November 2.

Daylesford, in a rare and welcome attempt to stage experimental and/or commercially difficult works, takes back the theatrical moral high ground with this latest production. Its modest staging only underlines the fact that there is no substitute for a well-written drama -- especially if it is one that keeps its audience entertained in a suspenseful sort of way and then sends them home to mull over the implications raised in its troubling, sometimes harrowing narrative.

Taking his title from Schubert's sorrowful little quartet of the same name, Ariel Dorfman's `Death and the Maiden' tackles a far more complex theme than that of the composer's radiant young maid who became reconciled to her early appointment with death.

Dorfman's play is not for the squeamish. A young lawyer, Gerard, brings home his "saviour'', a pleasant country doctor named Robert, who has given him a lift when his car broke down. His wife Pauline believes the doctor is the same man who had tortured and raped her during the dictatorship.

Although the Chilean-born author was inspired by the problems facing his own country in its attempt to throw off the shackles of military dictatorship for a democracy, the themes are disturbingly similar in all totalitarian societies; the obliteration of human rights, the crushing of the human spirit through the punishment of would-be dissenters.

Pauline, blindfolded during the torture and rape sessions, has to decide, ten years after the event, if she can recognise her tormentor simply by hearing his voice. Should she seek revenge even if she is uncertain of his guilt or, if her worst fears are confirmed, should she perpetuate the cycle of violence? Is her more accommodating husband the ultimate hero in urging forgiveness? Director Barbara Jones has wisely opted for a neutral, minimalist setting for this play which, it seems, began life as a radio play and has been performed several times by the BBC. It was also adapated as a critically acclaimed film starring Sigourney Weaver and Ben Kingsley. It is certainly a drama far richer in words than in action, which makes the no-interval decision quite a tiring one.

Newcomer Venetia Lawless, cast as Pauline, does her best with this hugely demanding role. She copes well with the sheer amount of text and, after a diffident beginning, conveys a mounting sense of horror as she becomes convinced of the doctor's guilt. Unfortunately, although her diction is impeccable, her voice lacks modulation, so that by the end, intense emotion can only be portrayed by shouting. There is the feeling, too, that this young woman, totally in command as she brandishes a gun before the now grovelling doctor, is not the sort of woman who would suffer the kind of vulnerability that would keep her (and her husband) hidden in a deserted beach house for years after the ordeal.

John Thomson, a valuable and versatile actor who seems willing to have a go at almost any difficult role, is a convincing Doctor Robert. Ordinary in the sense that his looks or personal charm would not attract undue attention, this character's joviality provides a thin veneer for the soul-searching brought about by Pauline's mock trial in which she forces him, on pain of death, to confess. As the impossibility of his position is made clear to him, and he proceeds with his `confession', Thomson gives a rather moving portrayal of a man who claims that he played Schubert's gentle yet deathly music to "alleviate the suffering'', and that while he dealt with 94 prisoners "none died''.

Thomas Saunders plays the role of husband Gerard, a complex role which has to suggest that he is `Everyman' -- neither a hero nor a villain but the one formally asked to investigate the crimes of his country's past as he tries to cope with this inconvenient revival of his wife's fury over her fate.

Although, in the beginning, Saunders seems slightly uncomfortable in this very exposed role, he too gains in emotional stature. By the time he tells Pauline that "even if this man committed genocide on a daily basis, he has the right to defend himself'' and proceeds in a climactic verbal duel with the alleged torturer, Thomson has the total attention of the audience. Barbara Jones' and Jon Mills' set -- a table and a couple of chairs, a sideboard and billowing curtain suggesting the nearby sea -- is beautiful in its plainness.

Ideally, this thought-provoking and unfortunately topical play should have attracted Bermuda's best actors. As it is, this is an honourable attempt by the director and a committed cast, to remind us of the misery perpetuated in totalitarian regimes. As a friend remarked apropos the explicit language, "we need to understand that the worst four-letter word in this play is fear''.

PATRICIA CALNAN REVIEW REV