James Graham’s Punch lands not with spectacle but with shattering intimacy. Based on Jacob Dunne’s memoir Right From Wrong, it tells the true story of a single act of violence that destroyed one life and remade several others. In 2011, Dunne, a teenager from Nottingham, threw a fatal punch at James Hodgkinson, a trainee paramedic. After serving a prison sentence for manslaughter, he embarked on a remarkable journey of redemption when he met Hodgkinson’s parents, Joan and David, through a restorative justice programme. Their capacity to forgive becomes the unlikely catalyst for everyone’s survival.

David Shields’ Jacob is ferocious, magnetic, and unflinchingly human. He captures the rage of a boy trapped in the narrow horizons of a working-class estate, simmering with misdirection and anger. But it’s in his quieter moments — the guilt, the futile search for absolution — that Shields finds something extraordinary: the transformation of a man who cannot undo his past, only live with it.

Julie Hesmondhalgh’s Joan is devastating. Her restraint is what makes her rage so lethal when it finally erupts. There’s a weary grace to her grief — an ordinary mother navigating extraordinary pain. Tony Hirst as David, who witnessed the fatal blow, offers a complementary note of anguish. Their journey toward forgiveness is neither neat nor sentimental; Graham’s writing refuses easy catharsis. Even as they take part in restorative justice conversations, the play never lets you believe this heals them entirely.

Graham’s hallmarks are here in full: sharp, authentic dialogue and deft structural invention. Choreographed ensemble sequences evoke the chaos of the estate with thrilling economy. Yet the decision to have actors multi-role doesn’t always serve the emotional core — it occasionally blurs the depth of Joan and David’s grief when those same performers moments earlier were gyrating as drugged-up teens.

Yet at times, Graham’s moral compass shines a little too brightly. The restorative justice scenes, while affecting, occasionally edge into sermonising, their dialogue a shade too polished and purposeful. You can sense Graham steering the audience toward his view of what’s “right” rather than letting the emotional truth emerge organically. Still, the play earns its power back in the final, pared-down meeting between the two sides — a moment of silence and shared humanity that lands harder than any speech.

Anna Fleischle’s design anchors the play in a single underpass — a concrete tunnel that swallows light, a visual metaphor for Jacob’s world and the trap of his choices. It flexes elegantly between prison cells, therapy rooms, and homes, ensuring the focus stays where it belongs: on human faces and the unbearable cost of their choices.

Punch is a tough, humane piece of theatre — not about crime or punishment, but the unthinkable strength it takes to face the person who has caused you immeasurable harm and still choose compassion. Graham’s play doesn’t offer forgiveness as a solution, but as a question — one that lingers long after the final scene.