Tillie Hunsdorfer is cowering in the corner, dreaming of mutant marigolds.
Her teenage sister, Ruth, tramps about in "Devil's Kiss" lipstick and the kind of tight, bare-all denim shorts that would make Daisy Duke blush.
And Beatrice, their alcoholic mother, has taken an account of her life and turned up a big "zero." Not to mention, she's threatening to kill her daughters' pet rabbit with chloroform.
No, this isn't another episode of Jerry Springer. It's the Theatre~Intime production of Paul Zindel's drama "The Effect of Gamma Rays on Man-in-the-Moon Marigolds."
Winner of the 1971 Pulitzer Prize, Zindel's play prefigures by a few decades the lurid family exposés of contemporary daytime television.
Like a talk-show tell-all, "Marigolds" casts a spotlight on the very worst of family life — the stuff so bad an audience can't help but think that its fiction. The play's resemblance to a Springer episode undermines its dramatic levity. It's difficult to identify or empathize with the characters, just as it's difficult to feel pity for the trash-talking two-timers and tub o' lards that frequent Springer's stage.
Perhaps in 1971, "Marigolds" was some kind of clarion call, but in the post-Springer era, it's just one more voice in the chorus of complaints people have with the modern family. What can I say? I'm jaded.
There are some aspects of "Marigolds" that in 2001 feel downright quaint. For example, Ruth (Andrea Spillman, The Lawrenceville School) once calls her mother, Beatrice, by her much-despised childhood nickname, "Betty the Loon."
When Beatrice (Erin Carter '02) collapses into a pile of paralyzed self-loathing, I felt like jumping onstage, striking Ruth with the backside of my hand, and scolding Bernice for being such a flake.
My frustration was not merely the result of wanting something wittier (or at least more profane) from an on-stage insult. I just couldn't imagine a modern-day, adult woman — even a lonely, alcoholic one — falling into a stupor because her daughter calls her a "loon."
While a bright young cast turns in strong performances, there's something about the script, about how Zindel wrote his characters, that essentially fails to gain my sympathy.
Their low moments are so wretchedly low that when these characters pander for my understanding — as Beatrice does when she reveals a long-running nightmare — I feel hardened against them.

I never felt angry with Tillie (Shira Concool, Princeton Day School), as I did with Ruth and Beatrice. But Tillie's ethereal musings about atomic energy make her seem more like a prophetic ghost than a child struggling to survive a painful home life.
Tillie's fascination with decaying atoms parallels the decay of the nuclear family. And as that family decays, its human components become increasingly atomized, cut-off from the network of support they so desperately need.
In the Hunsdorfer home, nothing functions. Ruth alternately scorns her nerdy sister and revels vicariously in her scholastic successes.
Lonely Beatrice drinks herself into tempestuous rages, longing for a man who can provide her with comfort, sanity. There's a mute, half-dead stranger (Sarah Rodriguez '03) lurking about the home, reminding everyone of their own mortality.
Even Tillie, whose scientific prowess might offer her a way out of the family quagmire, seems doomed to spend her days cleaning up the messes her mother and sister make.
The physical space these characters inhabit reflects the shabby dysfunction of their lives. A few threadbare couches and a tawdry lounge chair look as if they were leftover from the Princeton Furniture Agency's back-to-school sale.
Curtains hang where doors should be. Newsprint clings to windows and walls. Cigarette smoke snakes through the single onstage room. At one point, the lights fail. And the rabbit cage, we are told, makes the place smell like, well, rabbit poop.
Twenty years after its first production, "Marigolds" remains an important play to see. Not because it moves us, but because it fails to move us.
Now, we expect so much less from family life that "Marigolds," a play that was once a tearjerker, today fails to jerk any tears at all.