'The Pillowman': Riveting and unforgettably dark

By Candace Chaney Contributing Theater Critic

Before even entering the venue of Balagula Theatre's latest production, The Pillowman, you can tell that something is very different. For one, the usual entrance to Natasha's Bistro is locked and covered with dark curtains. Restaurant patrons and theater-goers alike (many of them being both) must enter through a smaller side door. Upon taking your seat, it's hard not to notice the twin-size bed plunked casually amid dining tables, or the restaurant's small, more traditional stage area dressed as an interrogation and torture room.

A good meal and several hours later, you'll leave the theater stunned, jarred, thoughtful, entertained and maybe even disturbed. A dark, twisted psychological thriller with occasional jags of pitch-black humor, The Pillowman is an intense experience, one that terrifies and shocks, all the while seducing with its artful, emotionally pulverizing rendering of deeply contentious concepts. Namely, what, if any, are the ethical limits of an artist? Can he or she be held accountable for gross misdeeds, even criminal acts, of others who are inspired by the artist's work? Evidently, yes.

The Pillowman opens with the harsh police interrogation of a seemingly unassuming writer, Katurian (Ryan Case), who is being questioned about a string of child murders that closely resemble those described in Katurian's dark stories. He denies any association with this and clings to artistic free will and expression. No one can be persecuted for his imagination!

But Katurian soon learns that the police also have his mentally slow brother Michael (Pete Sears) in custody. Michael is probably the only person Katurian ever really cared about. When Katurian is left alone with his brother, Michael confesses that he killed the children. He didn't mean for them to die, he just wanted to act out parts of Katurian's stories, which included chopping off a boy's toes and feeding a young girl apples with razor blades in them.

Katurian is mortified to learn that his stories had any part to play in the murders, and he feels responsible for his brother's actions.

Thus begins a downward psychological spiral for Katurian as he comes face to face with his own inner darkness and stark intimate horrors. To delve much beyond this would spoil the nail-biting suspense and the agonizingly brutal intimacy of the evening.

Billed as a dark comedy, it is as dark as it gets. Think black-hole dark, black as the bistro's signature Turkish coffee. The murder and torture of children and the question of ethics and violence in art are hardly funny, but playwright Martin McDonagh's award-winning script is laced with sulking moments of vitriolic satire. You just have to listen for it. For instance, when Katurian's fate is careening toward execution, the hard-as-nails cops quip about how they enjoy executing writers. ”It makes a statement,“ they wryly boast.

Joe Gatton and David Richmond are fiercely riveting as good cop-bad cop interrogators Ariel and Tupolski. Their blatantly unconcealed contempt for Katurian's case blurs the line between revenge and justice. And Sears' deft portrayal of Katurian's brother is one of the haunting highlights of the show. Michael doesn't understand right from wrong really. Plus, Katurian blames himself for profiting from Michael's abuse and torture as a child.

Case is entirely at home as the disturbed but genial Katurian. As each scene's repercussions grow darker and psychologically more devastating, Case appears to hit his emotional stride.

While Natasha Williams is a frequent producer at Balagula Theater, this is the first time in a while that she has lent her skills to directing. She indicated in her director's notes that her vision was that Katurian was dreaming or, rather, that each character symbolically represented a different inner conflict for Katurian.

But one needn't take an existential view to enjoy this show. The characters more than stand on their own, and the innovative use of space once again proves to be a boon rather than a hindrance for the growing troupe. The result is an evening of chilling, spellbinding proportions, one that you won't easily forget.