Crocodile Rock ★★★★

Stuck in the town of Millport in 1993, 17-year old Steven McPhail is crushed by the thought of a future mapped out for him, as well as having to keep his sexuality closeted. Rejected and humiliated by the boy he longs for, the arrival of an extravagant visitor gives the teenager a glimpse of the life that he wants.

While there is little about the trajectory of Crocodile Rock that will surprise anyone familiar with other coming-of-age tales, this Sleeping Warrior and A Play a Pie and a Pint co-production gives it a distinctively Scottish bent. There is an abundance of humour threaded through even the more poignant episodes, much of it earthy and irreverent. Millport itself is presented as both prison and home: a small community whose expectations suffocate Steven but also a place of extraordinary beauty that has shaped him.

Darren Brownlie’s (River City, Scots Squad) performance is a stand-out. Engaging from the off, he proves enormously personable company, switching between characters and moods while maintaining an easy rapport with the audience. Like a Dorothy Paul with added curse words, he delivers the observational humour with appropriate theatrical exaggeration and storytelling warmth. (Fittingly, Paul’s former musical director, Hilary Brooks, also takes on that role here, providing the live soundtrack.) He’s aided by director Andy McGregor’s script, which has an instinctive sense of when to puncture sentiment with a well-placed gag.

The original songs are, in truth, solid rather than especially memorable, but they do an unshowy, dependable job of progressing the narrative rather than detracting from it, which can often hamper similar productions.

Crocodile Rock’s arc may not be a particularly original one, but it’s consistently funny, touching, and is never less than convincing. Like the painted rock that gives the show its title, it takes something seemingly ordinary and transforms it through colour, character and a healthy dose of Scottish eccentricity.