Thanks to Drew Taylor-Wilson’s lucid dramaturgy and Jamie Wardrop’s earthy rural/neon splashed AV screen projections, we see the outsider status, playing  out in  loud and proud juxtaposition to typically bogan working class stereotypes. But Brew, tuning out the constant noise of bullies  (represented on the screen projections by chattering, ominous crows who'd rather he conform) sees another way to live. Brew suggests dance is pure instinct: it's innate, it's a constant rhythm in the body, responding to heartbeats. And there’s a formative scene of going to the Theatre Royal for the first time, and realising he's not alone. 

Brew's choreography is elegant, often acrobatic, electrifying and full of restless spirit. Pop video struts and spins soon give way to ballet’s first position. Malloy and Iwanickl form a duality of strength and resilience, their mirror work as extraordinary as the fusion of BMX bike tricks, where the two form one whole unit.   

The saucer-eyed  children, ever the hardest critics to convince, remain transfixed all through the one-hour running time. At the end, there are whoops and hollers from all of them. I know exactly how they feel. I'm even warming to Twisted Sister’s power pop anthem, “We’re Not Gonna Take It.” It's pretty cheesy, but within the context of the performance, it takes on added potency. Defy the expectations, Brew is saying, to any boy, or indeed anyone, out there feeling trapped. You can transcend the limitations of a small, humdrum environment, and, with time, take flight.