Last month, stage actor Osamu Takizawa passed away at age 93. His list of appearances would fill this page, but I remember him as Danforth, the judge and prosecutor in Arthur Miller's "The Crucible."

The play concerned the witch trials in Salem, Mass. in 1692, but of course was written to reflect the "witch hunt" aspect of investigations into communism going on in the U.S. In 1950, with investigations by the House Un-American Activities Committee already underway, Senator Joe McCarthy instigated his own crusade against communism, and in 1953 "The Crucible" opened in New York. Reviews were consistently bad, such as "lacks sufficient development" and "fails as a work."

The play closed, and in 1956 Miller himself was called for questioning. About two years afterward, "The Crucible" reopened to rave reviews and praise for "a greatly improved script." But the critics and scholars were mistaken: It was the same script. The only improvement was in the atmosphere of the times, no longer afflicted by the paranoia of McCarthyism.

I had played Danforth in a stage production of the play in Japan in the original English, and about 10 years ago when I saw that the famed Osamu Takizawa was cast in the same role in "Rutsubo," the Japanese translation of the work, I wanted to see how it worked in Japanese -- and how Takizawa handled it.

Japanese stage actors often have trouble with Western plays. The tendency to lower the hips suits period dramas, but in "Rutsubo" it was less than Puritan. John Proctor had the soft movements of a Shinjuku playboy, not suited to a farmer, and the girls were deprived of individual variation by the standardized Japanese training method which stresses "Put more strength into it!" Some of the actors had not conquered the curse of the "mini-gesture," uncontrolled hand or arm wiggles that cling to lines like evil spirits.

Danforth comes on in the second half of the play and carries the story from there. When Takizawa entered, the tone of the stage changed. He spoke with a low, quiet voice that penetrated to the back rows, a disturbing drone of authority that seemed to rise from below the stage. Already into his 80s, Takizawa's back was as unbending as Danforth's bizarre logic, and his questioning of suspected witches calm and cruel.

In an informal meeting after the play, I found out where Takizawa had trained for the role, and why his performance on stage had such a fearsome aura of reality.

In 1940, Japanese drama troupes were forced to disband. Takizawa and other antiwar actors were arrested for violation of the Peace Preservation Law and were interrogated repeatedly in prison. Prisoners were called by dehumanizing numbers, not names, to stand in front of the interrogating officer who stared them down as they barked accusing questions, such as "Why do you desert your country and fellow Japanese?" Many prisoners lost to the stare-down, turned their eyes from the officials and signed a statement of loyalty to Japan's military aims.

"I never once let them out-stare me," Takizawa recalled. "I stared back and never once turned my eyes away."

But the memory remained, and years later the intimidating officers became Takizawa's unwitting drama coaches for his Danforth role. Recalling the scene where he pressures Proctor to sign a confession that he had "bound himself to the devil's service," Takizawa recalled, "I questioned Proctor just the way I was questioned a half-century ago."

Takizawa spoke of the scene where Danforth interrogates Elizabeth Proctor. Her husband had been accused of witchcraft by the teenaged Abigail, a former servant of the Proctors' and leader of the girls who created the witch scare. Under Danforth's questioning, Proctor breaks down and admits to an illicit sex affair with Abigail, then cries in desperation that her accusation is "a whore's vengeance."

Danforth plays Proctor's word against that of his wife: He orders Proctor to turn his back, then has Elizabeth brought in. If she admits to her husband's infidelity, it will damn him as a "lecher," but possibly free him from the crime of witchcraft and the noose.

"Look in my eyes only," Danforth commands Elizabeth. He questions her about Abigail and about Proctor's fidelity. She is torn between admitting her husband's affair and protecting his honor. Under Danforth's questioning, she tries to look at her husband for a hint of what he might have confessed. Danforth grabs her face, turns her eyes toward his, holds her head immobile -- and stares. "Is your husband a lecher?" Her answer will determine whether Proctor lives or dies.

Said Takizawa, "The way I stare at her without blinking . . . the long, tense silence . . . That's the way it happened to me many times."

If I ever get to play Danforth again, I'll remember Takizawa's performance, and how he honed it with the help of his unsuspecting drama coaches. He was being trained for the role long before the script was written -- in Salem, Japan.