Watching William Yang's one-man shows is like finding yourself collared by a charming stranger, settled down in front of a slide projector and made to look at his collection of snaps while he rambles on about his life. The Barbican wants you to pay for this stuff.
The snaps are superior - Yang is a professional photographer - and his stories about being a Chinese-Australian are mildly compelling. After a while, you learn to go with the slow, intimate flow, and start tuning into the connections. Or like the man in front of me, you doze off.
In previous shows Yang concentrated on his family history, but here he broadens his scope to consider how we can heal the scars of the past. He does this through melding several stories - about the Aboriginal Shillingford family, the legacy of the Holocaust and postwar Berlin.
There are some interesting things here, particularly the musings on the European ideals and colonial heritage that have shaped the Australian mindset. Yang's photographic documentation of the Shillingfords is not just fascinating but also quietly affecting and certainly belongs in the storytelling tradition of the theatre rather than in the lecture hall.
However, while Yang has much to say as a cultural commentator about Australia - including the forced internment of thousands of loyal German-Australians during two world wars - he explores little in real depth. His musings on Berlin since 1989 never rise above the level of a decent guidebook to the city, and the show meanders towards its soggy, liberal conclusion with the suggestion that reconciliation means just saying "sorry". Sorry, but that's just not enough.
· Until November 15. Box office: 0845 120 7500.
