Bradley (Robert A. Knoll ’13) pays a visit to Lucy (Vanessa B. Koo ’12) in “Mr. Marmalade.”

Within the first few minutes of “Mr. Marmalade”—which runs through October 2 in the Loeb Experimental Theater—it becomes clear that the set of cutely crooked windowpanes, toy baby dolls, and scattered teacups is far from indicative of the story to come. As the two main characters, four-year-old Lucy and her imaginary friend Mr. Marmalade, take the stage, their dialogue shifts abruptly from a playful bicker about imaginary coffee to accusations about infidelity in their sex lives.

The play continues this seesaw between childhood and adulthood, happiness and rage, humor and unease, and peace and chaos in a way that exudes anxiety, confusion, and unbridled emotion—just like Lucy. The cast adds to this frenzied script with its own set of extremes—emotions, music, lighting, tone—to create a perfectly bizarre, humorous, dark, and meaningful experience.

Mr. Marmalade (Daniel J. Giles ’13) is a portrait of the modern monster: his drug addiction and uncontrollable rage manifest themselves in the alternate neglect and physical abuse to which his corporeal companion is often the subject. His haphazard swings from love to anger to bitterness continue throughout the play and take their toll on Lucy, especially after she meets Larry, a suicidal five-year-old who actually treats her well. As Mr. Marmalade makes Lucy play house and doctor—which inevitably regress into sex games—she is torn between her desire to play with a friend and her imaginary friend’s desire for her to be much more than a child.

The first glimpse of Lucy (Vanessa B. Koo ’12) clad in an eclectic mash of stripes and flowers topped off with a frilly tutu and bright blue toe-socks humorously shows the tragic dichotomy between Lucy’s life as a child and the adult realities of that life. Larry (Philip M. Gillen II ’13) is similarly torn, and his undersized Disney sweatshirt and Superman underpants do much to evoke this.

While comical, these costumes (designed by Rheeqrheeq A. Chainey ’11) cleverly support the central theme of the play: the loss of childhood and innocence to a modernity that forces children to be adults. This paradox is similarly marked in Snoweria Zhang ’12’s apt set design of baby dolls, chalk drawings, and colors reminiscent of childhood, when it’s marred by drugs, alcohol, and dildos as the play progresses.

This split makes its way into every aspect of the play, and is particularly well handled by light designer Matthew C. Stone ’11, a Crimson arts editor. Lighting marks the different stages of Lucy’s emotions by alternating between harsh and warm light, and also predicts events: as Mr. Marmalade takes the stage further into the play, the lights flash red, a foreshadowing of the dark turn the action is about to take. These carefully-placed hints not only add complexity to an in-your-face theme, but also contribute to the play’s chaotic swing between extremes that gives the show such power.

The actors do a remarkable job balancing painful emotion with humor, and are able to ease an otherwise tense play without sacrificing its potent message. Koo slips into the mentality of a confused four-year-old and highlights Lucy’s pull between youth and adulthood as she slides between sing-songy child’s play and bossy command. Giles nails Mr. Marmalade’s childish seriousness and deftly explores a range of adult emotions, including boredom, coy flirtation, and pure rage. Robert A. Knoll ’13 portrays a humorous Bradley and never fails to break up the tense atmosphere with his charming presence—whether singing “Paper Moon” in a silky jazz voice or prancing up the stairs in his magenta button-down.

Director Julianne I. Ross ’11 controls this turbulent play by striking a balance between emotional range, pace, and power that enables the production to be meaningful and potent. While humor constantly breaks in, Ross maintains the sinister undertone and tension. Every aspect of “Mr. Marmalade” contributes to its chaos as it swings wildly from extreme to extreme; yet, each ties the play together.

In the end, the play’s uncensored and raw demand to be heard cannot be ignored. “This is how you play, Larry,” Lucy says as she introduces him to the game “doctor” on his first visit. And just like Larry, we listen.