Do you know that feeling you get when you anticipate something for a long time and the result is not quite as good as the anticipation? That was my feeling after viewing Martin McDonagh’s The Pillowman. I had militantly never read the script. I went out of my way to avoid hearing people’s reactions to the New York production. That type of deprivation led to a great buildup. And I was a bit let down. Not completely, as it was for last season’s The Goat; or Who is Sylvia?. Just a bit. And in an interesting twist, I did not feel this way during the production. McDonagh and director Matthew Wiener’s work was quite engrossing during the actual viewing. The final few minutes of the second act may make you feel a little shortchanged, especially in the writing, but everything leading up to it seemed to work. My first indication of a hesitation was how I was not drawn to offer a standing ovation. It was not just me: a surprisingly large part of the opening Saturday night crowd remained seated. However, I did not stop discussing this production with everyone I could for the next 24 hours. It was these discussions that made me second-guess my feelings in retrospect.

This type of discussion is pretty much a requisite part of the process. Where you can walk away from some presentations and leave them behind the way you discard a program, The Pillowman creates its own talking-points: The nature of Art; the responsibility of the Artist; the boundaries of the State, etc. But it was during these profound discussions that I began to notice the disappointments with Actors Theatre’s production. Some people pointed them out to me. Others I noticed as I debated about content. This is a production that disengaged from me the more I thought about it.

Initially, I was enthralled with Wiener’s blocking, and didn’t notice problems with pacing. I was really enjoying McDonagh’s rough, horrifying world, so I didn’t mind that it was a bit long (85 minutes for the first act, 55 for the second). Then someone pointed out that a quicker pacing, they said “sitcom,” would have made this a scarier roller coaster, and I had to agree with their point. It was at times too lackadaisical, too deliberate in establishing and examining itself.

I loved Christian Miller’s Katurian. He seemed conflicted, just a bit sinister, and obsessive about his work. I felt a connection with an unknown artist who will do anything to ensure the immortality of his stories. However, another person pointed out that perhaps his many choices, the up and down movement of his character’s comfort level within this setting, resulted in an undercutting of the tension that should pervade the entire show from start to finish like a funky odor. It’s true. He did seem to allow himself release from his fear at times, such as moments when talking with Jon Gentry’s “good cop” Tupolski, which broke the tension. While ordinarily I am a fan of rising action and undulating circumstances, this is one show where the Sword of Damocles should never be hidden from view.

I often enjoy Gentry’s curt, subtly ominous creations. Here, his Tupolski is civil service with a sneer. There’s an almost Pinteresque quality about it that includes a certain amount of Mamet-style meter in his rat-a-tat dialogue delivery. Then two people dropped bombs on my defense that I could not avoid. One person pointed out that this performance is not much different than the persona he created for last season’s Blue/Orange. And even more damning, they said “it’s like the Cat in the Hat is playing Tupolski.” Ouch. I could see what they were saying immediately. The second person noted that the character as presented by Gentry showed little doubt in his convictions save for one chink in the armor at a very specific point in the second act. However, there should be plenty of room for doubt in the portrayal of Tupolski precisely because of this one point and to drive home his final apocalyptic choice at the end of the show. Can’t argue with that.

Fortunately, no one sullied my feelings about the deeply conflicted creation of Cale Epps Ariel, a brute with a secret. All aspects of his character shone brightly as he moved along through the investigation. Annoying and endearing is the way to describe Oliver Wadsworth’s Michal, Katurian’s brain-damaged sibling. His is a broader creation, but it does ultimately fit into the landscape of the piece. Kane Anderson, Kerry Wieder, and Hannah Trujillo as the fairytale family unit add the perfect amount of giddiness and goriness accordingly.

The design element creates the perfect world for this living nightmare. Jeff Thomson’s multi-level set is the right mix of utilitarian dread and fantastical weirdness. Paul A. Black’s lighting successfully divides these worlds. Connie Furr-Soloman’s costumes are equally divided, and absolutely wonderful character choices for both, especially for the story characters, from the opulent parents to the trailer park monsters.