Almost everything comes in twos. A drab cage of a police office bespeaks a totalitarian state, whereas flashbacks and colorful illustrations of stories take place behind a scrim or in a pleasantly furnished, rolled-out bedroom. Roughing up and blindfolding precede the interrogation of Katurian Katurian by Tupolski, self-styled "good cop," and eager-to-torture Ariel, "bad cop." Two children have been killed, another is missing in ways akin to murders in stories by Katurian. Swearing he's neither political nor perverted, he insists he blamelessly followed the only duty of a story-teller: "to tell a story." Tupolski makes him tell the only story he ever published (in The Liberator) as a "pointer" to his guilt. Katurian says it's a variant of the Pied Piper story. But when he thinks screams from another room come from his retarded brother Michal, who can be executed for the story-like killing, Katurian becomes willing to assume guilt. He tells the (illustrated) story of parents raising a son to be a writer while hiding and torturing their "slow" child. The writer's brother's cries, which inspires his darker stories. But in reality, the writer saved his brother by smothering their parents.
In Katurian's stories, as illustrated here as well as one told by Michal, a Pillowman helps children to commit suicide to spare themselves a horrible adult life. Just as pillows killed parents to stop them abusing a child, pillows will do away with the recent murderer of children. It's murder as mercy killing.
Will the cops each remain good or bad in the end? Will Katurian act so that his stories will be saved, and will that be accomplished?
All the stories seem to be surreal yet naturalistic, "reasoned," but in an absurdist vein. Humorous, burlesque techniques elaborate on serious Christian symbolism and fairy-tale myths. Crimes are committed in the name of art while art is under attack by censoring and terrorism. Hopes are raised, only to be put down. Whether consciously or not, playwright McDonagh also allegorically puts forth his own reputation and authorial practices, and especially, with so much green, suggests dichotomies between Ireland and Britain, as well as within the country of his parents. The play uses biographical details, including a brother.
Murray Chase's direction makes clear that The Pillowman is neither, as the saying goes "funny ha-ha or funny peculiar." It's both. Jeremy Heideman interprets Katurian rightly as an artist on the horns of a dilemma; he's believable both as a story-teller for art's sake and a person loving his brother. The latter is conveyed in all his mental deficiency, including darkness, but with touching humanity by Steve O'Day.
Imposing Neil Kasanofsky fits Tupolski's part like a glove. It contains an iron fist held by Ronald Krine Myroup's Ariel, though his later turnabout is completely believable. Denelle Balliet and Daniel Potvin are more frightening for their so-sweet countenances as the parents of Young Katurian (Tony DeNiro, proud) and Young Michal (Patrick Mounce, evoking pathos). Hayley Brielle Balliet is at ease in the difficult role of an androgynous Little Jesus and relieves tension as, literally, the Little Green Girl -- each in stories within the play's story.
Contributions of VLT's artistic and technical staffs mesh so well, they almost make up for the playwright's overtelling stories. Details other than those shown could well be abbreviated.
One reason for a Stage II is to put on shows that push the envelope for customary audiences. I suspect about half in Venice will leave at intermission with envelopes closed and contents undisturbed. The others will be glad they took out what's inside. There will be questions as well as answers to think about, and perhaps discuss, even after they've left the theater.
