THE Mt. Rushmore of Holocaust remembrance offers a range of iconic faces: the precocious Anne Frank, the devilish Jerzy Kosinski, the owlish Aharon Appelfeld and the mournful Elie Wiesel. Yet, despite being set in stone, the one face that defies easy description belongs to the inscrutable Primo Levi. No other writer of atrocity has displayed so many disparate, discordant moods, from the painfully brooding to the improbably life-affirming, from the clinically detached to the intimately familiar. Unlike the other bedfellows of Holocaust memory cast in bedrock, Levi's face remains more sphinx than founding father.

THEATERS ON both coasts are alive with the sound of gavels. A Broadway revival of "Inherit the Wind," the 1955 play (and 1960 film) that fictionalized the Scopes Monkey Trial, opens today, its larger-than-life attorneys once again battling over the Bible and the Big Bang. The staged version of "Twelve Angry Men," which originated as a 1954 teleplay (and became a 1957 film), is running at Los Angeles' Ahmanson Theatre. In a cramped jury room, 12 men -- angered by prejudice, tiresome civic duty and the summer heat -- sit in judgment of a teenager accused of murdering his father.