Hope Has a Happy Meal (NHB Modern Plays)

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Tom Fowler has cooked up a s atiric al allegoric al quest of a pl ay, where a collection of r ag-t ag ch ar acters struggle to survive in the People’s Republic of Kok a Kol a (the PRKK) a post-democr atic country now in the full throes of hyper-c apit al ism and run by corpor ate gi ants (the he ad of the country is a CEO). But the piece also loses its w ay just as the m ain ch ar acter, Hope, st arts to find hers. I came up with the title and premise in 2016 when participating in a writers’ group at the Royal Court that was led by Alice Birch. At the time Britain had recently voted to leave the EU, Donald Trump had just been elected president of the US and so, as a result, I heard a lot of people talk about hope as if it had just disappeared overnight. It was from this that I conceived the idea of writing about a woman called Hope trying to come home.

Where Hope Has A Happy Meal does falter, is in the elements of satire and allegory. Hope’s character is too detailed to be an allegorical version of the concept and the other characters do not seem to represent anything outside of themselves. This is in part because the writing and performances of those characters aren’t flat enough for allegory but also because The People’s Republic of Koka Kola never really comes to life. This must be leftfield new writing’s sunny summer start. Like Alistair McDowall’s All of It, Tom Fowler’s Hope Has a Happy Meal features striking performances in a story where recognisably painful human emotions — loss of family members — are set in a dystopian vision of the world’s future. In the Upstairs studio space, we arrive in the People’s Republic of Koka Kola, formerly the UK, a hilariously lurid police state where freedoms are acutely curtailed and consumer capitalism is totally dominant. But it’s a dystopia which is drenched with, instead of the usual greyness of Orwellian nightmares, a richly colourful bonanza of bright hues and jolly shopping. Very apt, but what’s the story? Middle-aged Hope has returned to the ‘People’s Republic of Koka Kola’ to look for the son she abandoned twenty-four years ago. In the process she finds not only old family but new friends, and acts of kindness and solidarity along the way. However, there is an underlying unease in this hyper-capitalist world, and a lurking menace that threatens the lives of all of Hope’s companions. Yet, despite all of this pointing to a commentary on brands and their influence, the ridicule only goes so far as a number of bizarre place names. The story is set in the People’s Republic of Koka Kola, other sights include Walmart Market and Visaland, and Hope’s trying to get all the way to the BP Nature Reserve – the latter managing to produce a commendable laugh for the sheer hypocrisy in the name. I really like the way that Fowler parodies the banal pronouncements of those in power, and his evident sympathy for the marginalized and the needy. There is also something very allusive in his writing: the mention of Strawberry Fields commune brings to mind the Beatles song “Eleanor Rigby” when, some time later, it becomes evident that we are dealing with a situation that could be described as “all the lonely people, where do they all come from?” I also like the psychological insights, expressed perhaps most directly in the clown game show sequence, and the drunken episode when Hope and Lor get plastered. Yet anger and violence step on the toes of all the humour. Despite all the jokes, notions of loss and death give the piece its much needed shadows.

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The process of writing this play has been hard and long, partly because this is my first big, full-length play but also because in 2016, when I first conceived of the play, I was still early in my politicization. So writing this play has been the process of developing the story and the characters but also the process of me educating myself and, ultimately, becoming more confidently socialist. Beyond naming places after brands and a message on the plane, there isn’t really the sense of a hyper-capitalist dictatorship. The play could have as easily been set in modern Britain with only a few changes. There should have been more sponsorships, more intrusion, and a greater sense that they are being spied on. In reality, Elon Musk is suggesting a future that includes serfdom on Mars, companies drape themselves in LGBTQ+ flags whilst funding hate groups and clothes manufacturers say their products represent freedom, even as they are made in sweatshops – all more ridiculous and dystopian than is presented here. Hope Has A Happy Meal is now playing at the Royal Court Theatre until 8 July. A captioned performance is scheduled for 28 June, with a relaxed performance on 8 July. As well as the family feud, Hope Has A Happy Meal tries to ground itself in the theological, what with all the angel symbolism and talk of – and to– the deceased. It doesn’t quite land, though, as Isla’s talk to Isaac about everyone growing up ‘damaged’ these days was a missed opportunity to bring up capitalism’s effect on our mental health (what with the drive towards productivity and everything), as was one of Hope’s final monologues which essentially boils down to ‘perhaps we’re all just finding it hard right now’. Perhaps indeed, but every chance this play has to underscore just how hard we’re finding everything is never realised – not least when the narrative moves so fast. Tom Fowler’s gently amusing play has all the ingredients of a fast-moving road movie, satirically flavoured by a context of rampant capitalism.

The overall effect is an exciting contribution to contemporary playwriting –it’s art that seems to make your mind go woo-woo. Hope has a Happy Meal is designed by Naomi Dawson, with lighting design by Anna Watson, sound design by Annie May Fletcher and movement direction by Jonnie Riordan.Aside from the underdone setting, Hope has a Happy Meal manages to be both funny and exciting, with well-written and enjoyably performed characters and confident, clear direction. It succeeds at being a very engaging play, even if it doesn’t achieve everything it wants to. The resultant escapade feels part Thelma and Louise, part reverse-Wizard of Oz, and Lucy Morrison’s direction neatly balances the comic beats with darker material, including a nightmarish gameshow hallucination. Felix Scott gives a panoply of excellent performances, from a brutal cop to a hopeless ex-husband, and there is enough vim and vigour to the production that when Isla announces that “this is, like, the best adventure ever!” you’re just about prepared to overlook the horrible thing that’s being sanctioned in the basement.