Zora (April Matthis, right) and her lab colleague Pilar (Carmen M. Herlihy) in a tense exchange with their supervisor, Gwen (Taylor Schilling, background) in Kate Douglas’s dystopian play The Apiary.
A dystopian story about environmental catastrophe and death is not necessarily where one would expect to find humor, but Kate Douglas achieves a darkly comic triumph with her new play, The Apiary. The production at Second Stage Theater fires on all cylinders, including Kate Whoriskey’s superb direction and the uniformly stellar cast, who navigate the play’s mixture of absurdity and sincerity with precise and convincing performances.
And, yes, The Apiary is actually about bees—what at first amounts to palliative care for bees. It’s 22 years in the future at a synthetic apiary, and the bees are almost gone, dying at an alarming rate. The characters make occasional reference to the causes and results of this die-off, but Douglas isn’t concerned with sci-fi world-building: let’s just say that humans have not been good stewards of the planet. The opening is steeped in insect folklore, as Cece (Nimene Wureh) tells an unseen support group about her mother’s superstition: you must knock on the bees’ hives and speak to them:
Zora speaks with a terminally ill volunteer (Nimene Wureh).
Mama said—
“If you don’t tell the bees about important events in your life,
The bees will die
And lay a curse on the whole family.”
To Zora (April Matthis), a PhD in biochemistry, such ideas are unscientific and thus unworthy of attention; she is the former head of a major laboratory now starting a job as a lab assistant (“hive maintenance”) for which she is overqualified. “I like bees,” she tells Pilar (Carmen M. Herlihy), the less qualified (as she’s often reminded) lab assistant, who makes up for what she lacks in scientific expertise with empathy. The lab is run by the anxiety-ridden and endlessly put-upon Gwen (Taylor Schilling), who often invokes the powers-that-be “upstairs,” as she tilts her back to look at the ceiling with a mixture of reverence and fear. Gwen is focused on career advancement but must work within a draconian budget; as Pilar tells Zora, “She has a five-year plan to become Project Director. And she’s kind of behind.”
Zora wants to put her expertise to use in helping the bees, regardless of the lack of resources. When Cece, who turns out to have worked at the same company, is found dead in the lab, the bees are inside her carcass, busy making a hive, and thriving. Zora wants to make the most of this discovery:
Zora: My hypothesis is
The bees consumed and stored the flesh,
like they would pollen.
And the queen was breeding like mad in there.
Pilar: Like an edible sex dungeon for bees?
Zora: Well—I—
I was thinking—
We should do something.
To test it.
Schilling’s Gwen talks to a somewhat too eager volunteer (also played by Wureh), given the nature of the assignment. Photographs by Joan Marcus.
Things get ethically murky, as terminally ill volunteers are sought—without Gwen’s or upstairs’ knowledge—to die for the bees. (Wureh portrays these volunteers.) As Zora and Pilar cross the Rubicon, the play maintains its humor alongside genuinely unsettling moments (such as when a volunteer has second thoughts too late). In a world where people seem to be living disconnected lives, Zora and Pilar’s unlikely friendship becomes the heart of the story.
The set, designed by Walt Spangler, depicts the laboratory: a white room draped in a net to which bees cling, with four hives up front and a large, transparent box in the rear. The actors are completely in sync with Douglas’s unique tone. The characters all feel multidimensional even as they each have a stock trait that generates much of the laughter. The production also integrates music and dance (choreography by Warren Adams; music by Grace McLean) in a way that feels essential to the storytelling, rather than an appendage: Stephanie Crousillat, the dancer, taps into what Douglas calls the “ancient power” of the bees.
Cece’s opening monologue about her mother’s conversations with bees does indeed come full circle, as Zora becomes willing to entertain notions other than the rigorously scientific. Though Douglas’s lack of overly literal explanations is a strength, the final moments might ultimately be a touch too enigmatic—the play feels as though it’s missing some connective tissue, not to resolve everything but perhaps to tease out a bit more the vast and mysterious questions it raises. But this is a quibble: The Apiary is experimental, very funny, and provocative, the rare taut, intelligent play that both entertains and unsettles.
The Apiary runs through March 3 at Second Stage (305 W 43rd St.). Evening performances are 7 p.m. Tuesday–Friday and 8 p.m. Saturday; matinees are at 2 p.m. Wednesday and Saturday, and 3 p.m. Sunday. Tickets are available by visiting 2st.com.
Playwright: Kate Douglas
Director: Kate Whoriskey
Sets: Walt Spangler
Costumes: Jennifer Moeller
Lighting: Amith Chandrashaker
Sound Design: Christopher Darbassie
Original Music: Grace McLean
Choreography: Warren Adams
