Extended by popular demand through April 18.

By Venus Zarris

For years, I have had ongoing conversations with many people about the possibility of being genuinely terrified while watching a play. Although in so many ways, theater connects on a more immediate and living/breathing level than film, the suspension of disbelief sits on top of the reality that we are watching people playing parts. No matter how well the parts are played you believe that they, and you yourself, are safe because unlike in a film where you can loose yourself in the notion that this is really happening somewhere else, in the theatre you inhabit the same physical location as the actors. There may be an unexpected jump or a wonderfully evocative atmosphere, but at the end you know that there will be a curtain call and everyone will happily go back to the real world.

So what would it take to pull you far enough away from that reality of your actual location? In the case of Martin McDonagh’s award-winning script, it is the storytelling, both theatrical and literal, that sweeps you away to terrifyingly dark possibilities. Theater is storytelling and The Pillowman establishes McDonagh as a grand master of the darkest recesses of imaginary malevolence. He takes us to places that we dare not dream, because if our nightmares resembled anything like these stories we would be living on enough trucker speed to ensure a sleepless existence.

The play opens with Katurian blindfolded, sitting at a table under one hanging light. Tupolski, the first interrogator, enters the room. We are as in the dark as Katurian seems to be about the nature of his arrest, but as the layers are peeled off of this relentless situation the mounting indictments are staggering.

Unlike the popular trend of ‘torture porn’ horror films that highlight acts of atrocity as main events with little to no psychological or emotional dissection or depth, The Pillowman is not spectacle brutality but rather a roller coaster ride that plunges into the core of the unconscionable with only a bit of actual physical displays of violence, much of which is stylized rather than realistic. The implied is almost always more shocking than the displayed and McDonagh’s implications are viscerally overwhelming.

One cannot wax darkly poetic enough about the parameter stretching effects of this brutally beguiling script. It is simply put, a macabre masterpiece of the mind bogglingly morbid and morose. Story after story we are ravaged by a spellbindingly sinister imagination. Still, McDonagh manages to extract dark humor, at times laugh-out-loud funny, that provides brief but generous relief from the crushing bleakness. The circumstances are so diabolically grave that you almost feel compliant while laughing. The welcome humor makes you, in part, party to the madness that you are simultaneously repulsed by.

Director Kimberly Senior takes this huge literary undertaking and scales it into a tiny black box to chilling effect. The interrogation happens quite literally in your lap and the staged stories happen on both sides of the seating area. Thanks to scenic designers Anders Jacobson and Judy Radovsky, the presentational stories and the representational reality of the play are visualized with striking and incredible contrast. Christopher Kriz’s original music and sound design add both authenticity to the representation and sinister atmosphere to the presentation.

But the uneven cast does not completely deliver the full impact of this complicated script. Tom Hickey is subtly remarkable as Tupolski. The sophistication that he brings to his performance allows a natural restraint as the ‘good cop’ that proves disturbingly threatening. Calm, calculated, glib and sparingly harsh, he is in control of an out-of-control situation. Peter Oyloe is charmingly vulnerable as the sweetly simple minded Michal. Our connection to his childlike nature makes the twisted epiphanies of his story all the more devastating.

In contrast, Johnny Garcia’s depiction of Ariel is unconvincingly heavy handed. His handling of the dialogue is at times cumbersome and we are never really frightened by his rage because we never truly believe it. Likewise, Andrew Jessop never makes a strong enough delineation between the story-telling Katurian and the fearing-for-his-life Katurian. This character carries the heaviest weight of the script by being faced with the almost certain loss of all that he holds dear but Jessop’s characterization never fully shows the burden. He conveys a smug narcissism regarding his story writing, but we never believe the peril that he is faced with.

One scene begins as he is tossed into a cell with his brother after a torture session but there is little evidence of the duress of this experience, physically or emotionally. It is hard to imagine that he was manhandled, much less brutalized.

Jessop is a strong storyteller, which the part most certainly calls for, but the depth of his unimaginable circumstances is only technically suggested rather than honestly brought to life.

The rest of the cast handles the peripheral parts well but the overall production, although solid and effective, is far from complete. We should leave the theater ravaged by the experience. Instead we leave stunned by the script.

Kimberly Senior is a remarkable director and restraint often makes the better choice, but her interpretation is a softer incarnation of The Pillowman than the script demands and deserves. Still, this production is strong enough to more than warrant your time and for the sake of experiencing one of the most remarkably challenging and darkly imaginative scripts you will ever see; Redtwist Theatre’s The Pillowman should not be missed.

2 ½ STARS

(”The Pillowman” extended by popular demand through April 18 at Redtwist Theatre, 1044 W. Bryn Mawr. 773-728-7529)

Redtwist Theatre, Chicago

The Pillowman production photos by Clarissa Jessop.