There are some really nice moments in BBC Three’s new one-off comedy, Kirkmoore, about three disabled young people living at a residential college. Chloe, a smart, wheelchair-using queer woman, is trying to explore the dating scene with the usual assortment of apps (and an ill-advised fling with a care worker) but is almost thwarted by a care manager who pointedly comments that Chloe has arranged her “third date this week,” before warning her: “if you don’t knuckle down I’m going to have to involve your parents.”.
Chloe, it should be noted, is an adult – she is still at college, aged 21, because she wasn’t given the right support by her previous sixth form. For many disabled people with care needs, it’s a day-to-day reality that a stranger with a checklist can control their choices. To see this dynamic properly represented on screen is refreshing, if a little painful.
A lot of disabled people will also find grim relatability in what happens to Chloe when she does go out on a date. Having been repeatedly ghosted on dating apps when she mentions being disabled, she’s not yet told her date that she’s a wheelchair user, and at first her date completely fails to recognise her. Wine hastily acquired (and who can blame her?), Chloe attempts to get to know the woman opposite her, but is met with a barrage of questions about her disability. Her discomfort is evident – and serves as a bittersweet reminder to this slightly older queer disabled woman of the years when I thought ignoring my disability would make other people accept me. When the date pretends to go to the bathroom before fleeing the bar, your heart breaks for Chloe, but you also feel relieved that she is free of the intrusive questioning.
The show’s best moments come from the interactions between the three central teens. Girl-obsessed Jack and dorky David – who wants to be the first disabled prime minister – are both typical teenage boys, but when they find a disappointed Chloe alone in the bar after her disastrous date, they are kind and caring. They do what all good mates do, finding silly things to criticise the date for and reassuring Chloe that she’s a catch. That they don’t fall straight into discussing ableism makes the scene all the more authentic; they all understand the forces at play, which means they don’t have to rake over them. Instead, we get an authentic look at the value of disabled friends – of having people who instinctively understand, pick you up when you’re down, and, somehow, make you laugh when maybe you want to cry. We so rarely see the positive side of disabled life portrayed in the media, and yet here it is, front and centre.
Unfortunately, the show is fundamentally unfunny. This is a shame, because any disabled person will tell you that disability is, despite society’s expectations, often extremely funny. The very first scene, when Chloe’s distracting texting in English class leads to her and Jack wrestling over her phone, feels forced in a way that long-term friendships, whether involving disability or not, just aren’t. The gags about school work (“I really relate to Othello,” David says, “a noble leader brought down by the lowlifes around him”) don’t land.
Kirkmoore tries too hard to educate rather than entertain, putting you slightly on edge even during some of the better scenes. The issue resurfaces throughout the show. For example, it’s hard to imagine the scene where Jack helps David wee in a cup outside the club, having gone clubbing without any care support, not involving, in real life, quite a lot of laughter and some extremely dark humour, and yet here it’s just awkward.
This isn’t just an artistic failing. One of the best ways to challenge both overt discrimination and society’s discomfort with disability is, frankly, to laugh about it. And there is much in the show that could be genuinely funny, if only it was allowed to be. There’s the terrible, overbearing new carer, whose insistence on helping even when it isn’t needed could have been a great way to explore the complicated dynamics of care and an industry that accepts all kinds of ableism. Instead, he is just left to look like a fool. There’s the students’ reactions to each other; the gentle banter about sex and care are reminiscent of conversations disabled people have, but again there’s a stilted quality that makes the it feel forced. Just a little more humour would make the whole show not only more entertaining and more authentic, but would sell its core message – that disabled teenagers, like all young people, just want to have fun – much more convincingly.
It’s a pity that the half-hour episode is a one-off. The characters are well-drawn and likable, and with a little more space to breathe their stories could really have brought young disabled people’s experiences to life. More time would undoubtedly have helped with the humour, too, as the jokes could have had longer to build. Nevertheless, for its accurate portrayal of disabled dating and disabled friendships – things we so rarely get to see – it’s well worth a watch. And who knows, maybe we’ll meet Jack, David and Chloe again, this time with added laughs.
Kirkmoore aired on BBC Three and is available on iPlayer.
