The show that floats on

"Can you feel nostalgia for something that never really existed?" The air freezes in response to the question, and both cast and audience unify in thought. Then, after what seems like a perfectly calculated amount of time, in chimes a pointedly cynical remark that breaks the icy air. The atmosphere loosens and the comforted audience laughs as its relationship with the characters deepens.

Throughout the Dramatic Society's presentation of The Memory of Water, the drama on stage sped up and halted as unpredictably as drama in reality itself. The production, written by Shelagh Stephenson, was held in Robsham's Bonn Studio Theater this weekend. Three sets of bleachers were positioned in a curve around a stage platform to produce a more intimate effect in the small space.

Set in England in 1998, the play opens with frivolously blunt bickering and a bombardment of decidedly British phrases such as "bugger," "willy nilly," "shagging," and others not fit to print. The mood then eases into a more melodic, introspective tone with a monologue, only to ricochet back into fast-paced squabbles, establishing a realistic see-saw pattern that perpetuates throughout the two-hour piece.

The play's setting also calls forth the expected "Hugh-mor" patented by actor Hugh Grant in films like Notting Hill. In this play, actors Shan Agish, A&S '09, and Jeff Vincent, CSOM '08, modulated this pensive-yet-amusing template, expressing their characters' distress and bewilderment with furrowed brows, mouths agape, and constantly wavering hands, searching for the right words.

Make-up artists emphasized characters' fatigue and accelerated the aging process by graying the males' hair and painting on wrinkles. Costume designers chose to don the cast with appropriately dull colors and styles. In effect, the genuine treasure of the production, the intricacies of the characters' psyches, could transcend material adornments.

"My hope is that you let all six of these people enter your heart," wrote director Amanda Grazioli, A&S '07, in the playbill. The cast of six - including three sisters, the apparition of their mother, and two of their male counterparts - certainly had its fair share of universal life concepts, such as identity and forgiveness. But because the script is charged with well-rounded characters and realistic humor, it manages with gusto to avoid crossing the line of emotional intensity.

In the wake of their mother's death, three mentally estranged sisters - played by Theresa Pilz, A&S '08, Sarah Lang, A&S '10, and Rachel Wojciechoqski A&S '10 - reunite. Now, as adults, each brings her load of troubles from the past and present to dump onto the others. What results is an entertaining clash of neuroses and misunderstandings, producing an intense dialectic script. Their outrageous personalities and inability to communicate efficiently lend to the inherently uneasy dialogue.

Flowing quietly beneath the surface of these choppy waves of tension, however, lives what binds the women together. Their shared love for recollection, whether their memories have been warped or romanticized over time, cannot be disputed. Just as they approach the climax of an argument; their heedless words dissipate, an interaction dominated by the repressed desire to love their mother.

"Who are you if you take away your memories?" Vi, played by Laura Murphy, A&S '07, wistfully challenges and reminds her girls. Every entrance of this phantom cued a smooth switch from white to supernatural blue lighting. Moreover, with every change of scene the audience enjoyed jazz music that beckoned her younger days.

In contrast to the extreme push and pull that the hysterical personalities spurred, the set remained simple and constant. All action occurs in a simulation of Vi's sparse bedroom, consisting of some drab furniture. As the characters swirled about the room, however, the pieces accordingly lit up with life. For instance, the wardrobe elicited memories and colors as the sisters devoured and its contents, once forgotten and abandoned dresses.

The nearly 30 students involved with The Memory of Water devoted about a month and a half to its production, and they took their final bows yesterday. Their hard work and passion felt the gratitude of receptive audiences. By the end of the show the relationship between viewers and performers had deepened to the point that the line between reality and fiction had become as nebulous as memories. The show will go on in audiences' memories, however, and as they observed, those never end.