Milk and Blood are the third and fourth instalments in Benjamin Nichol’s anthology series of works for solo performers. The preceding plays, kerosene and SIRENS, similarly played as a double bill at fortyfivedownstairs a year ago and were roundly lauded (this critic, sadly, did not see them). There are threads which run through these works – in Nichol’s own words, ‘love, loneliness, violence and resilience’ – but to reduce them thus would be to take away from their distinctiveness. One might equally say that what they have in common is craft – and, indeed, heart, for both are, despite their toughness, deeply compassionate. I have seen a lot of middling and, frankly, bad high-concept work on Melbourne stages recently, after which Milk and Blood came as a relief (not a revolve in sight!). Pared back, and by turns lyrical and gritty, both plays demonstrate that ‘text-based’, playwright- rather than director-led theatre can still turn a few tricks.