In his notes for Harlequin's production of Rabbit Hole, director Brian Tyrrell mentions his fondness for "well written plays."  His phrasing leaped out at me - not just because playwright David Lindsay-Abaire is good at his job, which he clearly is, but because it echoes a phrase from my theater history classes.  The "well-made play" was a popular dramatic genre from the late 19th century, a stretch on the path to Chekhov and Shaw.  I suspect Tyrrell's phrase is not coincidental.  Consider:  Well-made plays were marked by realistic sets, naturalistic behavior, a fateful letter, and plain exposition to relate a heap of story that took place before the curtain rose.  Perhaps characters were confronted by their own helplessness, brought low by the slings and arrows of outrageous fortune.

The first star of Rabbit Hole is Jill Carter's unit set; it's extraordinary, her attention to detail exemplary.  A child's empty bedroom looms over the ground floor of a comfortable home.  A flickering blue nightlight twinkles like the soul of ... well, that's where we join the story, eight months after the death of Becca and Howie Corbett's little boy (Linus Gordon, uncredited but charming).  We're told the Corbetts live in Larchmont Village, New York, but they could live anywhere - across town, or next door.  How you respond to this show will depend largely on how prepared you are to feel grief.  It hangs heavy on the stage.  It's in the distance between the Corbetts as we first see them on the couch.  It's enmeshed in the reluctance of Becca's sister Izzy (Melanie Moser) to share good news.  It's in those tiny little clothes being folded for Goodwill.

Whispers of weeping were prevalent in the theater opening night.  The guy next to me told his wife at intermission he didn't want to stay.  They did anyway.  I didn't hear him complaining afterward.  Tyrrell knew what would keep that gentleman in his seat:  "Catharsis, I believe the Greeks called it ... a renewal of the spirit."  Rabbit Hole is funny, believe it or not.  It's also an irresistible ice pick to the heart.  As in Fuddy Meers, a play with an entirely different tone and worldview, Lindsay-Abaire pulls no punches.  That boy is dead.  No apology or platitude will ever bring him back.  If you've lost someone, you know the truth of this.  You also remember the definition of despair.

Make no mistake, this emotional plumbing is hell for actors, night after night.  It's also a hell of a chance to show off world-class chops.  Both Megan Kappler and Jason Haws, so impressive as the wounded couple, have moments of consummate vulnerability and emotional control.  If a fight in Act I doesn't feel quite raw enough, it's only because storm clouds are gathering.  If Becca seems emotionally distant, it's an empty minefield, doomed to be crossed.  Kathy Dorgan is likewise outstanding as Becca's too-helpful mother.

The Greeks believed catharsis is, ultimately, why theater exists.  It's why well-told stories aren't just entertaining, they're necessary for the health of a civilization.  By watching others go through catastrophes we'd give anything to avoid, we cleanse ourselves of depression and dread.  An actor gives the gift of self-sacrifice. 

I didn't cry driving home.  I didn't have to.  Those poor Corbetts cried hard enough for all of us.

[The State Theater - Harlequin Productions, Rabbit Hole, through April 3, 8 p.m. Thursday - Saturday, 3 p.m. Saturday, 2 p.m. Sunday, $22-$33, 202 Fourth Ave., E., Olympia, 360.786.0151]