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Maitland Schnaars and Meyne Wyatt in City of Gold.Credit:Brett Boardman

The characters spar how siblings do: quick to trigger, spit and spat, but always with a love that needs no stating. In their languid post-funeral chat they’re an Indigenous family, yes, (”I got caught up with that Noel fulla. Yarn your head off . . . ”), but also any family, anywhere, their sharp tongues softened by the exhausted relief that sets in after formalities are done.

The play’s set (Simona Cosentini and Simone Tesorieri), lighting (Jason Glenwright) and sound (Tony Brumpton) must dovetail to signal dream sequences and parallel timelines.

The former is done well. And kudos to Glenwright more broadly whose sound enriches the play’s sense of place – from country songs on a backyard ghetto-blaster to evening’s insect drone or the distant throb of a heaving Kalgoorlie club.

Yet the parallel timeline – or are they frequent flashbacks? – needs clearer signaling. The impact of the final scene is lessened by a rush of illumination and a kind of scrabbling backward to piece together the plot.

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