Happy Meal, the witty and moving new rom-com from playwright Tabby Lamb, opens with its leads meeting in a Club Penguin chatroom, aged fourteen. From there, an enduring virtual friendship blooms between them, spanning years, several social media platforms, and increasing clarity of their respective gender identities, as well as their feelings for one another.
For a play about the digital age, set in the noughties, it may have been tempting to get carried away with an elaborate retro-futuristic set design. Thankfully Happy Meal avoids this. The stage design is clever and engaging without ever being too much: each performer sits in the window of a booth. The front of the booth surrounding them is then projected with the branding of various social networking apps as they grow up and progress through them. The genius of this is it allows for quick scene changes and minimal props, well-suited to a production that never stops moving. It also lends anonymity to the environment beyond Bette and Alec’s phones - compared to say, a set of bedrooms - fittingly echoing the subject matter.
This production also makes the wise decision not to use costumes to age the characters up or down or change their gender presentation. The characters are visually present as their current selves from the minute the curtains open. In terms of the feelings this evokes, it serves a dual purpose. It underlines that these long text conversations are taking place largely in the participant’s mind eye - where they are free to imagine themselves looking how they feel. It also makes it feel as though we’re looking back alongside the adult versions of the characters at their teenage selves, giving the production a comforting and uplifting glimmer.
The sound design cleverly uses nostalgic noises and music. It would have been easy for Happy Meal to luxuriate further in its noughties reference points to the point of overshadowing the rest of the production and it's a testament to the restraint of Lamb and the production team that they did not let this happen.
As someone who helms the Generation Z/Millenial Line (I was born in 1998) the references didn’t always hit home for me, but I can also say it honestly did not matter: the deep, effervescent gratitude for your favourite artists and glee of coming of age alongside ever-advancing technology are near-universal parts of adolescence.
As a queer person who grew up homeschooled and closeted in rural Canada, it resonated deeply with me watching the characters use the internet to explore new ways of being and being seen.
With minimal scenery and very short gaps between scenes, it’s on the performers to signal the increasing maturity of the main characters - which they do, masterfully. The acting is a sight to behold, as teenage daring and passion give way to a cautious, weathered hope. Allie Daniels is pitch-perfect as Bette, in turns sweet and fiery. A teenage girl who hides self-doubt behind a thin but neon bright veneer of sass, Daniels plays her with a wide-eyed sincerity that rings true.
As Alec, Sam Crerar, meanwhile, initially seems a foil to Bette in his laidback honesty. As the play goes on though, a real tenacity emerges from behind his easygoing confidence. This is a coming-of-age story as a rom-com: a story about two characters learning to fight for each other, and themselves. Plot wise, I was surprised by how much it managed to fit into 75 minutes and it made me think of several plays that could benefit in a lesson in pacing from Lamb.
Perfectly trimmed, it uses its premise to explore the huge themes of love, identity and living in a world where your very existence is constantly questioned. As lucidly as the play recounts the pain of chafing up against persistent bigotry, this is counterbalanced with equally sharp and vivid portraits of the joy and peace that discovering yourself and being able to interact authentically bring.
It’s gotten better in recent years, but historically, so much art about LGBTQI+ people has looked from the outside in, in a well-meaning but patronising way - productions penned by writers who’ve sat down to research this group and humanize them. Thankfully, in recent years, we’ve had an influx of queer and trans theatre productions, from the works of Travis Alabanza and Kae Tempest to Jack Holden’s recent (brilliant) one-hander Cruise.
Happy Meal joins this group, allowing us a glimpse at trans identity, written from the inside, looking out. Both a sweet, heartfelt rom-com and a keenly drawn portrait of trans millennial adolescence, I truly cannot recommend this production enough.