A harsh, quasi-medieval locale facing destruction is populated by a community speaking a rigorous, specific, and completely invented language. Five absurdly fearful and doomed characters sing, dance,and harvest pumpkin seeds. Every word is semi-recognizable: an amalgam of English, Swedish, German – and Sid Ceasar. The language is as tough and unforgiving as the windswept, uncultivated landscape. At its heart Ich, Kürbisgeist is an olde-tyme agricultural vengeance play installed in a crypt-like basement for just 30 people a night.