We’re midway through Ames May Nunn’s RUMBLEKIN when a woman turns to a young rodeo cowboy and asks him a question: “What’s in your nature?”

She can turn into a horse. He is heartbroken after being ditched by a girl with magic thumbs.

Those already familiar with Nunn’s work may find none of this surprising. Over five years, Nunn has carved out a fantastical corner in Melbourne independent theatre with their quietly absurd and darkly whimsical fables, including 2023’s childlike The Lemon Tree of Dregg Street or their homage to body horror, Our Monster’s Name is Jerry, earlier this year.

Their style of writing is distinctive. Imagine the lyricism of a Grimm-style fairy tale peppered with the eccentric images of an e.e. cummings poem, wrapped up in the twisted naturalism in vogue with queer playwrights like Clare Barron (Shhhh) or Hansol Jung (Wolf Play). In RUMBLESKIN, they’re bringing that signature style to the folk epic.

Sunanda Sachatrakul in RUMBLESKIN. Photo © Kimberley Summer

We’re somewhere in the American West (or an idea of the American West, we’re told), a frontier dust bowl grappling with a curious problem: people are transforming into horses and...