By C. E. Gatchalian. Directed by Sean Cummings. A Random Productions and Esdecy Arts copresentation.

At the Playwrights Theatre Centre Studio until June 26

This script seems so difficult to perform that I fully expected the production to be wretched. I still wouldn't call the show inviting entertainment for a warm summer evening, but this mounting of C. E. Gatchalian's Crossing contains surprising strengths.

In Crossing, Gatchalian examines the claustrophobic, sexually charged relationship between Lucy and her 18-year-old son, Keiren. They describe scenarios to one another in which they are raped and beaten by seven dark, brawny, long-haired "perverts", then magically rise from their debasement, assume God-like status, and either smite or forgive their abusers. We come to understand that these fantasies are based in an actual attack that took place just before Keiren turned nine. To maintain his sense of safety, he insists that he is still eight years old.

This mutual trauma has locked mother and son in a hermetically sealed world in which they eroticize one another--verbally--until Lucy finally realizes that she must break the bond so that Keiren can embrace his independent adult sexuality. Without giving too much away, let me say that the ending is violent.

How could it be anything but? In many ways, the writing in Crossing is melodramatic. It is also repetitive and humourless. But director Sean Cummings and his cast do a remarkable job of ameliorating these problems.

Gatchalian seldom says anything just once. He repeats words, phrases, and whole sections of dialogue, which makes this script murderous to read. Remarkably, actors Ryan Beil, who plays Keiren, and Amanda Lockitch (Lucy) keep the text fresh. At one point, Lucy says "Rape me" dozens of times in a row; Lockitch finds a new meaning, a surprising nuance, for every repetition, which is a kind of acting miracle.

And Ryan Beil is fantastic as Keiren. There's a sense of both innocence and sophistication in this portrait. Beil's choices are so specific and his presence is so transparently luminous that you feel you can see clearly into the workings of Keiren's troubled but intelligent mind.

Director Cummings has obviously honed that specificity in both performances. He has also added a much-needed playfulness to the characters' storytelling. Many passages that come across as grimly determined and self-consciously poetic on the page appear to be matters of relatively lighthearted discovery in this production. Even when the emotional going gets heavier, Cummings and his actors flavour the exchanges with irony.

Interpretation can't entirely save the play, though. Despite the players' resourcefulness, watching Crossing starts to feel like an endurance test. And its emotional transitions don't always make sense. How does Keiren suddenly mature, for instance?

Despite my criticisms, I don't mean to dismiss Gatchalian's script. Yes, its structure is irritating, but, even when I read it, I found its content disturbing. On the page, Crossing is relentlessly agonized and hyperbolic, but it is also unapologetically naked. There's power in that. There will be more power in the playwright's work when he learns to vary his passion with shading, softness, and wit.