Entertainment

A bunch short of bananas

The opening of “Massacre (Sing to Your Children)” is the single scariest minute of the year.

It would spoil the surprise to describe the scene in detail, so let’s just say it involves loud music and characters wearing animal masks and wielding weapons. Plus blood, of course.

Punching the audience in the face: That’s one way to start a play.

But that’s just a minute, and after that, this latest offering from José Rivera (“Cloud Tectonics,” the screenplay for “The Motorcycle Diaries”) devolves into a head-scratching combo of horror, magical realism and pop psychology.

The abhorrent seven who barged onto Andromache Chalfant’s awesome set — an abandoned slaughterhouse, complete with butcher hooks and grimy walls — have just killed the evil overlord who rules the little town of Granville.

They are “the world’s prettiest, and most deranged, guerilla army!” gloats Eliseo (William Jackson Harper).

The chattiest, too: After exterminating the mysterious Joe, the gang members can’t stop gabbing about their feelings.

There are times when the show, which just opened at the Rattlestick, feels like an arty nightmare version of “The Real World.” As in the MTV series, we’re watching disparate people talk inanely about themselves, discuss events that happened offstage, and obsess about hook-ups.

It’s hardly surprising when Joe (Anatol Yusef) suddenly materializes, revealing more guilty secrets and past traumas. Is he alive or dead, real or fantasy? The only thing that’s certain is that he lapses into poetry that even fans of “50 Shades of Grey” would find ripe.

Joe taunts the group’s leader, Panama (Jojo Gonzalez), by bringing up his adulterous dreams, which involve “riding a slippery gondola up that canal of love.” And yet Panama doesn’t laugh in his face.

As other strange goings-on unfurl, it seems Granville is living under a curse of Greek proportions. But the tragedy is undermined by acting that ranges from mediocre to adequate, and by some of director Brian Mertes’ choices.

With this kind of demented play, you need to go full throttle. A couple of shockers are effective, yet overall the production shies like a horse refusing to jump a fence. It’s preposterous to see characters keep their underwear on when showering or washing. Both the fights and sex scenes reek of pretend.

Too bad the show’s holding back: In the face of madness, you need to be fully committed.