The build-up’s long, but the payoff’s great.

The Miracle Worker, which opened Sunday at 2nd Story Theatre, is a taut and austere production that banks on a big ending, and delivers it in the form of an epiphanic climax.

The three-act, two-hour show of William Gibson’s 1957 play is about Helen Keller, a blind and deaf woman who learned to overcome her disabilities and to communicate with the world, and did so only because of the tireless attention of her teacher, Anne Sullivan. The play involves 11 characters, but only two are absolutely central: Sullivan, played by Joanne Fayan, and Keller, played by Amy Thompson.

While Thompson never speaks in the play, she does act, and does so well — portraying her detachment from a civilizing world with sounds and gestures that come across as guttural and feral. She also nicely modulates her breathing to reflect her changing state of mind, from contemplation to frustration, more often exhibited in her wild physical fits, kicking her feet and flailing her arms.

It’s an exhausting role, but not one without subtlety.

Over the course of the three acts of the play, directed by Ed Shea, 2nd Story’s artistic director, there’s an evolving change in Thompson’s use of her eyes. At first, they’re completely shut. In the second act, they’re mostly shut. And in the third act, her eyes are open, and while clearly not seeing, they’re metaphorically open to the possibility of seeing through her difficulty.

That’s what this is, an ordeal, which both Keller and Sullivan get through. At times there’s a sense of unglamorous realism to the play. Addressing someone with great special needs is a great deal of work, which can be tedious and time-consuming. That’s imparted here, but not to excess.

There are two persistent and slow-building sources of tension in the play: Sullivan’s challenge in trying to teach Keller language; and Sullivan’s challenge in trying to convince Keller’s family that she can.

Fayan initially plays the part of Sullivan with good-natured earnestness, then doggedness, refusing to give in to the family or to give up on Keller. Both are a battle. And Sullivan fights, increasingly raising her voice, screaming down the naysayers in Keller’s family, and standing up for hope.

And when that battle’s done, Sullivan must fight Keller, not just in will, but in body, since that’s really all Keller knows. Sullivan must control the recalcitrant Keller before she can teach her, or at least tame her.

In one of the play’s few amusing moments, Sullivan emerges from the dining room, disheveled and bedraggled after wrestling at length with Keller in an attempt to teach her table manners. But Sullivan eventually does succeed.

“The room is a wreck,” Sullivan tells Keller’s mother afterward. “But her napkin is folded.”

So Sullivan’s role is also exhausting.

Sullivan uses sign language to teach Keller. She repeatedly spells letters and words into Keller’s hand, after Keller has touched a particular object, hoping Keller can eventually make the connection. Eventually, that connection comes, but very slowly, which is the point of the play: miracles, or any personal progress takes work.

The play is essentially performed in a black-box theater. The floor and walls are black, and so are the props: a dining room table and chairs, a staircase, a few doorways, and, most ominously, a water pump.

The darkness imparts a vague impression of blindness. And if that escapes some audience members, it’s made clear at the beginning of the third act, when there are no lights but there are actors on stage speaking.

The set is designed as an X-shaped cross-walk, with a dining room in one of the recesses, and the audience in the other three. There are no set changes, but scenes do change, smoothly, quickly, artfully. Lights are lowered on actors on one part of the stage and raised on actors on another part. The technique provides nice pacing, although the plot is not fast-paced, and that, again, is part of the point: true accomplishments take time.

Most people are familiar with this classic play. They know the pivotal point, which comes at the very end. It’s when Keller, who had lost her vision and hearing at 18 months, but not before learning a few words, one of which was water, comes in contact with water as Sullivan spells the word in her hand.

That’s the eureka moment. And even when you know Keller’s communication enlightenment is coming, it’s still stirring, inspiring and triumphant when it does. And it doesn’t need a lot of dialogue.

“She knows!” Sullivan says.

And Keller is an instantly changed person, communicating with her parents for the first time, kissing Sullivan, and preparing to salvage what seemed lost — her life.

It's easy enough— unavoidable, actually — to admire and be amazed by the accomplishments of Helen Keller, but it took the account by playwright William Gibson for the remarkable work of her teacher, Annie Sullivan, to be so widely appreciated. The current 2nd Story Theatre production of The Miracle Worker (through December 14) manages as powerful and affecting a job with the play as we will ever see.

This is a brisk and skillfully told tale to work from, for the most part. We are plunged into the emotional plight of the Keller family in the first seconds, as Annie's mother, Kate (Erin Olsen), suddenly discovers that her infant, just having recovered from a deathly illness, cannot see or hear her. The drawn-out scream of her name blends into the sight of an older Helen (Amy Thompson) across the stage, isolated in a spotlight, disheveled and groping the air.

Helen is virtually feral. Not wanting to add to her misery, her genteel mother and lovingly hapless father, former Confederate officer Capt. Arthur Keller (Eric Behr), simply stand back and watch. The wild child does what she wants, snatching food off their plates instead of eating at her own place, throwing violent tantrums at any objection. Only her half-brother James (Jonathan Jacobs) keeps calling, futilely, for some discipline.

Into the maelstrom steps Annie Sullivan (Joanne Fayan). She has spent most of her life at the Perkins Institution for the Blind — operations have restored most of her vision — and her very first job has sent her to the Keller household as a governess and teacher.

The central scene is the drawn-out battle to teach Helen table manners. The rest of the family is sent out of the dining room, and away from their dinner, as Annie repeatedly forces Helen back into her seat. Helen's hand keeps being pulled away from her plate, and spoons arc over her shoulder like a succession of sheep being counted. By the end, not only is the child eating, but she also is folding her napkin, to the astonishment of her parents. Annie's concern that she discipline Helen without breaking her spirit is relieved. But Helen now flees at her touch, a bit of a problem when you're trying to spell words into someone's hand. Needless to say, Annie solves that with desperate ingenuity.

Obviously, there's plenty of room here for pathos, but under the direction of Ed Shea, it is the relationships and situations rather than the theatricality that guide us. Having had a horrific childhood herself, in an impoverished Irish immigrant family, Annie fights Helen's fury with mirrored fierceness rather than softhearted compassion. She doesn't even love Helen, she admits in bafflement at one point, plunging back into the fray like a lion tamer. Fayan makes Annie someone firmly dedicated to doing a good job of work rather than being a do-gooder. Before she joins the Keller household, when her own teacher at Perkins describes Helen as a locked safe with perhaps a treasure inside, Annie points out that the safe might very well be empty.

If Thompson's Helen were any more no-holds-barred violent, broken furniture (all of it black, clever) would be strewn about the stage. Yet Thompson has this come from a driving willfulness rather than selfishness, if the distinction makes sense. Her rage clearly is coming from the kind of indomitable spirit that will drive the post-play Helen Keller to learn several languages in Braille and graduate from Radcliffe.

All of this understated acting, in the context of strong emotions surging below, has its desired effect. A friend who attended and avers that she never, ever cries at weepy movies said that she was teary by the end of this production. That's testimony to actorly honesty, of which there is no scarcity in this fine company.

By the way, 2nd Story will be staging Front Page this season instead of Death of a Salesman. As artistic director Shea put it on press night, "I decided this wasn't the best time to do a play about a guy who commits suicide because he can't find a job." After all, the can-do inspiration of Annie and Helen can last only so long.

William Gibson’s The Miracle Worker is one of the world’s most moving plays.

It is a story about the relationship between Helen Keller and her teacher, Annie Sullivan.

Scholars have discovered profound comparisons between that relationship and life itself.

Director Ed Shea says that “It is a story of enlightenment, rebirth, renewal, and hope. It’s a play about transformation that in turn transforms the audience.”

It is also a play about the power of words. And it isn’t the least bit wordy.

In fact, it is one of the most physical plays you will see.

Gibson’s play requires—demands—two gifted actresses to play the roles of stubborn teacher and defiant pupil.

Shea has found two of the best. Veteran actress Joanne Fayan has captured the spirit of the determined Sullivan, who doggedly attempts to make the deaf and blind Helen make that difficult association between words and experiences.

Amy Thompson, a long-time supporting actress, gives the performance of her life as the young Helen Keller. (“I’ve wanted to play that role all of my life”, the exhausted actress told me after her performance.)

The two roles require a synergy not often found on the stage. The physical and mental relationships between teacher and pupil are exhausting, and Fayan and Thompson draw the audience into their worlds completely.

Because of my schedule, I had to see the play in its previews, a usual “no-no” for reviewers. The packed theatre rose to its collective feet following the emotional conclusion in a gut-wrenching response to a perfect performance. Usually, a play is dissected and massaged a bit after previews, but this production was flawless. I don’t see how it could get any better.

Shea designed the set in blackness. “I wanted the audience to share a little bit of her (Helen’s) world,” he said. The opening of the third act has the characters speaking in total darkness.

There are three short acts, with Shea sticking to his two-hour limit. You need a short break between acts to catch your breath.

While The Miracle Worker is more about the title character, Annie, and the changes that Helen has on her life, it is about much, much more. Read the insightful essay by Eileen Warburton before or after the performance for some thought provoking discussion.

I just realized that I have written this review without consulting my notes. The play and the performances so moved me that their impact had really touched my emotions.

I do need to mention the outstanding costumes by Allison Carrier Walker and the lighting by Ron Allen.

Also, this is not just a two-character play, and there are fine performances by a large cast representing family members and others who are strongly impacted by Helen and Annie.

Eric Behr and Erin Olsen have the important roles of Helen’s parents, confused and frustrated by Helen’s uncontrollable behavior.

The Miracle Worker runs through December 14, so there isn’t a lot of time left to see it. Hopefully, word of mouth will demand a longer run. One thing is for sure: Joanne Fayan and Amy Thompson will need a holiday vacation to recover from their exhausting performances.

Playwright William Gibson’s renowned work The Miracle Worker is an established, quintessential work of great theater, and 2nd Story Theatre’s production does it full justice.

Gibson, who passed away November 25, was inspired by "The Story of My Life," the autobiography of Helen Keller, an infant girl left blind and deaf from scarlet fever, as well as the letters of Annie Sullivan, Helen’s teacher (once blind herself) who moved in with the Kellers to help their daughter overcome her disabilities. As a required reading standard for most elementary school students, the captivating story of the tumultuous relationship between these two women is already familiar to most Americans.

Early on, we meet a desperate Keller household, on the verge of committing their unruly daughter, Helen (Amy Thompson), to an institution. Mother, Kate (Erin Olsen), pleads with her skeptical husband (Eric Behr) and son, James (Jonathan Jacobs), to invite another supposed expert into their home who might help Helen function. Enter Annie Sullivan (Joanne Fayan), a well-educated yet inexperienced teacher who refuses to grant the un-socialized Helen any special privileges or considerations.

Gibson’s first act sets the groundwork for a series of battle scenes where Annie tries, often forcefully, to teach Helen to perform the simplest acts of civilized life like using a spoon and napkin at the dinner table instead of running around grabbing food off other people’s plates. All the while, Annie shows Helen how to communicate by identifying words and objects using her hands. The fiercest showdown, however, happens between Annie and Helen’s family, who she partially blames for the girl’s lack of progress in allowing her to carry on without consequence out of misplaced sympathy and feelings of guilt.

The mostly empty stage, which includes a dinner table and vintage water pump, is painted black suggesting the darkness of blindness and of the stark events unfolding on the stage. In an unexpected but altogether brilliant turn, Director Ed Shea begins the third act in complete darkness. Voices speak but the darkness remains for a while - a chilling reminder of the lonely terror of sensory deprivation.

Each member of the supporting cast delivers superb performances. Behr is unapologetically stolid as the Captain, Olsen plays Kate without being overly sentimental and Jacobs provides both comic relief and surprising depth as brother, James. The production is an indisputable triumph for its leading actresses, Thompson and Fayan. The two have amazing chemistry. Their performances, especially in the choreography of their movements, are remarkable. Thompson’s portrayal is especially haunting, considering her character has no dialogue; a perfect complement to Fayan’s Annie, whose portrayal is stern and forceful yet simultaneously sympathetic and motherly.

The Miracle Worker is a story of hope, strength and unconditional love. When Annie elatedly proclaims, "She knows!" during the final act, she has willfully proven that one needn’t necessarily see or hear in order to believe.