The cyclical structure of the drama works through the passing of another year’s seasons, the routine procedures and their failure to discover truth, and the stylised movement of the characters. An initial, wordless rehearsal of how the inquisitional habit will be run through yet again is followed with a mechanical replay that constantly rewinds the dialogue:

Each man has his entrance and his exit, every movement rigidly and identically choreographed. There is no freedom to avoid mechanically stepping through the recursive procedure. Each attempt to address their central concern begins with the head held determinedly high but, following every attempt to fathom the meaning they seek, heads reappear bowed in frustration, failure and fear. Bam is forever repeating the same questions, the same actions and always the ritual produces the same empty responses. Bim has no greater success in interrogating Bom than Bem has in interrogating Bim or Bam apparently has in interrogating Bem. Indeed, the cycle begins and ends with the failure of the latest attempt to discover the ‘what?-where?’ that all seek so desperately to comprehend.

Each time any generation fails to focus precisely on addressing the ‘what-and-where’ of human existence, the Voice registers the same dissatisfaction:

Forcing fresh starts, the Voice insists upon more specific concern with seeking the fundamental ‘what-and-where’:

The rhythmic symmetry of the dialogue is hopelessly repetitive: ‘He didn’t say anything?…You gave him the works?…And he didn’t say anything?…He wept?…Screamed?…Begged for mercy?…But didn’t say anything?’ Each time it fails, Bam repeats: ‘It’s a lie…He said it to you…Confess he said it to you…You’ll be given the works until you confess’.

Asking the right questions, however, never realises any answers. Man’s search for answers to his fundamental questions will continue endlessly:

Bam: He didn’t say where?
Bem: No.
V: So on.

It is a ritual without resolution. Life simply and forever cycles, hopelessly unchanging.