Over the last 50 years it's come to be known as the Rashomon effect - those inexplicable blips in perception that can occur when several people recall the same event, each believing his or her version to be the absolute truth. And though the term derives from Akira Kurosawa's 1950 Oscar winner that famously revolved around varying takes on one crime, the source material actually goes further back, to a pair of early 20th-century short stories by Japanese writer Ryunosuke Akutagawa. Kurosawa took elements of construction from 1915's "Rashomon" and merged them with 1922's "In A Grove," which told the differing accounts of a samurai's murder, to create his "Rashomon," and British playwright Ivor Benjamin has done the same for his stage version, now unfolding in the cozy, third-floor space at Village Gate that houses the Black Sheep Theatre Coalition.

Directed by Stephanie Roosa, the staging of "Rashomon" is an exercise in minimalism, with simply a black background punctuated by a few blocks for sitting or standing, and the tranquil sounds of shamisen, birds, and thunder. The casting is barebones as well; three actors capably juggle 10 speaking parts, while three more actors serve as our narrating Greek chorus. The latter troika sets the stage for us as "Rashomon" opens, telling of the ruin of Kyoto and the horror now found at the Rashomon gate, where a servant (Jim Valone) and an old wigmaker (Gina Menzer-Kunz) face off over her stealing hair from the corpses now littering the entrance to the once-great city. Their disagreement is interrupted by the arrival of both rain and a traveling Buddhist priest (Jonathan Ntheketha), who distracts the bickering duo with a tale of subjectivity as they wait out the storm.

Ntheketha, Menzer-Kunz, and Valone pause at intervals to change into different kimono and bring the holy man's narrative to life. It's the story of the bandit Tajomoru (Ntheketha), who may or may not have murdered a samurai (Valone) and violated the samurai's irresistible wife (Menzer-Kunz). As the priest reconstructs the bandit's trial, the servant and the wigmaker become increasingly flummoxed by the notion of the truth, with every witness - including the dead man himself - offering a slightly different though equally plausible version of what might have happened. "There is honor in the worst of men," the priest tells his damp companions, both automatically ready to condemn the bandit. And as the story continues, the wise wigmaker also cautions us not to be swayed by manipulation: "If a woman is crying, she's lying."

At first the multiple-parts conceit seems as though it could get confusing, but the players quickly found subtle ways to distinguish each of their personae. Valone's distinguished carriage as the samurai nicely contrasts his squirrelly servant, while Menzer-Kunz rocks five characters alone, her crabby wigmaker getting the funniest lines and her young wife running the gamut of morality, depending on who's giving testimony. And it's nearly impossible to take your eyes off of Ntheketha, who brings to mind the serenely intense British actor Eamonn Walker from HBO's "Oz." Ntheketha is ultra charismatic in his opposite roles, often breaking the fourth wall to channel a regal calm as the man of faith and a wicked swagger as the lusty, amoral thief.

The motif of threes figures heavily into Roosa's intimate production; besides the acting trios, the stage is set up in a triangle, the scenery consists of three red scrolls with Japanese calligraphy translated as "Truth," "Love," and "Lies," and there's the classic reminder that there are three sides to every story, the third one being the one to trust. Though "Rashomon" has tread the boards before, with a 1959 stage version by Fay and Michael Kanin based on the Kurosawa film, Benjamin writes that his reworking "deals with an altogether darker view of the world," and Roosa furthers the intended ambiguity as we, too, wonder just who we can believe. But Benjamin seems to question whether it should even matter to us. "We can do better things with our lives than to try to make sense of them," the priest advises his rapt audience before leaving them - and us - to puzzle out fact versus fiction.

Rashomon

Through January 31

Black Sheep Theatre Coalition

Suite D313, Third Floor, 274 N Goodman St.

$10-$16 | 414-3927, blacksheeptheatre.org