Jon Bennett: Fire In The Meth Lab

There’s a Breaking Bad-style poster and meth lab props on stage, but don’t fret if you’ve never watched AMC’s druglord drama. The main link between the rise and fall of Walter White and that of Jon Bennett’s jailbird brother is the intriguing question of how a villain is born.

It begins, like many criminal biographies, in childhood. Bennett grew up in rural Australia as the youngest son of a minister. Next up the food chain was Tim, a devil child whose torment of his little brother is recalled with howling indignation. This litany of wrongs—a penis in the ear, various slanders—shows off Bennett’s knack for lurid storytelling, with a modest but steady stream of laughs coming from the horrors Tim inflicts.

His story also finds sweetness in strange places, such as an unlikely moment of bonding when Tim is exorcised at Bible camp. Bennett’s determined to find his sibling’s hidden depths, adding in dimensions such as his doctor phobia or his love for '80s cheeseball Jason Donovan (whose official board game features trivia so ludicrous it does Bennett’s job for him).

When Tim discovers drugs, his mischief spins out of control, and a compelling study of unconditional love develops. However, it's saddled with some unnecessary bells and whistles: fictionalised letters between the pair, projected and read out in a dopey voiceover.

This distracts from the sort of skill employed in three climactic stories. A dog attack, a bad trip, Tim’s run-in with the cops – in each Bennett speaks with the urgency of a Grand National commentator, waving hectic action in your face to conceal an imminent emotional gut-punch. While others attempt this kind of manoeuvre, few do it as well as him.