Iris is broke, exhausted, and running out of time. She's spent years chasing a version of success that always seems just out of reach, haunted by the belief that if she stops she'll disappear entirely. Between humiliating auditions and obsessive doomscrolling (mostly stalking a girl from school who somehow got everything right), something darker is demanding her attention: her mother. Her mother's voice is always ringing in her ears. Thinner, better, more. But now, as her mother grows weaker and begins to depend on her, the pressure hasn't lifted. It's just changed shape. And Iris is starting to unravel.

Ranyevskaya and Lopakhin are giants at war over a cherished estate. Madame Ranyevskaya returns from five years in Paris to find her house crumbling under the weight of debt and memory and her beloved cherry orchard under threat. Attempting to mend her extravagance, Lopakhin, the son of a serf, insists that the family must sell it off. Beyond the orchard, people are starving and the aristocracy is in decline. As auction day approaches the household begins to panic. In this collision of past and future, it's dangerous to stand still when the world demands change.

“If you think I'm doing the rest of this in French you've got another thing coming!” A rehearsal from hell. An actress who's way too into her feelings about the role she's playing. And a complete spiral into doubt, defiance, and the uncontrollable urge to sing about it. I Can Die Too is giving fourth-wall-breaking, tragicomedy, musical theatre chaos, all at once. Come and watch something fall apart in real time. It's fine. It's totally fine.