Justifying Twitter’s old 140-character limit (now 280 characters, praise be!), co-founder Jack Dorsey wisely pronounced that “constraint inspires creativity”. Sod that. Lemons Lemons Lemons Lemons Lemons (hereafter ‘Lemons’) is a love song to words. And people. And dead cats. And cheesy metaphors, the beauty of abundance, and the freedom to protest. In a political climate that increasingly seeks to gag its citizens, where a 22-year-old woman was arrested in Edinburgh for holding a sign saying “f**k imperialism, abolish monarchy”, Mercy Brewer and Ioana Dobre’s production says all the right things.

Lemons is set in a dystopian future, bleak and stunted, where citizens are given a 140-word limit to their daily speech: the “Quietude Bill” - and for Quietude, read Hush! Unrealistic? Perhaps. Unenforceable? Definitely. The dystopia raises more questions than it can answer. But bougie family lawyer Bernadette (Kasia Truscott) and musician turned anti-government activist Oliver (Ben Mulley) are convincing enough for Steiner’s glaring plot-holes to be gently overlooked. The script has aged well in this respect. Following this year’s Police, Crime, Sentencing and Courts bill, which has given police the power to arrest protesters for being too noisy, Oliver’s cries of KILL THE BILL have even greater resonances - and frightening believability. Breaking the silence can easily be seen as breaching the peace.

Truscott and Mulley’s energy is infectious until the very end

We follow Bernadette and Oliver’s relationship as they navigate the growing silence that encroaches the state and the stage. It’s an imperfect love story. Oliver’s control over his girlfriend’s words is suffocatingly possessive, and Bernadette refuses to call a fascist a fascist. But the two form their own little language of protest - of sorf and dunderstand and lovou - as their love pushes against the government-backed hush!

Two-handers are no easy gig, but from their intonation to the subtlety of their facial expressions to the commanding beauty with which they dominate the small Corpus Playroom, Truscott and Mulley make it look easy. Truscott knows how to work the space with purpose and passion, and her moments of righteous anger are electrifying. Mulley’s loveable awkwardness shows equal dexterity as they work hard to get the audience on their side from the outset. Very rarely do you see such perfect casting, and the pair’s finely-tuned chemistry makes the play’s dialogue flow with ease and enjoyment. It’s definitely one to take your date to…

For a play with only two actors, I was surprised by its length. But directors Brewer and Dobre do a superb job of keeping our attention. Dialogue is spliced by scenes of protest, voiceovers, dialogue in the dark, and a very retro Pepsi ad. The Corpus Playroom is stretched to its most immersive as these clips are projected on the stark white walls, both thrilling and artistically clever! The play is not chronological, which can inevitably confuse an unsuspecting audience. Its rather bitty structure did make me think it had ended a few times before the grand finale, but Truscott and Mulley’s energy is infectious until the very end.

My love for Lemons cannot be contained in 140 words. It’s politically important, but it’s also - to put it simply - very cute, and I loved to watch Bernadette and Oliver’s love-story unfold. It tells us that there’s a time to be silent and to think hard before you speak. Even better, there’s a time to talk your friends’ ears off. So, to be brief, take your friends to Lemons Lemons Lemons Lemons Lemons! Take your boyfriend, your girlfriend, a significant other! Take someone you could talk to all day! And maybe most apt for Cambridge, take someone who should learn to think before they speak…

Lemons Lemons Lemons Lemons Lemons is showing at Corpus Playroom between 11th-15th October