The ironic drawl of Jonathon Richmond of ‘The Modern Lovers’ reverberates from the speakers: "Pablo Picasso got called an asshole …" Moments later the actors hijack the stage with the grace of a contemporary dance troupe, bringing the set with them. Blue furniture, mats and building blocks are slowly unwrapped from brown paper – the first of many subtle visual metaphors that infuse the production.

The audience sit at the rear of The Old Pool Hall, surveying the action as it’s played out in front of the backdrop of Customs Street through the large windows. The people on the outside can see inside too, so until curtains are drawn partway through the show we can see the man on his bike, the giggling tourists and the curious pedestrians as they stare back at us.

We’re introduced to the first and most obvious ‘arsehole’, Patrick (Jason Whyte), the lazy journalist who scrambles through a rubbish bin for a jam-covered press release, leaving behind a sticky trail of lies. Other arseholes follow in quick succession: the flippant, hedonistic doctor, the ego-centric commune leader, the unemployed druggie, and even the needy secretary.

Playwright Julie Hill has created a textured and intelligent script. Secrets are revealed, memories uncovered and dreams examined as the play rolls towards its climax. Meanwhile, several oddly revealing anecdotes punctuate the play like a page-turning collection of short stories. There is a real sense of truth to these characters and their lives, and if sometimes their musings veer into murky psycho-analytic territory… well whose haven’t?

The seamless scene changes in a set with no wings are a credit to director Stephen Bain and choreographer Kristian Larsen. There is always something going on, and in this richly layered production, every action is deeply rooted in each character’s personal journey.

Whyte is absolutely convincing as the harried, opportunistic Patrick who has no qualms about taking a weeping woman to bed, or destroying another man’s reputation (and his own) on national television. Caoimhe Macfehin is also strangely hypnotic as the sweetly damaged Helen. The rest of the rag-tag bunch of loveable losers are likewise brought convincingly to life by Jo Smith, Regan Taylor and Gareth Reeves.

Elements such as the live music and the doctor’s thick accent initially seemed superfluous, but later wove themselves firmly into the fabric of the production, giving it an unexpected extra dimension.

This is the story of an arsehole, but it is also the story of two sisters and how their past has impacted on their future. The beautifully ambiguous ending reinforces the bond that these two damaged yet luminescent characters share.

A thought-provoking and poignant play from Winning Productions.

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