AS The Courtyard's Class of '99 bows out, Little Shop of Horrors hints at what's waiting in the wings.

Estelle van Warmelo steps up from running the centre's youth theatre scheme to make this debut directing the Community Company. Trusting her proteges with principal parts, the show of faith is repaid in spades.

Has some Faustian bargain been struck by which Herefordshire has an abundance of adolescent talent? The 'pioneers' of the scheme may be moving on, but on this evidence there's more where they came from.

It's the quality of caricature that makes this surreal saga such a delight.

A cast with an average age around the teens approaches the unlikely subject matter with an enthusiasm that puts 'the professionals' to shame. Little Shop succeeds because both director and choreographer (Tamsin Fitzgerald) wisely opt to harness this energy where others might prefer polishing its mechanics.

The strategy sees one promising performer reach a personal peak.

Amy Fraser gets the garland. She's been straining at the leash since her days with Mad Dogs, and, given a lead of her own, runs away with the show as Audrey, a sad, sweet dreamer aspiring to something higher than her heels.

Hard on those heels is John Read, bound for Birmingham School of Speech and Drama, who invests suitor Seymour with an engaging comic athleticism. A pratfall on entrance pitches him straight into the audience's embrace - and there he remains.

Anthony Murphy offers a gleefully OTT turn as 'The Dentist', Audrey's biker boyfriend, a happy-go-lucky sadist, memorably arriving astride a motorcycle to strains of Deep Purple's Smoke on the Water.

Then there's Audrey II, the operation of which earns two core characters accolades for 'undercover' work. You won't see Matthew Neal or Ioan Bramhall until the curtain call but they deserve their applause.

Down in the 'pit' Rab Handleigh's band barely misses a beat switching from Doo-Wop to Stax-soul, James Mackenzie's lighting suitably bathes the Skid Row set in dirty neon from above.

So it's sound that affects the overall effort, uncomfortably loud enough to lose lines on occasion, a shame when there's so many strong voices. Volume doesn't mean veracity.

And while Act 1 fairly rollicks along, it's pace proves too fast for Act 2 where the 'darkness' doesn't so much descend as drops, with a suddenness that makes any necessary sense of menace minimal.

But in overall context these are querulous quibbles, enjoy watching Little Shop as much as the young players enjoy performing it - and salute them for doing so. You have until Saturday (September 22).