This play chronicles a deeply depressing bit of science history that I was already familiar with. I've an interest in Bletchley Park, and I've written a story on Alan Turing before, so unfortunately nothing in the play was a surprise. There's no happy ending. Turing dies, having been hounded to death by a deeply ungrateful legal system and small-minded morality, because even having done perhaps more than anyone else to safeguard the UK during WW2, he happened to be gay.

He was a genius and it didn't matter. He was a scientific hero and it didn't matter. That his image has been rehabilitated, decades after the fact, is too late and no comfort whatsoever. It's a really good play, but it's an utter disgrace that it ever needed to be written in the first place.