Breast-Baring. Lion and Unicorn Theatre.

The backstory of Jacob Newton’s entertaining if flawed debut play Breast-Baring concerns itself with the 17^th century Irish pirate Anne Bonny, one of the few women buccaneers in recorded history. Alongside fellow female adventurer Mary Read and lover Captain Calico Jack, the “pirate woman who cosplayed a man” plundered dozens of Caribbean cargoes before her arrest in 1720.

Fast forward to 2023. Meek and geeky sociology student Annabelle (a show-stealing turn by Anna Francis) works in the kind of trendy café that boasts paisley carpets and sells soy cappuccino with sweeteners.

Annabelle’s eyes are fixed with yearning on her self-confident colleague and wannabee writer Mary (Alice Wolff-Whitehouse), who is occupied penning a tome on “Women With Notable Lives Throughout History”.  Odious and lecherous co-worker Cliff (Nathan Whitebrook in gloriously malevolent toxic male mode) provides one antagonist here, the other being Annabelle’s crippling lack of self-esteem.

Mary asks Annabelle to critique her chapter on Anne Bonny; “I’d fuck her” she says of the notable buccaneer in passing. Given this is exactly the outcome Annabelle has in mind, the modest barista concludes she needs to become a bit less of a doormat and a bit more of a swashbuckler to land the desirable Mary. Who better to model her actions on than the pirate in question. But just how much of a freebooter’s mentality is required to get your girl, and what happens when your way-too-violent inner sea wolf threatens to take over?

Newton’s narrative starts firmly in queer romcom territory. There is delightful chemistry between Francis’ day-dreaming Annabelle and Wolff-Whitehouse’s more grounded Mary, a duo whose early well-observed path to romance is brought to life by some sparklingly witty naturalistic dialogue. Things soon head off in a direction much more akin to gothic psychodrama, a tonal gear change that comes out of nowhere and feels oddly jarring.

Newton’s point in Breast-Baring is, presumably, that a lover’s emotional sweet spot lies midway between submissive deference and brash overconfidence.  Fair enough, but Annabelle’s transition from mild barista to shot-swilling, knife-wielding, sexually voracious “thirsty bitch” feels too radical to be credible, leaving the cast with an awful lot of work to do to make the plot credible.

The show is hugely aided by tremendous live music from drummer Loris Scarpa and guitarist Sam Lightfoot-Loftus, a duo whose black caps and sunglasses bring to mind Hollywood’s Men In Black. Singer Susannah Cann channels Johnny Depp’s Captain Jack Sparrow in her short-but-sweet cameo as Anne Bonny.

Writer: Jacob Newton

Directors: Lucinda Freeburn and Annabel Lisk