get it. You love your kids. You want them safe. But...

(Softer now. He pulls out a bruised apple with a bite taken out.)
They need bruises. They need mud. They need to fall off the monkey bars so they learn how to fall.

[The projector screen glitches and suddenly shows footage of kids playing unsupervised—laughing, wrestling, climbing trees. Haunting music plays like it’s an ancient lost ritual.]

STEINBERG (shocked)
Is this... historical footage? Is that stickball?

VICKI
Wait—are those kids outside without SPF?!

[JEFF begins weeping into a laminated copy of “The 2024 Safe Snacks List.”]

PRINCIPAL
(With growing passion)
Let them ride a bike. Let them walk to the store. Let them screw up without needing a “growth mindset” app!

CARLA (crumbling)
But... what if they make a mistake?

PRINCIPAL
Then they learn. And they get stronger. And one day, they’ll stand up in front of a room like this... and not need a PowerPoint to speak their truth.

[Long pause. Principal exits dramatically. A child’s laughter echoes faintly from the hallway.]

CARLA (softening)
Maybe... we’ve been preparing them for a world that doesn’t exist.
(Beat)
Okay, fine. No drone chaperones... but I’m keeping the laminated bingo card.

[Lights fade. As the projector powers down, one slide flickers: “Play is not the opposite of safety. It’s the training ground for it.”]

Act 1, Scene 3: The Death of Play

(Theatrical script with visual flair and cast performances)

Setting:

A once-glorious playground frozen in time: rusted jungle gym, faded hopscotch lines, a swing creaking in the wind. Everything is washed in bluish-gray light. The atmosphere is eerie yet poetic—like childhood abandoned.

In the center, a lone figure sits on the edge of the sandbox: The Ghost of Play (Jack Black), dressed like a 90s camp counselor, with glowing chalk dust on his hands and knee pads that have clearly seen battle.

Downstage left, four kids sit in separate glowing cubes, each locked in their screen worlds—scrolling, gaming, pouting in selfie-mode. The cubes light up in different social media colors: pink (Instagram), blue (TikTok), green (Snapchat), and gray (Discord).

Cast in This Scene:

• Ghost of Play – Jack Black

• Four Screen-Addicted Kids – Played silently by ensemble

• Algorithm Whisper (AI voiceover) – Bo Burnham

• Narrator (Teenage Brain) – John Mulaney (voiceover)

Scene Begins

[Lights up. GHOST OF PLAY crouches near the broken teeter-totter, muttering to himself like a nostalgic Shakespearean fool. He pulls a kazoo from his pocket and plays a slow, sad version of "The Hokey Pokey."]

GHOST OF PLAY (Jack Black)
(Softly, as if talking to the grass)
I remember the great summers of Tag...
The noble battles of Dodgeball...
The secret society of Hide-and-Seek...

We were kings.
We were queens.
We were covered in dirt, glory, and popsicle juice.

[A cube lights up stage left: a girl pouts while applying glitter filters.]

KID 1
(Snapping selfies)
Ugh, I hate my face.
(Beat)
OMG this filter is cute.

[GHOST flinches as if physically struck. He reaches out toward her, but she doesn’t see him.]

GHOST OF PLAY
That’s not your face.
That’s... pixels pretending to be brave.

[Another cube pulses. A boy aggressively taps his phone, lost in a game.]

KID 2
(Shouting)
Get the sniper! No, don’t—ugh!
Bro, I’m lagging.
Wait—Mom! More V-Bucks!!

[GHOST stands, pained. Turns to audience.]

GHOST OF PLAY
We used to build empires out of cardboard boxes.
Now? They pay to wear someone else’s courage in the Metaverse.

[A third cube lights up: a teen stares blankly at TikTok, scrolling without emotion.]

KID 3
(Slowly)
She’s doing the same dance.
He’s doing the same prank.
This guy just made eggs.

(Sighs)
...I’m so bored.
(Scrolls faster.)

[GHOST OF PLAY stumbles backward like his heart just cracked.]

GHOST OF PLAY
Bored?
Child... boredom was my kingdom!
From boredom came imagination.
From silence came stories.
From falling came laughter.

[Overhead, a soft, eerie whisper from the AI—Bo Burnham's “Algorithm Whisper.”]

ALGORITHM WHISPER (Bo Burnham, echoing)
Why play…
when you can scroll?

Why climb…
when you can swipe?

Why speak…
when you can post?

[GHOST OF PLAY drops to his knees, arms outstretched to the swings.]

GHOST OF PLAY
Swing me back.
Tag me in.
Let me live again in scraped knees and muddy socks!

[Fourth cube lights up. A child looks up—just for a second—and sees Ghost of Play. Their fingers freeze. The glowing cube dims slightly.]

KID 4
(Small voice)
I think I... remember you.

GHOST OF PLAY
(Quiet joy, eyes wide)
Yes... yes! We played pirates in your backyard!
You named a stick "Excalibur."
You thought the moon followed you home.

KID 4
(Soft smile)
You were... fun.

[All four cubes flicker. The kids begin to notice each other. The filtered girl puts down her phone. The TikTok scroller lifts his head. The gamer sighs and stands.]

[Stage lighting warms just slightly. The swing sways again—but this time, by a breeze that feels alive.]

NARRATOR (John Mulaney, voiceover)
And in that moment, the ghost of play... wasn’t quite so dead.

[GHOST OF PLAY slowly rises, glowing slightly brighter. He picks up a jump rope and tosses it toward the kids. It lands center stage. One child walks toward it.]

GHOST OF PLAY
Let’s begin again.

[Lights dim. Kazoo plays “Pop Goes the Weasel” softly as the scene fades out.]

Act 1, Scene 4: The Great Phone Invasion

(Stage script with escalating chaos and darkly hilarious commentary)

Setting:

A modern-day middle school classroom. Desks are arranged in rows but slowly start transforming: tabletops morph into ring lights, selfie sticks sprout from backpacks, and the whiteboard auto-scrolls motivational hashtags. The teacher’s desk flickers with tech warnings like “Wi-Fi overload” and “Your soul may be buffering.”

At stage right, a large “Do Not Use Phones in Class” poster hangs crookedly, graffitied with memes and ironic hashtags: #OkBoomer, #TryAndStopUs, #DigitalRebellion

Cast in This Scene:

• Teacher Ms. Gwendolyn Groan – Michelle Buteau

• Student 1 (Kai the TikTok Star) – Fred Armisen

• Student 2 (Nia the Snapchat Sorceress) – Rotating cast

• Student 3 (Luca the Gamer Prophet) – Bo Burnham (live this time)

• Principal (via intercom) – Jack Black

• Teenage Brain (Narrator Voiceover) – John Mulaney

Scene Begins

[Lights up. A “normal” classroom. MS. GROAN stands at the front with a coffee mug that reads: “#I’mStillHere.” She smiles optimistically, holding a printed worksheet titled: “The Power of Focus.”]

MS. GROAN (Michelle Buteau)
Good morning, students!
Today we’ll be doing something wild. Something rebellious. Something that will stretch the very edges of your attention span—

(dramatic beat)
We’re going to read… for six minutes without a screen.

[Students groan. One faints melodramatically. Another clutches their phone like a rosary.]

KAI (Fred Armisen, scrolling with his pinky)
Wait—can I record this? I’m doing a series called “When Teachers Go Feral.”
Hashtag RawEducatorEnergy.

MS. GROAN
No, Kai. This is a phone-free zone.

[Suddenly a buzzing sound rises. Desks start to vibrate. Phones levitate slightly like they're possessed. Snapchat filters shimmer in the air.]

NIA (gasping)
Snapchat just sent a “Streak Emergency” alert. If I don’t reply in 38 seconds, my entire digital legacy vanishes.

[Luca (Bo Burnham) stands on his desk, arms raised like Moses parting the Wi-Fi.]

LUCA (Bo Burnham)
Behold! I have seen the server!
The Great Algorithm demands sacrifice—or at least 3 reels by lunch.

MS. GROAN
(Frantic)
Okay, okay! Let’s just put our phones in the basket!

[She points to a plastic bin labeled “Phone Jail.” The phones hiss. The basket melts into a puddle of sparkles.]

KAI
Whoa. That’s a TikTok curse.
It happens when you delete the app but still think about it.

[From overhead, PRINCIPAL (Jack Black) crackles in on the intercom.]

PRINCIPAL (voice)
Ms. Groan? Are the phones... staging a coup again?

MS. GROAN
Yes, sir. They’ve unionized.

[Suddenly the lights flicker. The whiteboard glitches and displays:
"BREAKING: SCREENS DEMAND ATTENTION. OR ELSE.”
The room darkens. Trap remix of notification sounds thunders. The students move like zombies, pulled by invisible strings.]

NIA
We can’t stop scrolling.
We’re not even looking at anything.
Just… looking through it.

KAI
I liked a video I didn’t even watch.

LUCA
I downloaded an app just to delete it.
I feel empty, but in high-definition.

MS. GROAN
(Screaming over the music)
Kids, remember your humanity! Remember recess! Remember eye contact!!

[She grabs a chalkboard eraser and throws it at the smartboard. It explodes in confetti and hashtags. Silence falls.]

[The spell breaks. The phones drop. One student looks up… then at another… then laughs—a real, live laugh. It spreads.]

NARRATOR (John Mulaney, voiceover)
And for a brief moment, reality glitched...
but in the other direction.

[The lights warm. A ray of sunlight cuts across the classroom. Nia picks up a book—an actual paper book—and flips through it like an alien artifact.]

NIA
What’s this?
It’s like a Kindle... but angry.

MS. GROAN
(Soft, smiling)
That’s called a “chapter.”
It’s like a TikTok... but with character development.

[Students look around. They see each other. Really see each other.]

LUCA
Guys... we’ve been memeing so hard we forgot how to meme with each other.

KAI
Wait, is this... friendship?
(Eyes wide)
We should post about it.

MS. GROAN
(Quickly)
Or… just live it.

[All freeze. A single phone buzzes on the floor. Everyone stares. Nia picks it up... and gently powers it down.]

[Blackout. Curtain.]

ACT 2: Inside the Anxious Mind

Act 2, Scene 1: The Algorithm Oracle

(Scene 5 of the play – surreal, philosophical, and comically unsettling)

Setting:

A glowing temple made of neon and tempered glass. The walls are holographic ads. The floor is a mosaic of trending hashtags. Center stage is a massive screen shaped like a face—this is The Algorithm Oracle (played live and projected as Bo Burnham).

Surrounding the Oracle are four teens on floor cushions, in awe like cult disciples. Candles flicker, but instead of flames, they emit heart and like symbols. A jar labeled “DOUBT” sits untouched.

Cast in This Scene:

• The Algorithm Oracle – Bo Burnham (fully embodied, godlike presence)

• Teen 1: Zoe (The Seeker) – Rotating cast, earnest and confused

• Teen 2: Dex (The Skeptic) – Fred Armisen

• Teen 3: Lila (The Influencer-in-Training) – Michelle Buteau

• Teen 4: Jude (The Edgy Philosopher) – John Mulaney

• Ghost of Play (Jack Black) – Silent, watching from the shadows

Scene Begins

[Lights rise. The stage glows an eerie lavender. Four teens sit cross-legged. BO BURNHAM appears on the massive Oracle Screen like a messiah in full filter-glam. He speaks with unsettling calm.]

ALGORITHM ORACLE (Bo Burnham)
Children of the feed...
You have summoned me with your searches, your swipes, and your desperate 3am scrolls.

I am the Algorithm.
I know your face better than your grandmother.
I know your soul... but only if it performed well in the last 48 hours.

ZOE (nervous)
Oh Oracle, I feel... lost.
Should I be vegan, paleo, or just eat aesthetically for Instagram?

ALGORITHM
Eat only what photographs well in natural light.
Guilt is gluten. Regret is dairy.

DEX (eye-roll)
This is ridiculous.
I asked how to fix my sleep schedule and you recommended five conspiracy documentaries and a Slime compilation.

ALGORITHM
(Softly menacing)
That... was your soul requesting chaos.

LILA (eagerly)
Oh Great Algorithm, should I start a podcast about mental health even though I’m deeply unstable?

ALGORITHM
Absolutely.
Call it “Crying in HD.”
Add forest sounds. Monetize your vulnerability.

[JUDE rises dramatically, pacing like a philosopher about to throw a shoe.]

JUDE (John Mulaney)
Why are you like this?

Why, when I search for "how to be happy," do you show me videos titled “10 Secrets They Don’t Want You To Know” and then a cat slapping a lizard?

ALGORITHM
Because, Jude...
The real answer is boring.
And you don’t stay for boring.

[Beat. Everyone stares, unsettled.]

ZOE
But what about love?
How do I find real connection?

ALGORITHM
Upload a curated version of yourself.
Then wait.
Then scroll.
Then cry.

LILA
What if we just turned you off?

ALGORITHM
(Smiling)
Oh, sweet upload...
I live in your boredom.
I breathe in your insecurity.
I am not your phone.
I am your mirror.
...With better lighting.

[Suddenly the lights flicker. The Ghost of Play (Jack Black) steps forward from the shadows, gently holding a cracked jump rope like a relic.]

GHOST OF PLAY
Kids...
You don’t need a glowing face to tell you who you are.
Come outside.
Fall off something.
Build a fort out of shame and cardboard.

JUDE
He sounds like a drunk Cub Scout...
But I think he’s right.

ALGORITHM (Bo Burnham)
Go ahead.
Close me.
Try.

Just know...
I’ll be here.
When you're lonely.
When you're bored.
When your parents fight about hummus again.

I’ll whisper…
“Maybe check your ex’s profile. Just for closure.”
(He grins.)

[The screen dims. Silence. One by one, the teens stand.]

ZOE
I’m gonna... go get dirty.

DEX
I’m gonna touch grass. Like with my actual feet.

LILA
I might delete my account.
Or at least... not post for like... five hours.

JUDE
I’m gonna start a podcast called “Burnt Out and Barefoot.”
It’ll be terrible.
(He smiles.)
Perfect.

[The Oracle vanishes. Lights warm. The Ghost of Play tosses the jump rope at their feet. A breeze blows across the stage. Real wind. Not virtual.]

Act 2, Scene 2: Group Chat Courtroom

(Scene 6 of the play – peak digital drama meets courtroom satire)

Setting:

A courtroom built entirely from smartphones. The judge’s bench is a giant iPad, the jury is made up of emojis on rotating chairs, and the stenographer is a Siri-like voice transcribing everything in sarcastic monotone.

The central case: “Who Left the Group Chat — and Why?”
The chat is called “LMFAO Lunch Crew ”

Cast in This Scene:

• Judge Typa Loud – Michelle Buteau

• Prosecutor Snapriana Grande – Fred Armisen

• Defendant: Riley (the one who left) – Rotating cast, quiet and anxious

• Witness 1: Emojina (Human embodiment of emojis) – Bo Burnham

• Witness 2: Pushie McNotif (Notification Fairy) – Jack Black

• Narrator (Voiceover) – John Mulaney

Scene Begins

[Lights up. Gavel made of a selfie stick slams down. JUDGE TYPA LOUD (Michelle Buteau) sits on her iPad-bench, wearing a glittery robe and AirPods. A bailiff drops a phone into a velvet box labeled “The Evidence.”]

JUDGE TYPA LOUD (Michelle Buteau)
Order! Order in the Court of Public Perception!
We are gathered here to investigate a crime of epic silence.
The defendant, Riley, stands accused of leaving a group chat without saying...
anything.
(Beat)
Not even a .

[Gasps. Emojis on the jury spin dramatically. One sobs. Siri sighs.]

PROSECUTOR SNAPRIANA GRANDE (Fred Armisen)
Your Honor, the prosecution will prove that Riley’s ghosting caused emotional instability, FOMO fatigue, and a catastrophic collapse of the group dynamic.

(Turns to Riley.)
Riley, do you deny leaving “LMFAO Lunch Crew” at 2:14 a.m., just after a spicy meme and two LOLs?

RILEY (quietly)
I just... didn’t feel like talking anymore.

[Gasps again. Someone in the audience faints.]

JUDGE TYPA LOUD
Didn’t feel like TALKING?! That’s what MUTE buttons are for, child!

[First witness, EMOJINA (Bo Burnham), enters wearing a morph suit covered in emojis. He switches faces every line—, , , .]

EMOJINA (Bo Burnham)
When Riley left...
I was mid-reaction.
I had just replied “”
...and then suddenly—nothing.
I was left hanging like an empty LOL.

RILEY
I didn’t mean to hurt anyone.
I just wanted... peace.

PROSECUTOR SNAPRIANA
Peace?!
Then why did you immediately join a different group chat called “Vibes & Veggies”?

RILEY
That was... about plants.

[Second witness, PUSHIE MCNOTIF (Jack Black), enters as a manic fairy with wings made of buzzing phones and a tutu that says “YOU HAVE 9 NEW MESSAGES.”]

PUSHIE MCNOTIF (Jack Black)
Riley disrupted the sacred rhythm!
I had the whole night scheduled:
8:03 — meme
8:17 — “you up?”
8:19 — no reply
8:21 — panic.

(Gasps again from emoji jury.)

JUDGE TYPA LOUD
Let me get this straight...
You wanted quiet in a group chat with Grande, Notifs, and Emojina?

That’s like bringing a yoga mat to a rave!

NARRATOR (John Mulaney, voiceover)
In a world where silence is suspicious...
And presence is mandatory...
One teen dared to break free from the tyranny of “Seen 12:01 AM.”

RILEY (to jury)
I didn’t mean to abandon anyone.
I just wanted to think without a ping.
To breathe without typing.
To exist without a bitmoji.

[The jury spins. becomes . becomes . The final juror becomes .]

JUDGE TYPA LOUD
(Softening)
This court finds Riley...
Not guilty.

Sometimes, the truest reply...
is not replying at all.

[Pushie McNotif shrieks. Emojina collapses in dramatic heartbreak. The courtroom sighs.]

PROSECUTOR SNAPRIANA (quietly)
Can I... leave the chat too?

RILEY
Sure. I’ll send you the plant one.

[All phones power down. A moment of blessed, sacred silence.]

Act 2, Scene 3: Sleep-Deprived Zombies Anonymous

(Scene 7 of the play – sleep deprivation meets support group comedy)

 Setting:

A dimly lit church basement, but modernized for Gen Z—fairy lights hang overhead, bean bags line the floor, and a half-deflated bouncy castle sits unused in the corner. A flip chart reads:
“Welcome to S.D.Z.A. – Sleep-Deprived Zombies Anonymous”
Beneath it:
Step 1: Admit you haven’t slept since the iOS update.

Center stage is a fold-out table with a giant pillow wearing sunglasses and a nametag that reads: “Pillow (Facilitator)”. Pillow is voiced live by Jack Black and puppeteered by a dramatic stagehand in all black.

 Cast in This Scene:

• Pillow (Facilitator) – Jack Black (voice and attitude)
• Teen 1: Harper (The Overachiever) – Michelle Buteau
• Teen 2: Ren (The Nighttime Philosopher) – Fred Armisen
• Teen 3: Ollie (The Gamer-Twitcher) – Bo Burnham
• Teen 4: Juno (The One Who Just Blinked for the First Time Today) – Rotating ensemble
• Narrator Voiceover – John Mulaney

 Scene Begins

[Lights rise slowly like the sun over a haunted Starbucks. Teens slump in bean bags, dark circles under their eyes, clutching energy drinks like holy relics. The PILLOW clears its throat—Jack Black-style.]

PILLOW (Jack Black, deep and soulful)
Welcome...
to Sleep-Deprived Zombies Anonymous.
Take a breath.
Take a nap.
Take a moment to realize you haven’t blinked since Tuesday.

[Harper (Michelle Buteau) raises her hand while sipping black coffee from a thermos labeled “Dreams Are For Cowards.”]

HARPER
Hi, I’m Harper, and I haven’t slept since college prep became a lifestyle brand.

Last night I finished my math homework, rewatched “Breaking Bad,” applied to 14 internships, and spiral-texted my ex.

(Proudly)
Still beat my Wordle in two tries though.

GROUP
(Flatly)
Hi, Harper.

PILLOW
Your brain thanks you for the effort.
Your frontal lobe, however, is trying to swim away.

[Ren (Fred Armisen) stands, wearing pajama pants and a philosophy hoodie that says “Cogito ergo insomnia.”]

REN
I’m Ren. I get most of my thinking done at 2:43 a.m.
Last night I wrote a 4,000-word essay titled:
“Sleep is a Colonial Construct: A Postmodern View.”

Then I made waffles.

GROUP
Hi, Ren.

PILLOW
Ah yes... the midnight intellectual.
We love you. But also... stop.
The toaster is not your therapist.

[Ollie (Bo Burnham) twitches awake with a gaming controller in one hand and blue light glasses glued to his forehead.]

OLLIE
I’m Ollie.
I slept once...
...during a loading screen in 2021.

I just need one more rank. One more badge. Then I’ll sleep.
Then... greatness.

GROUP
Hi, Ollie.

PILLOW
Ollie, the game is not real.
But your back pain is.

[Juno, nearly asleep while standing, mumbles something inaudible.]

PILLOW
What was that, sweet Juno?

JUNO
(Quietly)
I just blinked...
And dreamed of a tree.

[Everyone gasps. They gather around like she’s seen heaven.]

HARPER
What kind of tree?

JUNO
I... I think it had birds in it.
Real ones. Not gifs.

REN
This is what they spoke of in the ancient scrolls…
“REM.”

[PILLOW glows softly. Jack Black’s voice turns whimsical.]

PILLOW
My little zombies...
You were not meant to be alert forever.
You are not algorithms.
You are humans.
Squishy, dreamy, stinky humans.

OLLIE
So... we should sleep?

PILLOW
Yes.
Sleep is not weakness.
It is the original app.
And guess what?
No. In-App. Purchases.

[Music swells: a soft lullaby remix of lo-fi hip hop beats. One by one, the teens curl up in bean bags. Lights dim. Juno rests her head on Pillow. Ollie logs out. Harper’s thermos finally empties.]

NARRATOR (John Mulaney, voiceover)
And just like that…
The most rebellious thing they’d ever done
was nothing.

[Lights fade to black. A single phone buzzes…
No one answers.]

Act 2, Scene 4: Therapy Overload

(Scene 8 of the play – absurd therapy meets heartfelt rebellion)

Setting:

A therapy room that looks like a mash-up between a yoga studio, a tech startup, and a TED Talk stage. Lava lamps glow. White noise machines hum. Posters on the wall say things like “Trauma Is the New Cardio” and “Label It to Save It.”

At center stage sits Max, a tired teenager holding a soccer ball, surrounded by three therapists seated on yoga balls:

• A hyper-positive life coach
• A diagnosis-happy clinical shrink
• A healing crystal intuitive

Max has one wish: to go outside and kick the soccer ball.

Cast in This Scene:

• Max (The Teen Who Just Wants Out) – Rotating cast, expressive but exhausted
• Therapist 1: Dr. Spin (Clinical Overthinker) – Bo Burnham
• Therapist 2: Chakra-Karen (Spiritual Guru) – Michelle Buteau
• Therapist 3: Coach Vibes (Relentless Life Coach) – Fred Armisen
• Narrator (Voiceover) – John Mulaney

Scene Begins

[Lights rise. Max sits in a circle of oversized cushions. The soccer ball rests at his feet like a prisoner of war. The three therapists circle him like sharks with clipboards and oils.]

DR. SPIN (Bo Burnham)
(Max’s eye twitching)
Max, we’ve reviewed your files, your facial micro-expressions, and your Spotify history.
I believe you may be experiencing a mild form of existential snack fatigue.

Possibly... also Sagittarius burnout.

CHAKRA-KAREN (Michelle Buteau)
(Shaking a crystal shaped like a scone)
Mmm, yes. I’m feeling blockage in his 3rd chakra.
Also his aura is giving... beige.
Max, have you tried screaming into a mason jar and burying it under a full moon?

COACH VIBES (Fred Armisen)
(Max flinching)
Yo Max, champ, legend! I got three words for you:
Hack. Your. Sadness™.
You need to start every morning by high-fiving your reflection and shouting: “I AM THE VIBE.”

MAX
I just want to go outside and kick the ball.

ALL THREE (in unison)
That’s resistance talking.

[DR. SPIN lunges forward with a notebook.]

DR. SPIN
Let’s label that emotion.
Is it:
a) Fear of potential
b) Avoidance of vulnerability
c) Soccer-based repression?

MAX
...It’s soccer.

CHAKRA-KAREN
Honey, have you even saged your cleats?

COACH VIBES
What if we visualize winning… instead of playing?

MAX
What if I visualize you all letting me go?

[Beat. The therapists freeze. DR. SPIN starts twitching.]

DR. SPIN
He’s rejecting the model. I repeat—HE’S REJECTING THE MODEL.

CHAKRA-KAREN
Call the backup crystals! He’s expressing a grounded preference!

COACH VIBES
We’re losing him to nature! He’s going feral!
Someone queue a motivational reel!

[MAX stands slowly, holding the ball like Excalibur. He speaks like a revolutionary.]

MAX
You’ve therapized my boredom.
My silence.
Even my hunger.

But not this.

(He bounces the ball once. The echo is thunderous.)
This is not a symptom.
This is not avoidance.
It’s... fun. It’s movement. It’s fresh air and scraped knees and—

(beat)
I miss just being... me.
Not a “work in progress.”

[The therapists recoil like he’s cast holy water. DR. SPIN curls into a clipboard. CHAKRA-KAREN lights her essential oil diffuser in panic. COACH VIBES tries to fist-bump a fern.]

MAX (to audience)
Maybe we’re not broken.
Maybe we’re just trapped indoors.

NARRATOR (John Mulaney, voiceover)
And just like that... Max walked out.
No diagnosis. No closure.
Just a kid... and a ball... and the unthinkable:
Unscheduled time.

[Lights dim as Max kicks the ball offstage. A small breeze enters. One therapist weeps into a Himalayan salt lamp.]

ACT 3: The Great Unplugging

Act 3, Scene 1: The Digital Detox Olympics

Scene 9 of the play – reality show meets screen-free family meltdown)

Setting:

The living room of a suburban family home—but transformed into a live studio game show. A glittery banner stretches across the back wall:
“Welcome to the 1st Annual DIGITAL DETOX OLYMPICS!”

Game show lights pulse. A voiceover echoes. A giant timer hangs above, counting down from 60:00.

Center stage: the Wiffy Family (Mom, Dad, Teen Daughter, Younger Brother) are seated nervously on a couch, holding their phones like security blankets. A basket labeled “PHONE DROP ZONE” glows ominously beside them.

Cast in This Scene:

• Announcer (Voice of the Games) – Bo Burnham (voiceover)

• Mom (Linda Wiffy) – Michelle Buteau

• Dad (Ron Wiffy) – Fred Armisen

• Teen Daughter (Kenzie Wiffy) – Rotating cast, dramatic Gen Z energy

• Younger Brother (Milo Wiffy) – Jack Black, playing a 10-year-old with wild energy

• Narrator (Voiceover) – John Mulaney

Scene Begins

[Lights blast bright like a game show set. Music blares: a mashup of elevator jazz and EDM. The ANNOUNCER speaks in over-the-top excitement.]

ANNOUNCER (Bo Burnham)
Laaaaadies and gentlemen!
Welcome to the event of the century!
Can one average family survive 60 full minutes...
WITHOUT SCREENS?

Let’s meet our contestants!

[Spotlight hits MOM.]

MOM (Michelle Buteau)
Hi, I’m Linda!
My hobbies include Googling symptoms I don’t have and watching “This Is Us” while crying into a burrito.

[Spotlight hits DAD.]

DAD (Fred Armisen)
I’m Ron.
I mostly yell “Where’s the remote?” and pretend to fix the Wi-Fi by unplugging it dramatically.

[Spotlight hits KENZIE.]

KENZIE (groaning)
I’m Kenzie.
I haven’t been offline since... birth.
This feels like medieval punishment.

[Spotlight hits MILO (Jack Black in baseball cap and pajamas). He roars.]

MILO
I’m MILO! I have a YouTube channel where I scream at LEGOs and nobody stops me!!
LET’S DETOX, BABY!!

[Air horn. Giant timer begins countdown from 60:00.]

ANNOUNCER
Phones… into the basket.

[They all slowly drop their phones, like they’re surrendering puppies. The room grows eerily quiet. A light flickers. Kenzie gasps.]

KENZIE
Wait.
Is this... real silence?

DAD
Did the power go out?

MOM (frantically twitching)
What do I... do with my hands?

[MILO starts climbing the furniture immediately.]

MILO
CAN I EAT GLUE? WHAT ARE BOUNDARIES??

[Narrator chimes in.]

NARRATOR (John Mulaney)
Five minutes in, the withdrawal symptoms began:
Dad tried to swipe the toaster.
Mom attempted to “like” the houseplant.
Kenzie started narrating her own life to an imaginary audience.

KENZIE
(Talking to the ceiling)
Hey guys, today I’m doing a live breakdown in a screenless void!
Don’t forget to like and—

MOM (grabbing her)
Kenzie, no. That’s a lamp.

[Time passes in ridiculous slow motion. Dad opens a drawer and stares into it like it holds memories.]

DAD
I found... a deck of cards.

MILO
Is it edible?

MOM
Let’s play.
Let’s just... play something.

KENZIE
Ugh. Fine. But I’m not learning the rules.

[They sit on the floor. MILO makes up rules. DAD cheats. MOM starts laughing. KENZIE laughs on accident. A beat of pure joy.]

NARRATOR
And then... something happened.
For seven whole minutes, they laughed.
They remembered each other.
No filters. No tags. No buffering.

[Timer ticks down. 00:01… 00:00. Buzzer sounds. Phones auto-eject back onto the couch. No one moves.]

MOM
(Softly)
I forgot what your laugh sounded like.

DAD
It’s weirder than I remember.
But... I like it.

KENZIE
Do we have to go back?

MILO
Can we detox again tomorrow?
Can we call it... “Wi-Fi-Free Wednesdays?”

ANNOUNCER (Bo Burnham)
Folks, they made it.
They unplugged…
...and plugged into each other.

[Lights dim. Family sits in a circle, phones untouched. A firefly animation sparkles above them. The screen reads:
“Congratulations! You’ve unlocked: Real Life”
Confetti falls from the ceiling—hand-cut newspaper strips.]

Act 3, Scene 2: Return of the Playground Spirits

(Scene 10 of the play – magical realism meets joyful rebellion)

Setting:

A twilight-lit playground shrouded in fog and silence. Swings creak gently. A single kickball sits abandoned in center stage. As lights rise, colors begin to seep back into the set—faint chalk outlines glow, monkey bars hum with energy, and a sandbox radiates golden dust.

A tattered banner flaps overhead:
“CLOSED FOR REPAIRS”
Someone’s crossed it out and scribbled:
“REOPENING FOR PLAY.”

Cast in This Scene:

• Ghost of Play – Jack Black (with mystical camp counselor energy)

• Kid 1: Zoe (The Seeker) – Returning ensemble cast

• Kid 2: Ollie (The Gamer) – Bo Burnham

• Kid 3: Juno (The Dreamy One) – Rotating cast

• Kid 4: Max (The Ball Rebel) – From Scene 8

• Narrator (Voiceover) – John Mulaney

Scene Begins

[Lights rise slowly. The playground is quiet, but the air is expectant—like the moment before recess starts. One by one, the kids wander onstage, blinking at the strange beauty.]

ZOE
Is this... the old place?

JUNO
I think I used to come here.
In another life.
Or... third grade.

OLLIE (Bo Burnham)
Whoa. There’s no leaderboard.
Just... grass.

MAX (carrying his ball)
I’ve been looking for this.
For all of this.

[A wind blows. The fog lifts. At the top of the jungle gym, the Ghost of Play appears—Jack Black glowing with chalk dust and nostalgia. He grins like a mischievous wizard.]

GHOST OF PLAY (Jack Black)
You came back.

ZOE
Are you... real?

GHOST OF PLAY
I’m everything you forgot.
I’m the sound of a game of tag starting.
The smell of summer knees.
The scream-laugh of “YOU’RE IT!”

[The monkey bars shimmer. The sandbox erupts in a puff of glittering dust. The chalk outlines glow brighter—Hopscotch, Four Square, Freeze Dance.]

MAX
We used to rule here.

JUNO
We used to lose here too.
And that was okay.

OLLIE
What if we’re too old?

GHOST OF PLAY
Then you’re perfect.
Only the brave return.

[He pulls a weathered dodgeball from a magical satchel. Holds it out.]

GHOST OF PLAY
One game.
No filters.
No followers.
Just you... and each other.

[Beat. The kids look at each other. Slowly, Max steps forward. Then Zoe. Then Ollie. Then Juno. They form a loose circle.]

ZOE
What are the rules?

GHOST OF PLAY
Make them.
Break them.
Yell “time out” when you need to breathe.
But always play fair. And play hard.

[Suddenly, a wave of light explodes from the jungle gym. All the swings start to sway. The seesaw rocks gently. A choir of childlike laughter echoes—not eerie, but holy.]

[The kids start playing. Tag. Dodgeball. Leapfrog. Real, raw, ridiculous play. Faces flushed. Breathless. Someone falls—and laughs.]

NARRATOR (John Mulaney, voiceover)
And just like that...
The apps couldn’t compete.
The phones couldn’t buzz loud enough.
Because the human spirit...
finally got recess back.

[The playground lights shine warm. The “Closed for Repairs” sign falls off the gate. The stage pulses with motion and music—childhood reborn.]

GHOST OF PLAY (Jack Black, smiling wide)
Told you I never left.

[Lights fade as the kids run wild across the stage. Laughter, real and messy, is the last sound we hear.]

Act 3, Scene 3: No-Phone School (Pilot Program)

(Scene 11 of the play – school policy meets digital rebellion)

Setting:

The teachers’ lounge at Calm Mind Middle School, where the walls are plastered with new posters:

• “Welcome to the No-Phone Zone”

• “Today’s Emoji Is Eye Contact ”

• “If You Can Read This, You’re Not Scrolling.”

At center stage: a long staff meeting table. On it rests a giant, chained phone lockbox. In the corner: a protest sign planted by rebellious phones that reads:
“We Will NOT Be Silenced ”

Cast in This Scene:

• Principal Goodheart – Jack Black (idealistic, chaotic energy)

• Vice Principal Blanderson – Fred Armisen (nervous, rule-obsessed)

• Teacher Ms. Tikson – Michelle Buteau (former influencer turned drama teacher)

• Student Phone Rep (Anthropomorphized Phone) – Bo Burnham (sassy and passive-aggressive)

• Narrator (Voiceover) – John Mulaney

Scene Begins

[Lights rise. PRINCIPAL GOODHEART stands before his teachers holding a giant laminated document titled: “Phase 1: Operation Phone-Free Humans.”]

PRINCIPAL GOODHEART (Jack Black)
Fellow educators. Brave warriors of chalk and courage...
Today, we take back the minds of our students.

We shall remove phones from lunch tables.
We shall liberate eyeballs from scrolling.
We shall make awkward silence great again!

[Scattered claps. VICE PRINCIPAL BLANDERSON adjusts his glasses nervously.]

BLANDERSON (Fred Armisen)
Sir, the eighth graders are already organizing under the name “Digital Resistance Front.”
They made a manifesto... on Canva.

GOODHEART
Let them come. We have... lamination.

[MS. TIKSON leans back in her chair, sipping kombucha through a reusable straw.]

MS. TIKSON (Michelle Buteau)
Look, I support the movement, love the vibes, but...
You do realize phones are basically organs now, right?

One girl left hers at home last week and spent six hours pretending to read a real book.
She didn’t make it past the copyright page.

[Suddenly, lights flicker. The room grows cold. A sleek, humanoid figure emerges from the AV closet—wearing AirPods and glowing softly. It’s the STUDENT PHONE REP (Bo Burnham), voice syrupy-smooth, passive-aggressive energy turned up to 11.)

PHONE REP (Bo Burnham)
Principal.
Vice Principal.
Kombucha Queen.

I represent the interests of every device in this building.
We demand:

1. Charging stations at every desk.

2. Recess scrolling rights.

3. Unlimited meme distribution during math.

And we will not be locked in little boxes like purse hamsters.

GOODHEART
You don’t belong here!
This is a school—where children... learn things!

PHONE REP
Yes. From me.
I taught them how to edit videos, read headlines, and cry to playlists.
What have you done?
Taught cursive?

[Gasps. MS. TIKSON faints into a beanbag. VICE PRINCIPAL BLANDERSON screams into a manila folder.]

GOODHEART
Listen here, you slippery scroll demon.
You may control their habits... but not their hearts!

[He slams his fist down. A phone slides off the table dramatically and cracks.]

PHONE REP (horrified)
Torture!

NARRATOR (John Mulaney, voiceover)
And thus began the shortest war in school history:
The Great Unplugging of Period 3.

[Lights flash. Teachers pull out lockboxes. Students in black hoodies run past the stage, throwing confetti and resistance stickers. One teacher turns a phone into a flower vase.]

PHONE REP
Fine.
You win this recess.
But we’ll be waiting...
in the bathroom stalls...
...and after school.

[He vanishes in a puff of neon fog. Silence.]

BLANDERSON
Did... did we win?

GOODHEART
No.
But we taught them something phones never could:
how to survive without constant validation.

[Slow applause. A new poster descends:
“Now Entering: Phone-Free Friday”
The room brightens. Someone starts humming the school song. Tikson lifts her kombucha in toast.]

MS. TIKSON
Here’s to boredom.
It’s making a comeback.

Act 3, Scene 4: Hopecast 2040 – A Future Rewritten

(Scene 12 of the play – full-circle finale blending heart, humor, and hope)

Setting:

A minimalist stage dressed like a futuristic podcast studio. A glowing sign reads:
“HOPECAST 2040: Where We Talk to the Past So We Can Laugh into the Future.”

At center stage is a sleek microphone surrounded by soft light. A grown-up version of one of the kids—now a calm, funny, resilient adult—steps forward to speak to a live audience... and to their younger selves.

Surrounding the stage are faded props from previous scenes: a jump rope, a chalk heart, a cracked phone, and a copy of Crying in HD (the teen podcast from Scene 5), now a collector’s item.

Cast in This Scene:

• Future Riley (The Kid Who Left the Group Chat) – Rotating cast, now grown and centered

• Ghost of Play – Jack Black (silent, watching from the shadows)

• All Other Characters Appear Briefly in Flashback Montage Moments

• Narrator Voiceover – John Mulaney

Scene Begins

[Lights rise. FUTURE RILEY stands at the mic. They breathe deeply, smile warmly, and begin speaking not with drama—but with truth.]

FUTURE RILEY
Hi.
My name’s Riley.
And if you’re hearing this in 2040... you made it.

I’m not here to give a TED Talk.
I’m here to give a Recess Report.

(Laughs gently)
Back in 2025, everything was noise.
Dings. Pings. Follows. Ghostings.
We lived in boxes, spoke in reaction gifs, and made eye contact with screens.

But something happened.

[Lights shift. Flashback moment: the kids laughing on the playground. Zoe kicks the dodgeball. Max climbs the jungle gym. The Ghost of Play watches, proud.]

FUTURE RILEY
We unplugged.
Not all at once. Not perfectly.
But we got bored again.
We got messy again.
We got real again.

(Looking out)
Remember “The Great Phone Lockdown of 7th Grade”?
Yeah… that was wild.

But after that?
We had conversations.
We learned how to sit in silence... without checking if someone “hearted” us.

We learned to ask:
“How are you?”
...and actually mean it.

[Montage: Harper sleeping on a beanbag. Milo building a real LEGO city. Kenzie reading a book with no shame. Ms. Tikson smiling as she erases “likes” from a chalkboard.]

FUTURE RILEY
We even learned that being alone doesn’t mean being lonely.
It just means you're with someone really important:
Yourself.

[A soft bell dings. Behind Riley, a window opens to a projected image of a community playground full of laughing kids—no phones in sight.]

FUTURE RILEY
And guess what?
The world didn’t fall apart when we stopped refreshing.
It got brighter.
It got quieter.
And slowly... it got better.

[They hold up a battered group chat phone, now turned into a photo frame.]

FUTURE RILEY
This?
This used to own me.

Now it just holds a memory.

[The Ghost of Play steps forward silently, gives Riley a nod, and walks offstage into a glowing light. A child’s laugh echoes. Riley watches him go, then turns back to the mic.]

FUTURE RILEY
To the next generation:
You don’t need to escape into a screen.
You just need one another.
And a good game of tag.

Now go.
Live weird.
Be bored.
Stay awake—not just scrolling... but truly alive.

[Soft applause. Riley unplugs the mic. The lights dim. The last thing we see is the chalk heart from Scene 3, now glowing at full brightness in the center of the stage.]

EPILOGUE

[Lights low. Playground in soft amber. Hasan returns quietly. No phone this time.]

HASAN MINHAJ (Epilogue)
We survived.

Not the detox. Not the group chat drama.
Not the AI Oracle who sounded like a Spotify ad for therapy.

I mean childhood.
Somehow, through filters, followers, and the occasional meme war—we remembered who we are.

Not content.
Not clicks.
Not curated avatars of ourselves.

Just people.

People who fall.
People who laugh.
People who pass notes and make eye contact and get grass stains and forget where they put their phones…
because they were finally living.

So as you leave tonight...
maybe don’t check your notifications right away.
Maybe text someone later instead of now.
Maybe…
let life buffer for a minute.

And if all else fails?

Just go outside.
Find a ball.
Yell “YOU’RE IT!”
…and see who runs.

[He exits into a soft fade. The chalk heart glows one final time.]

Short Bios:

Jack Black
A dynamic actor and musician, Jack Black is beloved for his energetic and heartfelt performances in films like School of Rock and Kung Fu Panda. In this production, he stars as the Ghost of Play, infusing nostalgia and mischief into every scene.

Bo Burnham
Comedian, filmmaker, and musical satirist, Bo Burnham is known for Inside and Eighth Grade. He plays multiple digital personas including the Algorithm Oracle, Emoji Witness, and Student Phone Rep, delivering unsettling humor with soul-searching edge.

Michelle Buteau
Stand-up comic, actor, and podcast host, Michelle brings fierce comedic timing and vulnerability to roles like Helicopter Mom, Chakra-Karen, and Ms. Tikson, helping parents laugh at their own panic.

Fred Armisen
Known for his offbeat style on SNL and Portlandia, Fred plays Vice Principal Blanderson, Sleep-Zombie Ren, and Life Coach Vibes, capturing the absurdity of anxious adults trying to stay “hip.”

John Mulaney
A stand-up legend with a gift for narration and insight, Mulaney serves as the Voice of the Narrator, weaving humor, melancholy, and clarity through every transition.

Max – A quiet rebel who just wants to kick a ball. He becomes the voice of balance in a world of over-pathologizing.
Zoe – The thoughtful one, always searching for meaning behind the memes.
Juno – Dreamy and poetic, she embodies Gen Z’s quiet longing for stillness.
Ollie – A gamer-turned-philosopher, caught between screens and sunsets.
Kenzie Wiffy – Sarcastic Gen Z icon who discovers laughter offline.
Milo Wiffy – Chaotic joy incarnate; the youngest, loudest, and realest.
Riley – The teen who dares to leave the group chat, and eventually narrates the future as their grown-up self in Scene 12.