Time Limit

A drama dealing with war psychology and ethics, Time Limit is not just another drama of this sort. Focusing their attention on the very current issue of brainwashing, playwrights Henry Denker and Ralph Berkey make distinctive contribution to a crucial problem of modern ethics.

The central question is: under what circumstances is a prisoner justified in "treasonous" behavior? Unfortunately, the way in which Time Limit asks the question makes its answer almost too obvious. A repatriated major who had admitted germ warfare charges is at first considered merely a Communist, then a psychological case, and is finally completely justified when all of the facts are brought to light through the assiduous efforts of the investigating colonel. The problem might have been more honestly met had the facts not been quite so favorable for the major, but, on the other hand, it would be difficult to build a play around a man with no better justification. As it is, the gradual discovery of the major's true reasons makes excellent drama. Even a coincidence reminiscent of Hollywood--the general in charge of the major's court-martial had a son in the same prison compound--does not seem too obtrusive.

In the role of the investigating colonel who insists on finding the real root of the major's treason, Arthur Kennedy is magnificent. The defendant's refusal to testify obviously disturbs him, yet he maintains a casual air throughout, with the result that he seems not only human, but typically Army. This effect arises naturally from the playwrights' lines, which have neither the sparkle of the drawing-room nor the hysteria of the melodrama, but flow along calmly, with occasional light touches in a vein that could be found in any Army office. Kennedy, however, makes these lines extremely effective by never appearing to act.

In an entirely different role, as the mentally torn major, Richard Kiley does an equally excellent job. With an electric tension displayed even in the curve of his back, he reveals his intense inner preoccupation, while his voice has the dull quality of a man despairing and confused. Here again, the playwrights achieve a real triumph in the development of a character, for there is an implication that the major is motivated not only by heroism plain and simple, but by war-guilt which has gradually caused him to adopt a savior complex. Although somewhat less subtle psychologically, Thomas Carlin's rendition of a Second Lieutenant is equally effective.

Despite these fine performances and the general solidity of the play, some changes in direction are advisable. For one thing, a prison-camp killing is placed not only on stage, but down-stage, the body lying like a sack of potatoes, almost in the first row. This is done largely for the sake of ironic contrast with the song "California, here I come," which the prisoners sing to prevent the guards from hearing. If the killing were withdrawn slightly into the upstage darkness, the ironic effect could be retained, and an unnecessary awakwardness would be avoided. In matters of dramatic death, one inclines to feel that, after all, the Greeks knew best.

More serious flaws lie in the performance of the general, Harvey Stephens, who stutters and seems generally ineffectual, and in the entire conception of the part of Sergeant Baker. The sergeant, played by Frank Aletter, is a little too delicate for the crude lines he is given, but the main trouble is that in the Army sergeants simply do not assault colonels, not even verbally. The sergeant's function to provide friction--thus making the colonel's refusal to abandon the case seem more heroic--would be better fulfilled by a quiet, grumbling misunderstanding than by his present direct attack on the colonel. Allyn McLerie's performance as the colonel's (female) secretary is generally competent, but somehow their relationship does not seem convincing because both of them are too restrained. Her part is interesting, however, as she represents that feminine phenomenon, the not-so-sharp girl with pretensions to intellect.

With these few exceptions, Time Limit is a fine play. Its one double-purpose set is simple, but effective, several flashbacks being achieved merely by darkening the basic scene. The play's lines are also simple, never scintillating, yet never heavy. Because of the number of developments in the play, the pace seems amazingly fast. Almost all of its characters are psychologically interesting, and most of them are convincing. Most important, the play is provocative, and pertinent.