1812 Productions presents Tom Wells's 'Broken Biscuits'

A band is born

Playwright Tom Wells constructs his comedy-drama like an overly earnest after-school special. On the cusp of sixth form (the British equivalent of 12th grade), Megan (Amanda Jill Robinson), Holly (Leigha Kato), and Ben (Michael Macri) all have crosses to bear.

“Fat and gobby” Megan only attracts attention from boys who want to tease her for her size and manner, while terminally shy Holly can barely muster the nerve to say hello to a stranger. Ben, the resident gay boy, wants to wear sequined dresses and jaunty hats — he indignantly corrects Megan when she calls a fascinator a tiara. They’re all out of place in their small Yorkshire town, which demands rigid conformity.

Megan sees the answer to their problems in a drum set purchased from the local charity shop. Ben borrows a Gibson from his mother’s boyfriend and quickly learns a few chords; Holly brings her flute (don’t expect any Jethro Tull, alas). In the shabbily overstuffed garden shed, rendered with precision by Lance Kniskern and bracingly lit by Maria Shaplin, a band is born.

Director Jennifer Childs draws interesting work from her trio — especially Macri, who, in his professional debut, achieves several endearing moments. None particularly convince as teenagers, though, and accents occasionally turn impenetrable.

Breaking point

Unfortunately, Wells’s play dances around the serious issues that could make the play relevant to an adult audience, more often choosing the path of least resistance. We learn little of the characters’ lives beyond the shed; instead, they emerge in the writing as types rather than individuals.

Matthew Robins provides a handful of cutesy songs that telegraph teenage angst and self-discovery in the broadest terms. Like the play, they avoid actual emotional heaviness, which renders them toothless. The overall effect is a 10-minute sketch stretched to its breaking point.

Megan functions as the ringleader, but she also remains the script's biggest enigma, despite Robinson’s efforts to imbue her with personality. A greater sense of the grimness she experiences would help explain her commitment to the band and to keeping the group together as they move toward the next phase of their lives.

Instead, we get a sense that the problems plaguing the teens are largely innocuous. A mischievous neighbor boy occasionally pelts the shed with eggs, but Wells eschews anything that could be read as a greater threat. Even Ben, whose flamboyance grows as the show progresses, seems largely accepted by everyone, from the pensioners at the retirement home where he works to his sport-obsessed stepbrothers.

Being a teenager means dealing with outsized emotions and lurking uncertainty. The play continually reassures its audience that in the end, everything will turn out just fine. Where’s the drama, or the authenticity, in that?