“We have no desire to be maudlin about… anything.” Nick Stuccio hesitates. In a sentence, he has opened up the dilemma that has plagued him, as organizer of the Fringe Festival, since the muted end to last year’s two-week September run. “We have this date in our festival, and wanted to present something special, that would have appropriate resonance with the anniversary.”

But what's appropriate? Against the flood of shows rushing to speak about 9/11, another force was exerting itself: backlash. As September 11, 2002, wheeled around, and the lexicon of response to last year's events broadened to include weariness and even embarrassment, Stuccio felt that perspective was more important than outpouring: "[Emotions] won't be as raw as last year." Rather than commissioning a new work, Stuccio turned his focus onto building "a house-of-cards" cooperative effort -- all to import a monumental testament to war's consuming destruction that has been performed on every continent except this one.

Carmen Funebre was created nine years ago by Polish company Teatr Biuro Podrozy in response to the wars and genocide in the former Yugoslavia. It doesn't promise to be an easy ride when it finally arrives in Philadelphia. A willfully complex outdoor scenescape presents the audience with the probing reality of war, populated by dwarfing figures on stilts and lit by searchlights: warlords and underlings, degradation and injury are all brought to the surface. Its carefully directed power made a deep impression internationally: back in 1997, Stuccio explored the possibility of bringing the show over for Philadelphia's first Fringe season. Back then, he says, the project was "too big for us"; now, with the help of some well-developed friendships, and with cooperation from the Polish Cultural Institute in New York, Carmen Funebre (translated as Funeral Song in Latin) is slated to open its U.S. premiere on Sept. 11 -- its mammoth set, built in Poland, will arrive by air along with the company. "As a nation, we're so gung-ho," says Stuccio. "It's never futile to stop and say, ŒLet's have a look here.' To whomever the show appeals, our job is to put people in front of it and let the artists speak to them."

According to Jane Frere, Teatr Biuro Podrozy's international manager, the need for performers and audience to feel each other's proximity -- as devised by director Pawel Szkotak -- has posed problems in venues all over the world; in one instance, London licensing authorities asked for a rope barrier penning in the viewers. Safety concerns are hardly surprising: the towering 50-foot set, built of metal but wrapped in gasoline rags, ignites during the finale of each performance, while tiny candles inside paper houses illuminate the scene. As soon as the prospect of staging the show here became concrete, the challenge was to find a venue that could accommodate a 100-foot-wide spectacle in the open.

Luckily, the increasingly high-profile Fringe has been busy developing relationships with city businesspeople and safety officials. The first stop was the city's Department of Commerce, whose officials have met regularly with the Fringe team to discuss expansion. Dwaine Bumb, Deputy Director of Commerce, views the choice of Penn's Landing in an encouraging light: "We've been asking, ŒWhere can the Fringe grow to?' The answer is that the riverfront, as well as Northern Liberties, are natural progressions." Commerce director Jim Cuorato, through his previous position as executive vice president of Penn's Landing Corp., helped facilitate negotiations for lease of the plaza; with Penn's Landing Corp. as a sponsor, as well as with a grant from the Trust for Mutual Understanding, the remaining cost for staging the centerpiece show is slowly trickling in.

Harder to pin down has been a license from the city's fire department to launch a large-scale performance relying on live flame. Last year's flamboyant production, Flam Chen, showed that strict adherence to fire codes was possible: detailed assessment of varying factors, including costumes, fuels and proximity to the crowd, has been passed for next week's opening.

There's still the small matter of the eight actors' pending immigration visas, which might not appear until nail-bitingly close to the performance. Yet, if all goes ahead, Stuccio will have pulled together the almost-impossible in less than a year. Now, it's time to watch, and wait.

Carmen Funebre, Teatr Biuro Podrozy, Wed., Sept. 11-Sat., Sept. 14, 8 p.m., $15, Festival Pier, Penn’s Landing, Columbus Blvd. and Spring Garden St.