Your assignment, class, is to write a contemporary drama about vampires without stooping to those hoary clichés such as sleeping in coffins, the fatal fear of garlic and the crucifix, nocturnal thunderstorms, starchy period formal attire, and lugubrious Hungarian accents. In his 1997 play "St. Nicholas," acclaimed Irish playwright Conor McPherson has accomplished this unlikely feat with cunning aplomb. In this single-actor tour de force, McPherson weaves a beer and scotch-soaked tale about a cynical, self-loathing, middle-aged Dublin theater critic who goes to London in search of a beautiful young actress only to be dragooned into serving as a pimp for a household of suburban vampires. And who says there are no new story lines in theater these days!

With its customary casting insight, Cygnet chose veteran San Diego actor Ron Choularton to handle this assignment, and he delivers in spades. This is no mean feat, since he must keep the audience's interest in a character who is bereft of any observable virtues, save his raw drive: he is contemptuous of his fellow journalists and the actors/directors about whom he writes; he is envious of the success of others; he works at writing as little as possible in order to spend more time drinking in pubs; he callously neglects his wife and children, and he is overweight and slovenly. Choularton, who does little more than sit on a chair on an empty stage and recount his story, adopts the confessional tone of contrite braggadocio. This tone is helpful, because as the critic elaborates his desperate, drunken attempts to force himself into the inner circle of the actress Helen, he slowly exhaustshis listeners' patience. But just as we are about to shout, "Enough!" the critic meets his first vampire, William, and then the fun begins.

McPherson makes it clear that his vampires are thoroughly modern types: they don't turn their victims into more vampires, and they leave their "blood-donors" with no memory of the extraction, free to continue on their merry way when they awaken. The critic's "job" is to revel in the pubs with groups of young, urban party-types--a calling for which he has had a lifetime of practice--and invite them back to the vampires' suburban digs. Once in the vampires’ employ, the critic acquires a “charm” and suave air that were not, however, part of his previous vitae. To his delight and dismay, the fair Helen is eventually caught up in his net, and although he tries to protect her from the wiles of William, he cannot. McPherson's bland denouement is hardly equal to the drama he has whipped up, and we are left to imagine what the critic’s family and work colleagues back in Dublin have made of his unexplained extended stay in London.

But “St. Nicholas” is one of McPherson’s earlier plays, so it is easier to forgive this structural shortcoming from a writer who has given us later gems such as “The Weir” and “Shining City.” McPherson’s obvious symbolism in “St. Nicholas” is also the ploy of a young writer. Of course the lovely actress is Helen, as in Helen of Troy, that immortal Greek face that launched a thousand ships. And of course when the critic first lays eyes on Helen, she is playing the role of Salome, that sexy young princess from the New Testament Gospels who brings out the lecherous side of her middle-aged step-father, Herod. At least McPherson had the good sense to avoid having anyone’s head end up on a silver platter!

Choularton, a master of manipulation, plays his audience well, first hectoring and accusing, then pleading for understanding and even empathy. His crusty Irish brogue, thanks to dialect coach Grace Delaney, is true and never falters, and he savors his baroque story-telling like an authentic heir of the Irish shanachie. Director Sean Murray keeps the pace unrelenting but not breathless, and Eric Lotze’s lighting makes the small theater even more intimate and cozy.

This taut production of “St. Nicholas” brings to mind another one-person play from Cygnet’s recent past, “Fully Committed,” which actor David McBean so fluently incarnated. San Diego is blessed with a number of companies whose theaters boast a technical and mechanical wizardry that could make even NASA jealous. In Cygnet’s stripped-down, strip mall venue, all the wizardry comes from the actors. And just one can suffice for an entire evening. This is where the craft happens in its purest form. So forget the lasers, the magical trap doors and the booming sound systems. Just give us more of the real thing!