The dilemma facing the three Martínez siblings in Teatro de la Luna’s La Lechuga (“The Lettuce”) is one that may face you or me in the not so distant future. Ministry of Culture official Héctor (Mario Marcel) and his wife, Virginia (Nucky Walder), have invited her brothers, Víctor (Oscar Ceville) and Vinicio (Peter Pereyra), to dinner with an agenda: to get one of them to agree to take their vegetative father, the “lettuce” of the title, to live with him. Hector has supported his father-in-law for the past nine years, ever since a botched operation left the old man uncommunicative, with only various tubes connecting him to the world. Now, Héctor and Virginia would like to use the money they’ve been spending on nursing and oxygen tanks to send their son to private school, and Héctor dreams of a little home office in the room where the supine senior now lies in state. Naturally, the brothers come up with good reasons why they can’t take their father. Víctor has his persnickety wife, Dora (Anabel Marcano), and their six—soon to be seven—children. Vinicio arrives wearing a neckerchief and bearing a Black Forest cake and some penis-shaped balloons, so—you know, the lifestyle. Through the course of the evening and with the assistance of cocktails and an emergency oxygen-tank run, all five identify many reasons why the others would be ideal caregivers. Playwright César Sierra tries to expose a theme amid the slapstick, that “we all live with something dead,” but by that point the froth of the evening has overflowed the cup. Director Harold Ruíz keeps his targets moving for a frenetic 90 minutes of verbal hot potato, during which the actors playing the in-laws have the most fun. Marcano’s Dora is the unimpeachable know-it-all you long to see fall flat on her face, and Marcel (who also designed the set) infuses Héctor with sufficient desperation to drive the action—and thus the evening—forward. Marcel’s upscale-apartment set serves the play well, offering much for the brothers to eye, trying to deduce just how much money Héctor has. Sierra doesn’t really have to offer any insight into the aging-parent dilemma; it’s merely comic setup here. But his central observation is one none of us want to acknowledge: We all love our parents dearly, until it’s time to change their diapers. —Janet Hopf