Conceived in mediocrity and gestated in langour, no great expenditure of talent graces any part of this utterly un-provocative judicial commentary.
The script takes one usable concept – the wrongful accusation of murder – and studiously avoids any opportunity to tackle the subject with more than an adolescent perspective. Being a pint in a gallon
pot, the core idea is extended with the flimsiest of tendrils viz. An inarticulate, idiotic policeman and an arbitrarily despotic anthropomorphic Justice. Welcome to Amuter Hour.
So it’s sorely lacking in content, but halfway through you will – unless you’re not really watching, which is likely – realise that it’s also devoid of hope. Like a sunken ship, the play reaches terminal velocity very quickly and after twenty minutes of dropping through ever-darker water one suspects this may be a trend.
There are a few light chuckles to be had if you’re forgiving, but the lines are, for the most part, either exposing the pointlessness of the characters or posing as cleverly veiled metaphor. It’s only posing. The message is transparent where it’s not illegible; what’s not clever is not veiled, or rather, the clever parts are very well-hidden indeed.
All the ingredients are brought together with just enough effort to prevent it from being truly /bad/, but it’s still slack and supine, flaccid and stolid. Definitely one to miss.
2/5 
Bernie Greenwood
