Saturday, 19 September 2026

Luke review | Red Stitch

How much can you trust a story when the person telling it has something to hide? Angus Cameron’s Luke explores the uneasy relationship between truth, memory and storytelling, blurring the line between what happened and how we choose to remember it. Developed through Red Stitch’s INK program, this dark drama follows Chris, a 19 year-old whose night of drinking and philosophical debate with two older teacher friends in 2007 sets in motion consequences that will reshape their lives for decades to come.

This becomes more compelling once Chris takes on the role of narrator. As the story progresses, we begin to question whether what took place in the first act actually happened as we saw it, or how much has been embellished in Chris’s retelling. The play creates a complex grey area between fact and interpretation, as Chris' account of the past is shaped by his memories and the narrative he wants to tell.

Mills is magnetic on stage. His portrayal of Damon presents him as a charismatic, arrogant English teacher who considers himself more intelligent than those around him, with Mills giving him an easy assurance that makes his self-importance believable. But he can also turn his confidence on its head at the flip of a switch, revealing a predatory and provocative side to Damon as he discusses underage sex and referring to teaching and learning as an erotic experience. The sudden change is unsettling because Mills has already established Damon as comfortable and assured in his views, so that confidence taking on a darker quality is all the more confronting.

Fellow schoolteacher Olena provides another perspective on Damon. While she is somewhat underused in act one, her importance becomes much clearer in act two. Makeeva captures the nuances of a woman who appears to owe a great deal to Damon, having known no one but him when she first arrived in Russia. We begin to wonder how much Olena knew about Damon's behaviour and how much she has chosen to justify because of a misplaced sense of loyalty. Makeeva handles this well, where it's never entirely clear if Olena is protecting Damon, protecting herself, or simply unable to reconcile the man she knows with what she is being told.

At the centre of this uncertainty is Chris, an ex-student of Damon and Olena's. Initially, he seems a little wet behind the ears, a young gay man looking to connect with another gay man in the small town where they work, even if that happens to be an ex-teacher. Lonsdale does fine in establishing this awkwardness, but act two requires a greater shift in how Chris is presented. As his motivations become more apparent, his vulnerability should give way to someone more calculating, self-assured and conceited. Instead, Lonsdale's delivery remains relatively even, which makes the subtle manipulation beneath Chris' interactions difficult to pick up on. His lines are delivered with much the same rhythm and emphasis regardless of what he is revealing, so his growing confidence and entitlement are less pronounced. This also reduces the impact of the reveal at the end of the scene, which should significantly alter our understanding of Chris, but doesn't land with the force it needs.

Nathan Burmeister's set allows for surprising and swift changeovers between periods decades apart. It establishes the passing of time while acknowledging the changing circumstances of the characters. What starts as a house filled with warmth and joy becomes colder and harsher, ultimately leaving us with a space that feels bleak and empty. Niklas Pajanti's lighting and Ethan Hunter's sound design provide an unobtrusive backdrop, allowing the performances and writing to remain the focus.

Sinclair's direction effectively draws out the tension through the physicality of the characters, with their movements and interactions adding another layer to what is being explored in the writing. What is left unsaid between them can become increasingly uncomfortable, giving the relationships an unease that extends beyond the dialogue.

There is a bit of repetition in the dialogue, particularly once Chris begins interviewing Olena. She repeatedly insists that she does not recognise the people depicted in his book and demands to know why he wrote it. Chris, in turn, repeatedly explains that he did it because he needs to shed light on the issue. While this reinforces the conflict between their perspectives, the exchanges begin to feel circular, with the same argument returning without offering much new information. This slows the momentum of the scene rather than deepening our insight of either character.

Luke is an intriguing piece that leaves you questioning what is real and what is not. There are no easy answers here, with Cameron leaving it up to us to make of the narrative what we will. Despite some repetition in the writing, the ambiguity at its centre gives the audience plenty to consider. How much of what we have seen can be trusted, and is the truth always as important as the story we choose to tell?

SHOW DETAILS



Venue: Red Stitch, 2 Chapel St, St. Kilda East

Season: until 11 October | Tues - Wed 6:30pm, Thur - Sat 7:30pm, Sun 6:30pm
Duration: 95 minutes

Tickets: $69 Full | $48 Concession | $35 Student/Under 30s
Bookings: Red Stitch

Images credit: Parenthesy

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