Dinosaur ★★★½
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The only constant in life, it has been said, is change. But in fact that constant is paired with another: human beings’ fear of change. This is why, as thinking, feeling, panicking creatures, we have developed the ability to tell ourselves stories about change; stories that serve one of three purposes: to reassure us it’ll be OK when things change; to reassure us that other people feel the same way about change as we do; or to warn us that change is terrifying and to avoid it at all costs.
Ashley Storrie and Kat Ronney in Dinosaur.Credit: SBS
Dinosaur is a comedy about change, and about a young woman whose own inclination is to the last of those three storytelling frameworks, but whose misadventures assist us in aid of the second, and which will – hopefully – by the end, result in the first. The woman in question is Nina (Ashley Storrie), and her aversion to any disruption in the routine of her life is more keenly felt than by most, as she is autistic. Perfectly happy, though, with her life, sharing a flat with her sister Evie (Kat Ronney) and working at the museum in Glasgow as a palaeontologist, Nina has found comfort and security in her niche and she has no reason to ever want to leave it. But she is set to discover a terrible truth about life: when and how our lives change is rarely up to us.
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When Evie returns from a trip to London to tell her sister that she is engaged to her boyfriend of six weeks, Nina’s life is turned upside down. Her best friend and emotional rock is being torn away, by a posh bloke who talks pretentious tosh about feminism and souls and – cringiest of cringes – tries to ingratiate himself with Nina with the phrase “autism is a superpower”. What’s even worse, nobody seems to share Nina’s conviction that the marriage is a terrible idea: her parents are overjoyed with Evie’s news, leaving Nina all alone in her resistance to upheaval.
Dinosaur is full of endearing quirks, piquant observations and addictive-if-occasionally-incomprehensible Scottish accents, but its true elevating factor is the central performance by co-creator Storrie as Nina. With hardly any TV credits to her name before this show, Storrie delivers a commanding turn as the stubbornly outspoken heroine. The fact that Storrie is herself autistic was no doubt helpful in crafting a portrayal free from cliché or over-the-top tics.
As we see events unfolding from Nina’s perspective, we are able to sympathise with just how frustrating and aggravating everyone around her is – while also appreciating that her own unshakeable belief in the rightness of her worldview is bound to bring her plenty of angst. The swings and roundabouts of being Nina – the difficulty of navigating ordinary social situations offset at times by her unfiltered nature making her the calmest head in a crisis – are beautifully balanced in Storrie’s performance. She is also very funny and possessed of comic timing and a marvellous expressiveness.
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Danny Ashok and Kat Ronney.Credit: SBS
Storrie is paired with Ronney as Evie, the bright and bubbly sister whose own insecurities are frequently spotlighted. Thankfully, the show does not depict Nina’s response to Evie’s impulsiveness as simply the comical overreaction of a human alien: if we can relate to Evie’s excitement and wish for her sister to get on board, we are equally sympathetic to Nina’s scepticism, as Evie’s decision-making is far from unimpeachable.
Elsewhere in the cast, Greg Hemphill and Sally Howitt as the sisters’ supportive but oft-inappropriate parents, and David Carlyle as their feckless brother, provide a solid sitcom ensemble. Special mention should be made of Danny Ashok, who provides many of the series’ funniest moments as Evie’s fiancé Ranesh, giving Nina ample opportunity to roll her eyes and wrinkle her nose in distaste with his sensitive new-age schtick, allied with a charmingly pathetic quest for approval.