everyone knows Beethoven, the incomparable composer. Last night at City Hall, we were taken into the tortured world of Beethoven the man.

Jane McCulloch's biographical play, based on his own journals, letters and writings, and those of his contemporaries, brings the amazing life of Beethoven thrillingly alive.

The composer himself quoted an old Chinese proverb which says: "The wounded deer leaps highest.'' The extent of those wounds and the heights to which Beethoven leapt, almost transcends belief. He suffered from a bewildering list of physical and mental maladies, but his deafness was the ultimate tragedy.

Comparing his cruel fate to that of a painter who cannot see, Beethoven, however, went heroically on to compose his greatest music in an increasingly silent and lonely world. Loved and admired by women, he was ultimately also unlucky in affairs of the heart, realising finally there was room for nothing in his life but his music.

As in all best theatre, however, all was not doom and gloom. Beethoven was, quite simply, an endearing eccentric, ("he's been known to spit in public!'') who wandered about the streets and countryside around his adopted Vienna, slovenly dressed, singing and shouting, gripped in a fever of never-ending creation. He was a man who said exactly what he thought -- and used colourful language to get his point across. The result, from a theatrical point of view, was compelling, with the calamitous tide of Beethoven's misfortunes assuaged by some intervals of high comedy.

Just two actors sustained this tumultuous drama of the composer's life -- and what a pair they were.

James Bolam, of heavy-set jaw, lion's mane of hair and fiery eyes evoked, almost uncannily, the massive presence that was Beethoven -- brooding, grumbling, wheedling, despairing. How perfectly he balanced the tightrope of tragedy and humour -- if ever anyone personified the eternal child that seems to linger in people of genius, it was Beethoven -- and Bolam's air of genuine surprise when those around him ventured to protest at his often outrageous behaviour was one of the many joys of the evening.

There was a brilliant performance, too, from Neil McCaul, who in the guise of narrator, took on several roles, notably that of Beethoven's friend "the little Count'', who seemingly catered to the great man's every whim, whether it was procuring quills with which to write the masterpieces, hiring a succession of servants who, for some reason, objected to books and chairs being thrown at them by their irate master, or simply sipping wine with his nevertheless beloved friend.

Perhaps the most moving moment of the evening was when McCaul described Beethoven's death, in the midst of a storm. As he spoke, we saw the grizzled old man suddenly raise his right arm, shake his fist at the thundering sky, and fall back dead. Bathed in a pool of Rembrandt-like light, the mighty presence still filled the stage as McCaul, in the words now of a leading Viennese actor, spoke the oration at Beethoven's funeral, attended by 20,000 mourners.

The score, by British composer Donald Fraser, was understated -- there was a certain surprise that none of his most stirring works reverberated in the background, but this low-key approach was a subtle reinforcement of the reflective quality of the play.

The English Chamber Theatre was founded by Jane McCulloch with the express purpose of providing a vehicle for "virtuosi performances'' in which a small group of actors rely less on elaborate sets than on emphasis on the text. The flawless delivery of the spoken word is a by-word of the British theatre and McCulloch's `chamber' concept has done much to restore it to its rightful pinnacle.

A memorable evening of theatre that took us to the very heart of one man's genius.

PATRICIA CALNAN BOLAM'S BEETHOVEN -- James Bolam stars in the English Chamber Theatre's production of Beethoven in Vienna, which opened at City Hall last night.