There is a fine line between humor and horror, and the Department of Theater Arts' production of Martin McDonagh's The Pillowman, directed by Jeremy Fiske skillfully tight-roped across that precarious line during its performances this week. From the horrifying content of protagonist Katurian's stories-a little girl who is forced to swallow apples with razorblades, a little boy whose toes are chopped off by the Pied Piper, a sadist who chops off the faces of his victims and stores them in jars-to the violent childhoods of all the characters in the play, you can't help but think: "Who comes up with this stuff?"

The story, set in a totalitarian dictatorship, begins with the interrogation of a young writer, Katurian, after three children are found murdered in the same manner described in his stories, and unfolds to reveal the inspiration behind his gruesome tales. It explores his relationship with his mentally challenged brother Michal, who was tortured for seven consecutive years by their parents as an artistic experiment meant to inspire Katurian's writing. As the plot reveals the murderer of the children, the play questions and seriously examines the accountability of all involved.

As Katurian, Jonathan Young, a Masters in Fine Arts student, capably navigated the tumultuous emotion and experiences of the play, but struggled in undergoing some of the more subtle shifts in character. His tone began as childish and somewhat whining, which to some degree can be attributed to the obliviousness of his character, but was often slightly irritating. However, the juxtaposition of the quality of his voice with the horror of his stories elicited an eerily bizarre effect that terrified and excited.

Alex Jacobs, a Masters in Fine Arts student, also began worrisomely, with an unvaried interpretation of policeman Ariel as foolishly hotheaded and callous, but as his own narrative began to unfold, he adeptly conveyed the emotional fluctuation of a vengeful adult seeking justice for his traumatizing childhood.

Yet the standout star of the show is undeniably Sam Gillam, a Masters in Fine Arts student, as abused and mentally challenged Michal. With a subject so controversial as mental illness, Gillam performs truthfully, brutally and with unvarnished intensity. Unnerving, disturbing and utterly tragic, he demands compassion and sorrow from the audience even as he discloses his role as a savage murderer. He courageously delivers a nuanced and heart-wrenching performance, combining dark humor, innocence and unprecedented barbarism to reveal a terrifying truth about the human condition.

The play boldly confronts sensitive social issues such as race, sexual abuse and mental illness, and riskily exploits their comedic value. It sheds light on the power of the written word, questions culpability for the consequences of those words and asks: What are we willing to sacrifice in the name of "artistic expression?"

The play is as incendiary as Katurian's stories, and with lines such as, "the retarded little Chinese deaf kid" eliciting nervous laughter, expects that the audience not blur the lines between fiction and reality.

But is that too much to ask? Can we even differentiate between the abstract and the concrete, between what is real and what is not? Can we really even know what is story, and what should always remain just story? How many bloody wars have been fought over the provocative, contentious and inflammatory word of the Bible? Has humanity ever been able to distinguish between fiction and reality?

The Pillowman illuminates some of the harshest questions that we still don't have answers to. It is tricky to navigate between political correctness and the human right to free speech, and this is something that humans have grappled with, are still grappling with and will grapple with for many years to come.

Whether it bravely excites or perversely offends, The Pillowman raises critical questions that are relevant, meaningful and ultimately timeless.
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