Sarah Kendall’s high-school coming-of-age story takes its cue from the closing joke of her previous show. That anecdote, about an altercation with a football coach, twisted the facts for comic effect. Now, says Kendall, here’s what really happened. There follows an engaging hour’s narrative comedy, an early-90s yarn of gawky adolescence, stilted romance and troubled friendship. It’s carried off with undemonstrative charm by the ex-Perrier nominee, even if it often rings more contrived than the unvarnished truth we’ve been promised.
The setup is pretty familiar. Kendall casts herself as the bookish loser: pale, friendless, saddled with train-track braces on her teeth. (There’s a droll, faux-noir flirtation scene where would-be lovers exchange orthodontic elastic like Bogie flipping Bacall a cigarette.) There are furtive fumblings at the cinema and a gauche seduction over Madonna’s coffee-table tome, Sex. There’s a martinet of a sports coach and his cheerleader-perfect daughter, the most popular girl in school.
So far, so central casting. But if the bigger picture is drawn in broad brushstrokes, there are choice details: the mickey-taking critique of Jaws 4; the depressed cat healed by fitness videos. There aren’t belly laughs, but there’s a story machine-tooled to tap into tender memories of a time when, if you were sitting lonely by the dancefloor, you couldn’t defray the humiliation by strategic deployment of a mobile phone.
The closing stages in particular feel too neat for a show that presents itself as the antidote to contrivance. But that only registers as a problem because, by then, Kendall has dug deeper than the stereotypes to unearth a knottier tale of secrets, misunderstandings and abuse. It’s an involving and skilful show, even if the ending reflects how tricky it can be to take comedy to such sad places – and bring it back again.
• Until 28 February. Box office: 020-7478 0100. Venue: Soho theatre, London.
