Boots Riley's Fiery Critique of 'Mr. Burns, a Post-Electric Play'

You know Boots Riley, right? The visionary behind "Sorry to Bother You," the guy who never shies away from a radical, deeply thoughtful critique of society. Well, when he speaks, especially about something he genuinely dislikes, people tend to listen. And let me tell you, he has some seriously strong feelings about Anne Washburn’s critically acclaimed play, "Mr. Burns, a Post-Electric Play." Strong feelings, as in, he really, really can't stand it.

It's not just a casual dismissal either; Riley sees the play as fundamentally problematic, a narrative that, in his eyes, completely misunderstands human nature and the potential for collective action. For those unfamiliar, "Mr. Burns" imagines a world after an apocalyptic event – a "post-electric" future, as the title suggests. Survivors, huddling around campfires, try to piece together fragments of cultural memory, specifically an episode of "The Simpsons" called "Cape Feare." Over generations, this memory transforms into a ritualized performance, becoming a sort of foundational myth for their new society.

Now, on the surface, it might sound intriguing, even a bit quirky, a testament to the enduring power of stories. But for Riley, the issue runs much deeper than just an interesting premise. He views it as a deeply cynical, even politically dangerous, interpretation of what might happen if our current systems collapsed. Think about it: a world where, after societal breakdown, people's primary cultural touchstone, their go-to narrative, is corporate IP like "The Simpsons." To him, it’s not just unlikely; it’s an insult to human ingenuity and our capacity for adaptation.

Riley's point is sharp: if the lights went out for good, if the world truly crumbled, would our first instinct really be to meticulously recreate a syndicated cartoon? He argues, quite forcefully actually, that people would be focused on far more immediate and vital concerns. They'd be building new communities, figuring out how to grow food, securing shelter, and forming new social structures to survive. The idea that their entire culture would revolve around a nostalgic, consumerist artifact strikes him as utterly absurd and, frankly, condescending to the working class he so often champions.

What bothers him most, perhaps, is the play’s implicit suggestion that humanity, left to its own devices, would revert to some form of capitalism or merely cling to its corporate remnants. He believes it actively dismisses the idea of genuine revolutionary change, the potential for people to build something new and more equitable from the ground up. It’s a worldview, he implies, that underestimates our collective ability to organize, to create art, music, and stories that emerge from shared experience and necessity, rather than simply rehashing old media.

This isn't a surprise coming from Riley, whose work consistently challenges capitalist norms and champions organized movements. He sees narratives like "Mr. Burns" as subtly reinforcing a particular liberal pessimism – a belief that even in the face of collapse, the ghosts of consumerism will haunt us, and true liberation is unattainable. For him, it’s a "bullshit" narrative precisely because it sidesteps the radical possibilities of a post-capitalist future, preferring instead a more comfortable, if bleak, vision of cultural regression.

Ultimately, Riley’s critique isn't just about a play; it's about the stories we tell ourselves about the future. Are we destined to cling to the fragments of a broken system, or do we possess the innate power to forge something entirely new, something truly revolutionary? For Boots Riley, the answer is clear, and "Mr. Burns" sadly misses the mark on that vital question.