It doesn't matter how much you praise Jamie Horton, you're never being hyperbolic. He's a deeply talented actor, at home in classics and contemporary work, comedy and tragedy -- well, perhaps with a slight tilt toward comedy. In A Flea in Her Ear, Horton was in his element, playing two very different characters: the humorless, upper-class Victor and his physical double, the alcoholic hotel porter Poche. Horton didn't need gimmicks to help us differentiate between the two characters; he gave each of them slightly different characteristics but an entirely different soul. And, naturally, he handled the split-second timing demanded by farce with absolute aplomb.

Mark Rubald is always a pleasure to watch, and he gave perhaps the most delightful performance of his career as the Sewer Man who helped Countess Aurelia save New York in The Madwoman. A true gentleman, though possessed of a jaunty workingman's swagger, this Sewer Man knew all the secrets of the city from his study of its garbage. Rubald can be one of the most playful actors around, and the pleasure he took in the role was infectious.

Somehow the Colorado Shakespeare Festival managed to transform this warmhearted, poetic comedy into a drearily uninspiring evening. The production had one saving grace: Sean Tarrant's Malvolio. Malvolio is a vain, mean-spirited buffoon who's convinced by a trick letter that the mistress of the household he serves loves him. Tarrant took us through every twist and turn of the character's thinking with inspiring clarity and precision. His reading of the letter was hilarious, but he also made us pity this Malvolio for the humiliation he suffered toward the play's end. Tall and thin, Tarrant seemed a bit too elegant for the role until he revealed a lithe, uninhibited zaniness worthy of John Cleese.

Barely out of her teens, a former gangbanger and the product of a violent home, Fatima is in prison for poisoning several customers in the fast-food joint where she worked. She claims to be able to see the future, and she exerts a profound influence on everyone who comes in contact with her -- whether that influence is beneficial or malign is open to interpretation. Full of dark fury, Jackie Billotte played this role as if her own life depended on it. She was brash and insistent, arrogant and manipulative, sometimes full of tenderness, sometimes bawling like a lost child. A mind-bending performance.

Kim Staunton was silent for long stretches of the play as she cooked, cleaned and did the laundry for the imperious, semi-mythical central character, Aunt Ester. But her silence was more eloquent than most other people's impassioned speech. You could see what Staunton's character, Mary, thought and felt in her body, the curve of her spine, the way she used her hands, her sidelong glances at the others. She took Aunt Ester's criticisms meekly, but when she decided -- in a ringing speech -- to reclaim her soul, it was clear no one on earth could have stopped her. Among a talented ensemble, this performance gleamed.

Kristina Denise Pitt comes across as a smart, self-contained little cookie -- not at all conceited, but quite aware of her own attractiveness. Her voice is clear and pleasant. She holds herself well. "Spunky" is the word she brings to mind. In short, she's the perfect choice for one of those witty, confident Shavian heroines -- which is why she was cast in Heartbreak House. Pitt didn't disappoint, whether her Ellie was worrying about her good-hearted father, realizing she loved the retired Captain Shotover or holding her own in the cat-and-mouse games that the two older women in the play loved. This was a bright, strong, appealing performance.

The protagonist of Neil LaBute's play views the September 11 disaster as an opportunity: It means he can let his wife and children assume he died at the World Trade Center while he runs off with his equally contemptible mistress. And yet there were moments during the Paragon production when you felt a guilty empathy for both of them. Director Warren Sherrill's production of this uncomfortably honest play was first-rate, with a sparse, elegant set and evocative sound. Michael Stricker and Martha Harmon Pardee jostled brilliantly with each other as the soulless couple, their timing swift, precise and hungry.

Sure, it was a tiny role -- the woman didn't even really have a name -- but there was no mistaking the electricity that zinged through the air when Annette Helde shot on stage in her wheelchair and cut through the other characters' confusions and rationalizations with commands barked out in a fierce German accent. As authoritative in comic roles as in tragic ones, Helde has been sorely missed on local stages in recent months.

Assassins, with music by Stephen Sondheim, tells the story of assassins and would-be assassins of American presidents, from Booth to Oswald. With its controversial theme and difficult songs, this was an amazingly gutsy choice for a small company. Next Stage made it work with an excellent cast and a group of skilled musicians. Under the direction of Gene Kato, the production blew through the mind like an unsettling wind, hurling aside platitudes and raising a host of tormenting questions.

Isabella is a would-be nun, the sister of a young man whom Angelo, a religion-crazed deputy, condemns to death for fornication. Although she pleads for her brother's life, Isabella is in her own way as narrow and judgmental as Angelo; it is through suffering that she is eventually humanized. Isabella is a very difficult role to get right -- she's a tragic figure in a comedy, by turns cold and sympathetic, and given some of the most profound speeches Shakespeare ever wrote. Ruth Eglsaer confronted these problems with passion and integrity, and vanquished them; she made Shakespeare's language her own. In the early scenes, her Isabella had the chilly radiance of an icicle; her anguish later in the play tore at the heart. A stunning achievement.