The town was empty, mysteriously abandoned when they found it. So the Forsythes, a homesteading family, settled there with their friends and their kin – and soon the town began to flourish. But there’s blood in the soil here, and generations later it permeates the gardens and the homes of this bucolic place. A deranged, ferocious satire, Feast of Rabbits reveals an open wound in the myth of the American Frontier.
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Step aside, Quentin Tarantino and Martin McDonagh, and all you other macho purveyors of mutilation and mayhem with a smile. A snarly new master of high-octane carnage has risen into view.
Aleshea Harris turns theatre into a monument, ephemeral but real, to ongoing pain.
