THIS 'NO MAN'S LAND' IS ANYTHING BUT BARREN.

Byline: Katherine Karlin Correspondent

TWO MEN share a drink in a well-appointed study; one is clearly prosperous, the other down-at-the-heels. Both are past their prime. Harold Pinter's enigmatic ``No Man's Land,'' directed by John Pleshette at the Lost Studio, begins and ends with this tableau, and in between you are left to puzzle out who these men are, what each wants from the other, and how they scan the vast terrain of memory and solitude.

The synopsis may make ``No Man's Land'' sound grim, when it's anything but. As Hirst (Mitchell Ryan), an elegant man of letters, and Spooner (Tom Bower), who describes himself as a poet (even as an acquaintance complains that poets are supposed to be young) drink through the night and the following morning, their recollections, real or fabricated, soar with wit. At first Spooner talks, nonstop, as Hirst barely appears to listen, but eventually their roles reverse, as Hirst wakes from a drunken stupor to recognize in Spooner a long-lost school chum.

The set (which Pleshette designed) has one chair only, of button-tufted leather, and a matching ottoman, and the subtle power play between these two quietly pivots on the furniture. But the most intriguing textures are in the faces of the two actors - Ryan's, of granite, and Bower's, of putty. Each is fascinating to watch as he listens to the other reveal, at Spooner's urging, the ``quaint little perversions'' of their histories.

If there's a weak spot in this production it is in the secondary roles: Whip Hubley and Paul Jenkins play Hirst's rough-and-ready caretakers. Pleshette wisely resists instructing his actors to affect British accents, although the play is specific to its London locale. Yet an accent might have been a class marker in the case of Foster, the younger and brasher of the employees. In Hubley's hands, the character is hard to place - obnoxious rather than working-class - and his reveries about traveling through Bali seem insincere when they might have been poignant.

But when Ryan and Bower take the stage, the lines sing. In ``No Man's Land,'' you may end up pretty close to where you started. But what a trip.

NO MAN'S LAND - Three stars

Where: Lost Studio Theatre, 130 S. La Brea Ave., Hollywood.

When: 8 p.m. Friday and Saturday, 4 p.m. Sunday; through March 26.

Tickets: $20; call [phone] or visit www.tix.com.

In a nutshell: A couple of fine actors give life to a complex play.