The Unspeakable, Eloquently Rendered

"The Small Things" is a queerly lyrical play about the balm of language, a work that dwells on acute detail and soothing words. Yet in Solas Nua's production, a great deal of meaning is suggested by one image: the half-demented look on Chris Davenport's bearded face.

Davenport plays a character known simply as Man, and although his voice is prim and as smooth as tea with honey and his demeanor suggests a harmless bachelor uncle, the shell-shocked glint in his eye guarantees that something's amiss.

Also hinting at that is his physical isolation from Woman, the only other character in Enda Walsh's terse little horror tale. Man sits in an easy chair, Woman (played by Kate Debelack) reposes on a stool upstage. They talk and recall, swapping increasingly disturbing monologues and wondering whether the other is listening.

They seem to be in different places, and it gradually becomes clear that they're avoiding coming to the point. It's a puzzle play, which isn't to call it a mystery; Walsh withholds his essential information without creating much tension. You don't fear something will happen -- it's happened. And eventually Man and Woman will talk about it. ("It" turns out to be the lopping-off of tongues, in a ghastly effort at some sort of village purification.)

Monologue is the coin of the realm in recent Irish drama, and that's Walsh's mode here. The speeches overlap and occasionally become dialogue, although the characters look at each other exactly once in this production. It's a static affair, as Davenport barely moves from his chair (Man's legs don't work) and Debelack only rarely glides to the lone window upstage like a ghost. It could almost be a radio play.

Nevertheless, Kathleen Akerley creates a visually beautiful production in Flashpoint's tiny Mead Theatre Lab. Marianne Meadows's lighting is splendid, with shadows dancing gently on two cloudy orbs at the back of Phil Duarte's set, and catching the actors exquisitely when they finally move through the dappled darkness. And the song that plays once on Man's tape recorder -- whether chosen by Walsh or by sound designer Chris Pifer -- is eerily striking: a carnival of sounds impossible to make without a tongue.

Even then, an almost comforting cadence governs the show; it feels elegiac, yet oddly hopeful. Much of that is due to Davenport's quirky smile as Man recalls lusty boyish memories, and to Debelack's brave grin as Woman's tale courses through a strictly ordered upbringing and the eventual violence.

It's an oblique 70 minutes -- the script's purring style muffles much of its sinister intent, and Walsh leaves ample room for viewers to ponder exactly what it means -- yet Davenport and Debelack generate a surprising rapport amid the isolation and suggestions of totalitarian devastation.

The production, too, is unerringly tasteful -- a finely calibrated rendering of words flying out of nothingness and back into nothingness not powerfully, but with peculiar sentimental wonder.

The Small Things, by Enda Walsh. Directed by Kathleen Akerley. Costumes, Lynly Saunders; sound design, Chris Pifer. About 70 minutes. Through Feb. 25 in the Mead Theatre Lab at Flashpoint, 916 G St. NW. Call 800-494-TIXS or visit http://www.solasnua.org.