There’s something painfully sticky about family – the terrifying guilty feelings, the unsayable truths, and the quiet ugliness we’re expected to carry, forgive, and somehow survive. Crunchy Silk by Jess Sayer, directed by Jackson Rosie, pulls apart our entanglements. It’s a delicately drawn sucker punch performance, one that interrogates memory: what is remembered, who gets to decide, and how those memories are shaped, distorted, or preserved.

Before entering, we’re greeted by an almost comically long list of trigger warnings – nearly all of them – but once inside the theatre, it’s easy to forget. The space is enchanting: chopsticks laced with fairy lights hang from the ceiling, casting a soft, surreal glow. Large stuffed animals stand guard at the doors. At centre stage, a child’s bed with a doll at its head and an altar of toys and treasures at its foot sets the tone. Downstage, two chairs and a coffee table wait in poised silence. The set remains intentionally unchanged throughout, holding the play’s shifting realities in place. We’re welcomed into this world by Astrid, who shyly peeks over the bed to greet us – an entrance that is both playful and unnerving. From behind the bed, she’s just a child, but within seconds, she is unmistakably an adult. The distinction between the child and woman  is seamless and disorienting.

The technical design is phenomenal. Lighting designer Ella Court’s dreamlike shadow puppetry and surreal lighting sequences plunge us into Astrid’s inner landscape, enhanced by Jarrod Shirtcliffe’s dissonant and heavy soundscape. As for the acting, Shannon Burnett as Astrid delivers a rapid-fire performance charged with urgency, imagination, and terrifying clarity. She never misses a beat, effortlessly weaving innocence, madness, and monstrosity. In the first scene, she sharply reminds Marlo of his English accent – small, yet marking her control and intellect hidden beneath her seemingly crazed ignorance.

As her brother Marlo, Zach Hall is gentle, steady, and playful, yet distant. He is both within and outside her world – an anchor and an accomplice, caught in the tension between his own motives and Astrid’s needs. Kimberly Buchan’s performance, as Olivia the therapist, begins composed and professional but slowly unravels, tightly wound and explosive.

There are moments of jaw-dropping brilliance: the recurring motif of a little flashlight called “Hope,” the eerie game Astrid and Marlo play with it, and the gasps that ripple through the audience when reality and illusion collide. The show is a kaleidoscope of defiled innocence, unnerving tension, and emotional whiplash. But perhaps it’s too much. The script is tightly woven, yet the final beat lands with an almost unjustifiable cruelty. After all the complexity and subtlety, the last few seconds feel like the resolution to a crime novel, dulling the intricate humanity that had been so carefully built. It’s dizzying in a way that might leave some reeling, not from catharsis, but confusion.

Still, Crunchy Silk is unsettling, imaginative, and provocative. Even if the ending risks tipping into excess, the overall experience is rich, disorienting, and deeply affecting – it’s sticky, a haunting piece that stays with you.

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