During Rwanda's terrible bloodbath, members of the clashing Hutu and Tutsi ethnic groups often called each other cockroaches. How can you feel anything but ambivalence for squashing a bug?

In Aaron A. Bonilla's ambitious and partially affecting "We Are Rwanda," three actors personify the country itself. They also represent the Hutus and Tutsis as well as specific individuals who both suffered and traumatized others.

It's serious stuff that is simply and seriously told. Representing the Tutsi, the very talented Liza Madison paints a tragic figure of violence and sadness. This is a tale graphically told: the image of a machete blade slashing a pregnant woman's belly; the rape of a child; the empty stares of villagers intent upon death and destruction. Personifying the Hutus, who did much (but not all) of the terrorizing, Robert Watts III seethes with resentment and a cruelty that seems inevitable.

The third member of the trio, played by a believable LeShawn Holcomb, plays various roles, including a prisoner whose guilt drives him to suicide.

Up till this point, "We Are Rwanda" packs a powerful punch even if doesn't veer from the trajectory you'd expect from a genocidal tale made personal. Madison -- who has a fine and imposing stage presence -- is terrific. The writing and structure is plain yet profound, and well-suited for the small performance space at Ashtree Studio.

Then, at what should have been the conclusion of the play, with the audience applauding and the intensity of emotions that we'd just experienced still reverberating from the walls, everything shifted gears. A spokesperson for the U.S. Department of State (Sabrina Cavalletto) marches out on stage, and thus begins an arc of the story that involves a fanciful visit to a hell-like limbo presided over by a finicky businessman (Bonilla) whose "industry" is growing genocidal fervor.

Usually I can anticipate a few beats ahead when watching any theatrical production. I have to say that rarely if ever have I been as surprised as when the State Department woman marches on stage, disrupting what we think is the curtain call, and takes the play in a whole new direction. I guess that could be taken as a kind of compliment, but in this case, I don't think so. Instead of bludgeoning the audience into introspection, Bonilla loses any sense of theatrical connection. The transition is jarring and the jokey tone of the second part incompatible with what came before it. In introducing the play, Bonilla told the audience at the Sunday matinee performance that he'd started out writing out a "comedy" about genocide, and this second part seems the unfortunate vestiges of the idea. I'd have been far more impressed -- and would even had made this one of my top picks of the Rogue -- if "We Are Rwanda" had found a different way to bring the idea of genocide home to the United States.