The audience at La Mama Courthouse demanded encore bows from the cast of Rust and Bone on the night of its Victorian premiere performance, which they very humbly gave and most definitely deserved. Caleb Lewis’ three-pronged play asks a lot of its actors, and quite a bit from its audience as well. A trio of male performers - Luke Mulquiney, Adam Ibrahim and Glenn Maynard in this production - play out three of the stories from Craig Davidson's collection of the same title. Ibrahim plays a SeaWorld whale trainer whose leg was torn off by an Orca, Maynard a fading boxer in need of someone to fight for, and Mulquiney a crazed dog fighter who's struggling with his infertility. The narratives are all interspersed, such that Lewis needs to carefully choose when to switch from one to the next, director Daniel Clarke has to think carefully about how to transition between stories, and the actors have to be ready to change gears in an instant. As well as that, each of them needs to have the range to play all of the key supporting characters in the other two stories, most memorably a vigorous American boxing trainer, a bouncy surrogate son, a long-suffering wife and a lively new girlfriend. It’s always impressive when actors can play different ages, genders and nationalities without falling into stereotypes or farce.

It certainly changes the equation when multiple stories are being told at once. It can make it harder for the audience to orient themselves at the beginning, and easier for them to drift away in the middle. The strong characterisations certainly help here, as does the very tight choreography by Ingrid Voorendt. For her, a boxing punch, the shattering of rust and bone, becomes a very effective motif to express the torment of these three characters. It definitely makes for the cleanest transitions, and, if nothing else, snaps the audience out of any confusion.

Certain parts of each story feel very similar and almost interchangeable, which often seemed intentional. Of course, all three protagonists are men who are frustrated with the limitations of their bodies, and who loathe themselves much more than those around them ever could. There’s always something exhilarating about watching parallel lives play out in such tantalising proximity, both literally given it’s a small stage but also in terms of their inner experiences, even if their outer experiences might be wildly different.

Making this many hops between the three stories, Lewis doesn't always land gracefully. Not all of the threads get tied securely, and some of the most thought-provoking moments are barely given any breathing space. No doubt, for each audience member, one narrative will probably emerge with all the connections intact while another might have a few pieces missing for them. It all depends on what makes a greater impression on you: the spiritual escapism of the whale story, the primal intensity of the boxer's tale or the urgent pathos of the dog fighter's plight.

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