Pia Hierzegger Repeats the Same Scene 100 Times and the Audience Can’t Look Away

What would it take to perform the same emotionally charged scene 100 times in 24 hours — with 100 different partners? For Austrian actress Pia Hierzegger, it’s not just performance art — it’s a soul-baring tour de force that has left Vienna stunned.

At the heart of the Wiener Festwochen and inside the glowing pink cube of Halle E at Museumsquartier, Hierzegger stars in The Second Woman, a performance marathon that has transfixed audiences by pushing repetition to its emotional and physical limits. Inspired by John Cassavetes’ cult film Opening Night and created by Australian visionaries Nat Randall and Anna Breckon, the piece explores love, power, and performance in a loop that defies fatigue and predictability.

Every few minutes, a new person enters — a man, a woman, or a non-binary performer — playing “Marty” opposite Hierzegger’s “Virginia.” They reenact the same fraught scene: a tense conversation laced with vulnerability, self-doubt, flirtation, conflict, and whiskey. At one point, Virginia throws noodles. At another, she dances wildly to the retro track “Taste of Love” by Aura. The scene ends with her offering money and sending Marty away — only to begin again, moments later.

What sounds like monotony is, in fact, hypnotic. Each “Marty” brings new energy: some are shy, others boldly comedic, a few heartbreakingly sincere. No two iterations are the same. The shifting tone — sometimes romantic, sometimes absurd — reveals how deeply body language, tone, and timing influence meaning. Even the audience changes constantly, allowed to come and go throughout the day and night, feeding into the spectacle.

Hierzegger’s performance is nothing short of a masterclass in endurance and emotional agility. With only a 15-minute break every two hours, she remains present, raw, and emotionally reactive to each new partner. Whether she collapses like a puppet in a stranger’s arms or stiffens in quiet rebellion, she holds the room in rapt attention — again and again.

The piece challenges viewers to confront their own expectations around gender, vulnerability, and control. Though The Second Woman is frequently billed as an exploration of gender dynamics, its brilliance lies in its ambiguity. It blurs the line between reality and theater, scripted dialogue and spontaneous emotion, cliché and truth.

Even renowned guests like festival director Milo Rau and public figures such as Dirk Stermann have stepped in as Marty. Some laugh, some forget their lines, and others expose their insecurities under the stage lights. Each encounter, whether awkward or electric, contributes to a larger tapestry of human connection and disconnection.

It’s part spectacle, part therapy, and wholly unforgettable.