Artworks with interlocking narratives always run the risk of one or two orphaned plot threads: stories that never seem to connect with the main plot or theme. Caress/Ache is a curious example of this with large threads feeling detached or tenuously connected to the rest.

This is not to say that these narratives are poorly formed in their own right. A plot line about an Australian-born Iranian woman exploring her identity is a compelling one but has only one incidental plot link with other threads and feels thematically adrift from them. A plot thread about a relationship unravelling after an affair has more of a thematic link with the idea of the importance of physical human contact though still remains a largely independent narrative.

Of all the play, these two sections also feel a bit repetitive in dialogue and unnaturally poetic in their language. The actors all perform strongly in these scenes but I can’t help feeling the stories belong in other plays. The fact that the show starts off with a lot of scientific facts between scenes then largely forgets about them makes it feel like the playwright’s focus shifted as the work developed.  

The core narrative is based around the convergent threads of a mentally scarred surgeon and a mother desperate to hold her son one last time before his execution. Both are elegantly crafted and evolve cleverly, though there are a couple of moments where they labour their point a little too hard. The whole play works up to a well-earned catharsis at the end, reaffirming the importance of the themes of touch and connection.

The cast play multiple roles and give strong performance across the board. Richard Homan’s stiff, buttoned up surgeon Mark bubbles with anxiety and frustration under the surface, the facade slowly cracking over the course of the play. His character is both alienating and sympathetic, exploring the paradox of a man who has dedicated his life to the most invasive of physical contact now unable to connect. Homan’s other character scene as an autistic child is a wonderful piece of physical and character acting, delivered with authenticity and respect.

As fragmenting lovers, Megan Goldsman and Calum Hughes attack the roles with fearless passion although they are slightly undercut by the script, as mentioned above. Both are more relatable in their alternate roles, Goldsman drawing out some great comedy as a self-confident call centre worker and Hughes tragically sympathetic as a young man facing his death.

Though her detached plotline is more a character exploration than a narrative, Cian Gardner makes a compelling Arezu, delivering the Australian-Iranian’s story in a series of monologues. And as Cate, the call centre worker, she works her expressive innocence and compassion into some tender and hilarious moments.  

Mary Rinaldi’s Libby is a steady offset to her husband Mark with her increasing attempts to retain normality and Mandy Faulkner sells the frustration and despair of a mother forced into grieving before her son is even gone. Credit, too, to David Simes in a small role as an airline attendant whose politeness is stretched to the limit.   

This is a play of very strong performances and slightly disconnected narratives. But it keeps focus and manages some uncomfortable moments without lapsing into gratuitousness. The programme warns of explicit language and it’s certainly right to. But while much of the material is dark, this is not a grim play. We are left with feelings of hope and reconnection upon curtain call. 

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