Hope review, Royal Court

One of our neighbours recently erected a mighty fence around his property. It is a blot on our plain, but sunny and open, suburban landscape. Thanks to a bit of sleuthing by a local Miss Marple, we discovered on Twitter that he was retrospectively applying for Planning Permission. The objections were hurriedly put in. This afternoon, a reporter from the Daily Mail turned up at the door: 'We're asking people in the street what they feel about the fence.'  An hour later our  Labour councillor, who is backing the protests, rang the bell and stayed for tea. Our local protest elicited instant responses.

Hope is a play about local protest. When the Labour council in a working class northern community has to make difficult decisions about cuts, the problem is reduced to a single question. Is it wiser to axe the amenities and social services which are the least urgent, or to axe those which are the least likely to be countered or contested? Council Leader, Hilary, opts for a bit of both and finds herself fashioned as Cruella Deville with protesters dressing up in dalmatian costumes. What now? Stella Gonet's Hilary is a cold Maggie Thatcher type and there's one lovely moment when local community worker, Gina, throws a cup of yellow liquid over her: Now you know what it's like to get pissed on.

Alas, it is one of very few moments of wit in Hope. Written by Jack Thorne and directed by John Tiffany, the look, sound, and pace of the piece is very much ploddy public service. The set is like a school hall. The star turn is Paul Higgins' nuanced performance as the Deputy Leader, Mark. He's managing divorce, his teenage son's porn fixation, and an affair with his colleague Julie. And now he's been asked to bring Gina - who happens to be his ex-wife - in line...

In conclusion: Hope will appeal to #CameronMustGo Tweeters counting the days to May 7, and to those feeling trammelled by the assault on local services, but there is no challenge in the content, no intellectual welly or telling insight. It's predictable and, unforgivably, is more a despairing cry than a roaring call to arms.

References
Hope, Tickets