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"It is not a garden sweetie; it is a terrible place to be" flashes across the screen, as if the words are intentionally inverted to pull the audience into the world of psychological torment that Luis Lara Malvacías assiduously created. The performance begins with a sudden drop of a cardboard box. The echoing thump, followed by growls from all four corners of the pure white room, smoothly segues into a war-zone complete with technical and visual explosions. As the sound effects dwindles, three dancers (Yanko Bakulic, Jeremy Nelson, and Francis A. Stansky) start to run around on the stage in methodological circles, stopping suddenly to transition into robotic movements of disparate arm flings. Then, without warning, a suicide bomber - played by Mr. Malvacías himself - creeps onto the stage in exaggerated surreptitious strides while the sound of bombing escalates. He walks off the stage; the three dancers resume their variant circulation; we are back to where we started. In the end, the performance sends the audience home with a recondite imagery of a dozen animalistically-masked live statues and their esoteric, haunting laughter.