Bobby Moreno, Bartley Booz, Cricket Brown, Donnetta Lavinia Grays, Jeff Biehl, and Bruce McKenzie Photo by Carol Rosegg

Directed by Steve Cosson, Burning Cauldron bristles with an aura of mystery and mythical otherworldliness. Set in a collective farming community somewhere in southwest California, the play includes intermittent choral interludes, fourth-wall-breaking narrative, and a lengthy children's pageant with elaborate puppetry (courtesy of Monkey Boys Productions). The members of the collective live off the land and are largely cut off from outside civilization. Still, beneath the surface, there are dark underpinnings.

Peter (Tom Pecinka), a mediocre artist and playwright, has recently died–presumably by suicide. Rather than turn his body over to the authorities, the collective decides to dispose of the body themselves–a decision Thomas (Bruce McKenzie), the group's paternal figure, pointedly reminds everyone was "made collectively." The resolution impacts the members in a variety of ways.

Cynical Simon (Jeff Biehl) is realistic about haphazardly interring the remains since the bones may eventually wash up on a beach. "When a dog trots up to its owner with a femur," he warns, "the cops get interested." In contrast, nervous Diana (Donnetta Lavinia Grays) is afraid that she will divulge the truth at the slightest provocation, while pragmatic Gracie (Cricket Brown) suggests that if they jointly construct a narrative, everyone will eventually accept it as the truth. The children (played by the adult cast members) in the collective have surmised that Peter has been reborn as a piglet, one of the litter recently delivered by the beloved sow, Lula.

When Peter's brother Will (also played by Pecinka) shows up looking for him, unsettling questions arise. Why is the phone stored in a locked gerbil cage, and why is the door to the basement secured with a heavy padlock? If Peter left, as the community members say, supposedly to live in a neighboring collective in Yuma, why did he leave so much of his stuff behind?

The circumstances surrounding Peter's death are hinted at through the fragmented perspectives of two characters: Ghazal (Bartley Booz), a young man experiencing acute psychosis, and six-year-old Milo (Bobby Moreno), who narrates the story as his adult self and witnessed Peter in his final moments. As an aside, Milo also points to some unsettling situations for children in the collective.

There are a lot of different elements in this theatrical stew, many of which are not fully cooked. Perhaps the key to understanding the play lies in an exchange between Thomas and Mari (Marianne Rendón), who had a brief intimate relationship with Peter. Specifically, the small community represents a microcosm of the larger society. Mari asks, "Have we become a typical American family, full of dark secrets?"

Moreover, the children's pageant, which Peter had been working on before he died, might offer further insight. The fairy-tale inspired story features a possessive king, a fiery cauldron, and heroic tests to win the hand of a princess. This narrative gives shape to the "abstract forms of abstract terror" that undergird Washburn's world.

Like Mr. Burns, a Post-Electric Play, Washburn's previous collaboration with The Civilians, Burning Cauldron is impressively imaginative and very theatrical. In addition to the histrionic pageant, there are also dramaturgical references to Greek tragedy, gothic horror plays, and kitchen-sink American realism. The production also benefits from the outstanding design team, including Andrew Boyce (scenic), Emily Rebholz (costumes), Amith Chandrashaker (lighting), and Ryan Gamblin (sound). Across the board, the acting is excellent, and Cosson's direction helps clarify the shifts as characters morph into different ones.

Unlike Mr. Burns, though, the elements don't quite cohere, and the play fails to reward the mental effort required to piece its ideas together. It concludes with a striking final image (and which will not be divulged here), but I empathized with Collins's students by wanting to tie the play to a chair to force meaning out of it.

In the end, this burning cauldron, unfortunately, yields only smoke and exasperation.