Nina Arianda seduces us all in 'Venus'

She blows into the room with a crack of lightning -- a life force, or perhaps an evil femme in a fairy tale, appearing from nowhere to charge up all the molecular and glandular chemistries that dare to be in her presence.

We are speaking about Vanda, the unknown actress who bursts from a stormy night to audition for the author-director of a kinky power play in "Venus in Fur." This is both the title of that drama and of David Ives' very entertaining, if not very deep, erotic duet that has moved to Broadway after an attention-grabbing premiere Off-Broadway in January.

But we're also talking about Nina Arianda, whose trajectory from nowhere special to the legendary status of Streisand and Streep begins with this role.

And all the hype is true. She really is that special. Broadway already got a glimpse of her last spring in "Born Yesterday." But that production grew out of her "Venus" triumph, and it is "Venus" that has distracted Broadway, momentarily, from star casting to star-is-born casting.

This is not to suggest that Arianda is alone on that stage, a believably harsh cinder-block rehearsal room. Director Walter Bobbie, in his most captivating libidinous mood since "Chicago," has given Thomas, the playwright character, a fairer fight against the Vanda tsunami by recasting the fellow with the subtle and altogether appealing Hugh Dancy.

He has endured a dispiriting day auditioning hopeless actresses for his adaptation of "Venus in Furs," a scandalous 19th century Austrian novel by Leopold von Sacher-Masoch, the source of the term masochism. It is late, and Thomas is on the phone making plans with his fiancee.

In blows Vanda, a seeming ditz of neurotic desperation with golden hair down to her black bustier. She just happens to have the same name as the play's character, knows the lines and brought perfect thrift-shop costumes (by Anita Yavich). For almost two nonstop hours, Arianda makes whiplash changes from gawky hopeful to scary siren -- with stops at elegant countess, Jerry Lewis, a deadly spider, a skinny duck, a classic comedian, a grand tragedian, an actress in a revenge fantasy and a goddess who knows the power of bare thigh above a high boot.

"I know my résumé is kind of short," says Vanda, "but I am made for this part." Indeed.

WHAT "Venus in Fur"

WHERE Friedman Theatre, 261 W. 47th St.

INFO $57-$116; 212-239-6200; venusinfurbroadway.com

BOTTOM LINE A star is born -- no kidding