THE plight and fight of the Liverpool dockers has always brought about an outbreak of ambivalence in this household.
The staunch trade unionist will applaud their courageous solidarity against the forces of evil epitomised by the 850-day Mersey docks dispute of the mid-1990s and Red Robbie's famous T-shirt demo in front of the Kop.
The cynic, however, will point to a history of stubbornness in the face of progress and the almost gleeful celebration by some of being able to half-inch any cargo, which has lumbered all of us Liverpudlians with the stereotype of being an idle bunch of robbing bastards ever since.
The Corrie contingent in the audience collectively looked like a dog being shown a card trick
Putting a perspective on such ethical issues in these unethical times then, it's appropriate that the Royal Court has decided to resurrect an early work from one of our favourite playwright sons, Alan Bleasdale.
A tragi-comic slice of life, he finished typing it almost exactly 40 years ago, inspired by his work as a security guard on Birkenhead docks to supplement his meagre wages as a teacher in the summer holidays of 1970.
As he explained: "For a total of 10 weeks, I became Alan Grant, was in charge of security on a number of ships, was paid £5 a day in my hand and was never asked for my insurance cards or proof of indentity . . . I could have been straight out of prison, borstal or a bomb-making society."
Rather than passing judgement, Bleasdale still looks on the old dockers and their home of dingy holds and salty decks as a special part of city folklore that's shaped the city and its people of today.
It's there in the reputation for quick wit and dark humour in the face of adversity and a renegade spirit when all others sit down, be quiet and do as they're told - much good might it do us.
The pivotal parts in this are Grandad, played by Les Dennis, a traditionalist seeing out his last day after a lifetime loading and maverick shop steward McKenna, portrayed by Court favourite Andrew Schofield who rose to fame as a teenager in Bleasdale's early TV comedy, Scully and who went on to take character roles in many of the playwright's subsequent works.
Swimming through the depths is the plot's shark, corrupt copper Marley (Conrad Nelson) eager to get rid of Macca by stitching him up with stolen goods planted by his nark Guy Fawkes (Derek Barr).
The smaller fish are played by a variety of ironically named characters such as Wonderboy and Mastermind, paying tribute to one of the dockers' great attributes for doling out humourous nicknames.
Shame that Alan didn't have space in the cast for three of my favourites: Batman ("who can't leave without Robbin"), Swan Vestas ("always on strike") and Diesel ("Deesel do for our kid, deesel do for me ma").
Overshadowing all this mularkey is the steady progress of modernisation which threatens to put an end to the old regime with its dollop of backhanded corruption and theft involving both the workforce and management.
Overall, as a production dedicated to the dearly departed comic and actor Micky Finn, it works - with some misgivings.
The stodgy and overlong first half that takes too long setting up the plot's "sting", is littered with old chestnut one-liners which weren't that funny in 1876 never mind 100 years later.
Anyone under the age of 35 and not from the city may also struggle with understanding much of what is going on.
As an example, a younger part of the Corrie cast - including Sair Kahn who plays Alya and Gary 'Copperknob' Windass alias Mikey North - turned up, presumably to support Mr Dennis and the other Street star involved Oliver Farnworth, (who deserves extra applause for turning in a perfect scouse accent as Dobbo).
Whether it was the dialect or the infrastructure of dock politics and history, collectively they looked like a dog being shown a card trick.
On the other hand, the set of the claustrophobic ship's hold, designed by Foxton, is superb and attention to detail in terms of its time setting from 40 years ago is praiseworthy - from a broadsheet Daily Post to a radio broadcast of Billy Butler playing a track by Paul McCartney and Wings (some things never change).
Most importantly, the casting and acting is peerless, with the love/hate relationship between Grandad and McKenna taking centre stage during a riveting second half.
Dennis is completely believable as the jaded old stalwart tied up in principles while Schofield almost spontaneously combusts in a climax of rage against the machine and pent-up heartbreak at the loss of life's dreams and his inspirational Dad.
I challenge anyone not to get a lump in their throat at this delivery which shows Bleasdale's writing at his sometimes brilliant, biting best.
It's worth the admission price on its own.
And the man himself - who was in the audience for this press night - must have swelled with pride at his 1970s protege, Schofield, once again being the faithful vessel for it.
Dockers hooked 7/10
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