Theatre in Review: Botanica (3LD Art & Technology Center)

	Liz Sargent. Photo: Paula Court

Somebody alert Rick Santorum: First, we decadent New Yorkers allowed gay marriage; now there's an actor on stage here, having sex with plants! We've skipped right over the bestiality phase that Santorum, clutching his rosary, promised would fall upon us, and we've moved right on to potted ferns as objects of lust. Where will it all end?

Yes, it has come to this: Somewhere in the middle of Jim Findlay's bizarre science-fiction opus, Botanica, a greenhouse caretaker named Chet gets carried away with one of his charges and starts putting his hands down -- deep down -- inside its soil, while the plant all but kvells with pleasure. Weird enough for you? It's merely foreplay; soon, Chet is dropping his pants and getting ready for some real action with his floral friend. Sadly, however, he can't perform. Infuriated by his failure, for which he naturally blames his partner, he returns with another plant, places it next to his ex (so to speak) and ravishes the newcomer all the way to climax. Then he takes out his anger on the first plant, stripping its leaves and eating them. Men -- there's no pleasing them!

Apparently inspired by some volumes of French erotica, Findlay, has penned this weird tale of a science experiment that goes wildly wrong, dragging down all its participants. In its stately pace, its willingness to explore the extremes of human experience, and the relish with which it depicts its characters' descent into decadence, Botanica has the feel of a '50s horror film remade by Lars von Trier, or perhaps Scott Smith's wilderness horror novel, The Ruins, served up with a side of extra existential angst. Liz and Ilan are botanists living in a giant terrarium, carrying out experiments to determine the existence of, in Ilan's words, "a deeper correlation between plant and human response." They generally do this by hooking up a plant to various machines, heaping abuse on it and threatening it with starvation or worse, to see if it reacts. (Which the plants do, trembling and ululating in an impenetrable language.) While carrying on with these abusive activities, Chet -- who plays Igor to Liz and Ilan's mad scientists -- tends to his chlorophyll-loaded charges with rather too much tenderness, overwatering them, reading erotic literature to them, and...well, you know.

Meanwhile, Liz and Ilan, who appear to be on-and-off lovers (mostly off), are falling apart in spectacular fashion. She has discovered the hallucinogenic properties of potted soil; each dose, taken orally, sends her spinning into an elaborate freakout. Her encounters with Ilan take on a sadomasochistic edge, and both of them develop pronounced skin diseases to go along with their psychological problems.

The fact that this premise isn't laughed off the stage has a lot to do with the cast's ability to play any scene with conviction, and Findlay's ability to work up a flesh-crawling hothouse atmosphere. (The plants are voiced by Liz Sargent, who plays Liz, using a specially treated mic; at one point, this made me wonder if the whole experiment was a giant folie à trois, with Liz, Ilan, and Chet marking time until the ambulance to the nuthouse arrived.) Much of the production's ability to grip has to do with the eerily effective design; Findlay, a designer himself, knows just how powerful the right environment can be. Peter Ksander's scenic concept has us walking through a pair of arched pathways loaded with greenery. (Rob Besserer, the actor, is credited with plant design.) Once inside the theatre, we see the main playing area, a raised circular deck surrounded by soft lighting and video images (both by Jeff Sugg). There's a living area, often hidden by screens, far upstage, as well as a tiny exercise room and computer console at mid-stage. Aided by Jamie McElhinney's sound design, the theatre is transformed into an isolated, claustrophobic space where something deeply unsettling is unfolding that may have to do with nature in revolt, or mass hysteria, or both.

Botanica all but dares you to laugh at it, and there were times when I was willing to take Findlay and company up on this proposition. Partly because the play begins in mid-collapse, with all three characters in the throes of obsession, it's hard to get caught up in their collective predicament. Perhaps because so much of it involves mapping the characters' mental states, too much of the script is narrated, lending a somewhat static air to the action. Not all that much happens -- the characters just get nuttier and nuttier. Like all those ferns on stage, Botanica could use some pruning; it goes on just long enough to start seeming ridiculous.

Still, Under Findlay's direction, Sargent, Ilan Bachrach, and Chet Mazur make a thoroughly believable trio of whack jobs. Mazur, in particular, throws himself into the material, taking on scenes that many actors might dismiss as unplayable. And chances are you'll find yourself attending closely to the characters' unhinged behavior, if only to find out just where Botanica is going. For this reason, the up-in-the-air ending is disappointing.

Botanica is a weird one, a theatrical treatment of a literary conceit that, if you think about it too long, simply makes no sense. But there's something powerful in its treatment of obsession and in the inherently creepy idea that we're surrounded by silent, sentient beings that very well may wish us ill. I, for one, will never look at a floral arrangement in the same way again.--David Barbour