The ten conspiratorial men on stage functioned much like the Roundabout's Twelve Angry Men: as one—"Ensemble at Work," the sign could say—so, consequently, the opening-night party at Tavern on the Green democratically gave it up for these guys, allowing them their place in the sun (or at least the firefly lighting that passes at night for sun at Tavern). Accessory celebs were on the skimpy side, held to pals and, in one case, wife of the cast: Kathleen Turner, Simon Jones, Cicely Tyson, Douglas Sills, Liz Callaway, John Benjamin Hickey, Elizabeth Ashley, Celia Watson and Michele Pawk (the wife of cast member John Dossett).

Of course, it helps the casting case that Democracy focuses on another (and non-English speaking) country—namely a divided Germany of 30 years ago, and specifically the West German regime of Chancellor Willy Brandt. It chronicles Brandt's fall from grace and glory because of the betrayal of an opportunistic functionary in his office, one Gunter Guillaume, an East German spy who wound up admiring the very man he was selling out. Ultimately, Frayn's play shifts from a divided country to the divided allegiances and hearts of individual characters, making a game anyone can play regardless of language or flag.

"Americans can play Germans as well as Brits or anyone," contends Frayn, who admits Democracy here comes over as a different play—but, he postscripts, "it always plays different if it's played by different actors because the play is incarnated in the actors."

And power plays know no real geographical boundaries. Democracy echoes situations Shakespeare stirred up in Rome (Julius Caesar) and Venice (Othello). There's something Iagoesque about Guillaume—up to a point, says Frayn: "Iago may love Othello—that's open for debate—but he wants to destory him. Guillaume doesn't want to destory Brandt at all. He absolutely wants to keep him going, but of course his activities destroy him."

When you asked "The Berlin Ten" what attracted them to this project, almost every manjack of them responded in the same five words: "Michael Frayn and Michael Blakemore." And the feeling was entirely mutual, as far as the director is concerned.

"I've worked a lot with American actors, and I'm sort of loyal to the American acting community," says Blakemore, and the repeaters in Democracy second that motion.

His Willy Brandt, James Naughton, was directed to a Tony by Blakemore for City of Angels; he played a dime-novel-type detective in that, and here he is a photo-op presidential. He got Lee Wilkof to brush up his Shakespeare in Kiss Me Kate but put him to work here as a tenacious secret-police sleuth. "He uses people again if he feels they're right for something," says Wilkof. "The fact he would want to use me again made me feel great, made me feel he really trusted me." John Christopher Jones, Wilkof's nefarious associate, worked for Blakemore 17 years ago at Manhattan Theatre Club in The Day Room. "I'm sure that has something to do with me being cast in this," the actor says. Continued...