Sullivan Jones and Ngozi Anyanwu Photo by Kevin Berne

This two-hander concerns the relationship between two half-siblings. Big (Sullivan Jones) and Lil (Ngozi Anyanwu), who survived a poisonous relationship with their shared father, separate when Lil is still a youth (Big is nine years her senior) and reunite some 16 years later after Lil sees Big fight in an MMA match. "You might remember me from such places as your childhood and shit," Lil says to him when Big at first thinks Lil is just a fan or perhaps a stalker.

The two fail to connect at first: Big is engrossed in his world of training and fighting, while Lil struggles in her life–working at Applebee's, living in a tenement, and drinking too much. When Big comes to see her after work, she offers him a sip of her soda, which Big immediately spits out. "Did I forget to mention the rum?," she says. Slowly, and with great difficulty, the two manage to salvage a relationship despite the emotional scars both bear.

Anyanwu's 80-minute play is a triumph of restraint, while still managing to display ferocious anger, heartrending memories, and joyous reconnection and redemption. The play moves smoothly back and forth through time, with only the most compact of lines or physicality of the performers to establish that we are suddenly two years in the future or 20 years in the past. In the first flashback scene, Big and Lil are playing together in their home: Big is sketching Lil, who refuses to sit still as she races around Big, sucking on a Capri Sun with the unfettered energy of a nine-year old. We don't need to be told these two adult actors are suddenly children–their bodies and their actions imbue every moment with that sense of innocence.

Sadly for Big and Lil, that innocence will be lost, and it will be the battle of a lifetime, far more challenging than any bout in the octagon, for them to re-weave the threads of their connection. But through Anyanwu's absolutely brilliant writing, she will show us the key moments that tore them apart, as well as the halting, hesitant, heroic moments that manage to bring them back together.

The two performers give a master class in physicality and raw emotion. As with an MMA bout, in which almost no effort to harm your opponent is off-limits, these two strip away every facade of their characters to reveal to us their inner selves. The pain that appears on Lil's face when Big hollers at her was so wrenching I wanted to run on stage and hug her. For his part, Big seems stoic and reserved, yet there are layers of feeling–loss, desire, vulnerability–that he peels away for us, shred by shred.

There are lines here, especially the play's last, that will threaten to reach into your chest and tear out your heart. Others will reveal aspects of Big and Lil that you sense but that arrive with even more power when they are spoken aloud. "I may be little, but I'm not lettin' you make me small!," "You don't wanna be an animal, but you fight in a cage for a livin," and "People wanna pick fights, but they pick the wrong one when they pick me," are just three that hammer home the challenges that Big and Lil face. Some are just funny and/or charming, as when Lil tells Big "You like a teddy bear–wrapped in cinder block," or when Big says "When I'm cuttin' weight I get mad moody" and Lil snaps back with "as opposed to..?," which hits right in the center of Big's weak spot.

There is absolutely nothing about this production of The Monsters that isn't perfectly done. Tamilla Woodard's direction keeps us all grounded in time and space, giving room for her actors to freely explore their characters. But perhaps the most astounding technical aspects of The Monsters are the choreography by Adesola Osakalumi, the mixed martial arts consulting of Sijara Eubanks, and the sound design by Bailey Trierweiler and Uptownworks. One might think that a show with zero dancing wouldn't require a choreographer, but movement is as vital an element here as in any production of A Chorus Line or 42nd Street. If it is possible, the sound design is even more important to the sense of verisimilitude of the show. The smash of each punch lands in perfect synchrony with the choreography, and music is used to brilliant effect, especially when Lil wears headphones to shut out the sounds of the familial violence that pervaded her childhood.

The Monsters may sound like a hard show to watch, but the way Anyanwu builds her text through every moment to its final redemptive scene makes this one of the most thrilling, life-affirming plays you are ever likely to experience. Go. Please.

The Monsters runs through May 3, 2026, at Berkeley Repertory Theatre, Peet's Theatre, 2025 Addison Street, Berkeley CA. Shows are Tuesdays and Wednesdays at 7:00pm, Thursdays, Fridays and Saturdays at 8:00 p.m., with matinees Saturdays and Saturdays at 2:00 p.m., with an additional matinee Thursday, April 9, with no evening show that day, and another Thursday, April 30. Tickets are $31-$140. For tickets and information, please visit www.berkeleyrep.org or call the box office at 5100647-2949.