Once upon a time there was a ficticious monster with thundering footsteps and a penchant for violence named Frankenstein. Then came Barbara Field, a script writer who puzzled about the emotions within the monster and developed an explanation: Frankenstein: Playing With Fire.

The play, produced by the Guthrie Theater, exploded onto Eisenhower Auditorium's stage last Sunday evening. Opening with a burst of thunder and a flash of lightning, Frankenstein surprised audience members with its intensity. Not only were its special effects dramatic, but the performance itself was emotionally involving and believable.

Instead of the standard story of the Frankenstein monster, Field's script takes both creature and creator to the North Pole where they become "mired in verbal quicksand" as they reflect on the past and question each other's motives while preparing for old age and death. "There is no good and no evil, just you and I chasing each other around the planet," the elderly Frankenstein admits. The plot features a complex arrangement of flashbacks that sometimes melt into the present.

As the old creature, Peter Syvertsen was convincing. In this cerebral play that focuses on what the characters are feeling instead of what they are doing, Syvertsen is dynamic. His crouching physical movements lend great insight into the emotions of the pathetic monster who begs "make me happy and I shall again be virtuous."

Merely by watching Syvertsen, audience members could understand the resignation and loneliness this aging creature felt as he accepted his loveless existence. His performance was especially effective during the execution scene when, with bowed head, he stands before Frankenstein's pointed gun.

The character of the dying Frankenstein, played by Stephen Pelinski, was less than powerful. Since Pelinski hardly moves from a reclining position, his delivery needed to be stronger so that audience members could understand the emotional impact of his character. For example, the character lacked strength and clarity when he watched the murder of his adored bride.

Curzon Dobell was compelling as the young Frankenstein who was fascinated with animating the dead. Dobell conveyed the creeping intensity of the scientist's desires by presenting a believably naive student who could not accept responsibility for his creation.

The young creature, portrayed by John Carroll Lynch, appeared as an embryonic hybrid in search of love. Rather than playing a dimwitted monster, Lynch underplayed the creature's violent side to communicate through studied gestures. He was able to show desire, pain and fear with an outstretched arm or a tormented stance. His reading from Milton's Paradise Lost was not overly dramatic and added to the dimension of the character.

At times the production was too stagnant. A synthetic hum used to increase suspense would have been more effective had it not been overworked. However, there was a welcome change of pace in Elizabeith's death scene. Accompanied by only a haunting minuet, she was strangled in a beautiful stylization where contours substituted for screams. The use of vocal distortion to heighten the flashbacks was riveting.

The lighting effects were usually excessive and redundant. For example, the lighting constantly switched from being too bright for the current action in front of the stage to being predictably diffused for the upstage flashbacks. A huge disk in the background told the audience how to react -- it complemented the dry ice that expressed eeriness at the North Pole and the glowing shafts in Frankenstein's laboratory.

With minimal props, the performers stood out on the diverse set. Composed mainly of a simple tier flanked by staircases, the same set was used as the North Pole, the Swiss Alps and a classroom among other things. At times the stagehands detracted from the actors, and parts of the set seemed clumsily constructed.

Two plot transitions remain vague, but perhaps that was deliberate. Exactly why did young Frankenstein so quickly reject his life's work? Also, did the old Frankenstein die before he had a chance to kill the creature or decide that he could not do so out of empathy and identification?

Though the production had a few loose bolts, the Guthrie Theater's creation was able to find a divine spark in its search for uniqueness and unity.