Passion of the Common Man envisions a numbed, painless world—and asks what humanity loses when every form of resistance and risk is successfully eliminated from life. What happens when “suffering” is no longer an inherently human experience, but simply a technical problem waiting to be solved?

At first, this may sound theoretical and abstract—and yet director Netia Jones finds a striking image for it: An installation consisting of more than a thousand heads of lettuce. What initially appears almost comical gradually reveals itself as a troubling symbol of total control. In the world of her production, the plants know neither sun nor soil, neither wind nor rain—and no slugs, either. Sustained by precisely measured nutrient solutions, they grow beneath the light of meticulously controlled LED lamps. Netia Jones transforms lettuce into an image of a futuristic society that has traded untamed vitality for sterile security.

From Concept to 1,500 Real Heads of Lettuce

So much for theory. What had seemed deceptively simple in the director’s computer animation proved to be very challenging in practice: How do you transform the Werkstattbühne into a functioning laboratory for living leafy greens?

As is so often the case in theater, the artistic idea came first—and the technical team scratched their heads in skepticism: “Heads of lettuce that are supposed to function as a stage set for ten days?” What followed was something fundamental to theater itself: Searching for solutions to the seemingly impossible. Phone calls, inquiries, research. One thing was clear: Plastic was not an option—if there was to be lettuce, it had to be real. Eventually, a company in Vorarlberg was found that specializes in cultivating lettuce seedlings in controlled environments. Around 1,500 plants are now being grown there and will be delivered to the Werkstattbühne in July, roots and all.

The stage set will become a greenhouse in which the lettuce heads will live for five days: Placed in containers, supplied with nutrient solution, and illuminated by LEDs that imitate daylight. The lettuce will move in only a few days before the premiere and must emerge from the rehearsal and performance period with as little damage as possible. A living stage set is a game of control—in keeping with the work itself: Despite all technology, a residual risk always remains.

At the same time, the installation is surprisingly reusable: The containers will be repurposed, and the steel shelving recycled. And the lettuce heads? They will not end up in the festival kitchen—a stage is not a food-safe environment—but simply on the compost heap.