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There’s a pampered house cat, played by an actress (Yasmin Tuazon) in a poodle skirt, and a long, lean swagger of a coyote (Danny Gavigan) who courts her under a smirking, white-suited moon, who—while we’re on the topic of oddities—looks and sounds like Tennessee Williams in his later, boozier days. (Who else but Rorschach Theatre regular Scott McCormick?) Those three, I should point out right away, are the bit players, the supporting cast in an otherwise all-too-realistic clash between a restless stay-at-home wife (Gabriela Fernandez-Coffey) and the soldier husband (Andrew Price) who comes home irrevocably changed by war—and that’s pretty much all you need to know to figure out whether References to Salvador Dalí Make Me Hot will seduce you or annoy you damn near to death. José Rivera’s slow, sultry, metaphor-drunk moonlight rhapsody turns out on closer inspection to be an embarrassment of rich language wrapped around a lean, hard core, and when it’s not overdoing the poetic flights, it’s a painful human portrait of two once-intimate people trying desperately to stay connected. (Not for nothing does the Tennessee Williams connection come to mind.) Director Shirley Serotsky allows Rorschach Theatre’s gratifyingly physical, intensely atmospheric production to flag just once or twice, when Rivera’s occasionally circular script returns to dwell on a marital impasse he’s already explored quite sufficiently, thank you. The superb-on-a-budget design helps keep things interesting, though, and so do muscular, thoughtful, and above all emotionally complex performances from the twosome at the play’s core. Price and Fernandez-Coffey both manage to seem damaged and dangerous by turns, with just enough in the way of neediness and weariness and stoppered anger to help keep the evening feeling unpredictable from moment to moment. Cesar A. Guadamuz provides both welcome comic relief and bittersweet earnestness as a starry-eyed next-door boy on the cusp of disillusioned manhood, and the faux-furry duo of Gavigan and Tuazon seem to be enjoying their eye-openingly athletic excursion into interspecies affection. And well they should: Their improbable misalliance is a reminder, courtesy of a playwright who’s got fever-dreams in his blood, that the collision of passion and cold, hard reality can leave you bruised under all the blushes.