Initially, the “plot” sounded intriguing: a pair of Hitler’s cufflinks, a suitcase full of money . . . there was the potential for a very clever, very funny romp.
However, it ended up like Allo Allo meets The Boys From The Blackstuff.
The key problem with this play is that nothing happens of any importance or dramatic merit apart from the football match itself, the events of which we are all more than familiar with.
Liverpool is not a city known for modesty about its triumphs, and this great city has little to be modest about, but at some stage its writers are going to have to realise that a bunch of tissue-thin characters reminiscing about the Reds’ previous European Cup triumphs while advancing a non-existent plot may be a crowd pleaser, but it advances the cause of Liverpool theatre very little.
If ever anyone needed proof that “you had to be there” that night in Istanbul, this play is most definitely it.
