Of the two halves of the double bill now playing at the Experimental Theater, the production of de Ghelderode's Escurial is very good, that of Synge's Riders to the Sea, poor. But the comparison is hardly fair. Few actors in the Harvard community could match the technical virtuosity of Mark Bramhall and Peter MacLean, who play the central characters in de Ghelderode's drama. And in its quiet way, Riders to the Sea is a much more difficult play. Escurial is a shock piece, a sort of dramatic danse macabre acted out by a demented, tyrannical king (MacLean) and his distraught fool (Bramhall). Riders to the Sea centers on the death by drowning of the last two male members of a once-large Irish family. Madness is not so difficult to portray, once you get the knack of it. Grief is a good deal harder.

This is not to detract from MacLean's accomplishment, for he most certainly has the knack, and he is both moving and horrifying. He makes excellent use of a stammer as a verbal pivot on which to make some of the many sudden changes of mood required of him. Furiously angry, he catches on a word, his hand moves to his mouth, and his assertiveness turns into fear. At other times he freezes for a moment, before delivering a pathetic non sequitur.

Bramhall has a slightly harder job, for through his grimaces he must seem thoroughly human. He makes good use of his face, knows how to express an emotion more forcibly by delaying his reaction to something, or by making only a slight movement. Only at the end of the play do his twisted expressions begin to seem overdone, and his poses held overlong.

Escurial is an ugly play about death, Riders to the Sea a beautiful one. While the power of the first play comes from the horror of the situation, that of the second results from the lack of "effects," from the simplicity of the four main characters in the face of their fate. Director Robert Justice seems to recognize that there is grandeur in the play, but he fails to get at it. I think the problem is that both he and the actors are trying to hard.

Connie Abramson, who plays Maurya, is too harsh throughout, screaming lines she should properly mutter or let fall without ado. 'Anne Bernstein, as Nora, is too tragic for a 14-year old girl, and she seems inclined to sob or sigh when she feels like it rather than in response anyone else's lines. David Handlin does not appear to know how he should act, but he has the grace to underplay, and his Bartley comes out natural, if a little weak.

Only Debbie Fortson, as Cathleen, seems to understand that there are ordinary as well as pathetic lines in the play, that the juxtaposition of these two elements is what gives the play its beauty. Her side comments are the most human parts of the production, and go a long way to saving it. She also seems most at ease with the Irish rhythm of her lines.