In turbulent times like these, sometimes a saviour appears in the most unexpected places. Out of the shadows comes an average working Joe, a everyday patriot…a Sandwich Guy. Kieran Hodgson’s Voice of America charts the comic and character actor’s fascination with US culture through his attempt to find just the right accent to keep a small, but definitely essential, bit role on the set of Marvel’s The Flash. Sandwich Guy is the voice of the American Everyman, but try as Hodgson might, he just can’t seem to pin it down. What voice, he asks, embodies America as we know it today?

We certainly get to hear a great deal of pitches. Hodgson is a master impressionist, and over the course of the set we’re treated to some classics; JFK and Bill Clinton makes an appearance, as does a playbook of Bushisms from George W. back when we thought that was the lowest the bar could reach. The gags themselves are pretty played - who among us hasn't heard an 'I did not have sexual relations with that woman' joke at this point? - but Hodgson uses his voices as a vehicle to set himself up in contrast to these big, bold, and often one-dimensional avatars of America. With each impression he slips on, he attempts to find that peculiarly US magnetism that eludes him as a Brit.

This is balanced in the first half by a lovely support set from Amy Annette, also British but with family in Canada, the US’s more socially acceptable cousin. Annette’s easy rapport with the audience makes for some excellent crowdwork, including a gleeful interaction with the most sonorous-voiced man in the world. The material is less politically led than Hodgson’s, aiming for more cosily relatable riffs on vacuous celebrity house tour videos or the different personalities of various breads. It’s a great choice to warm up the crowd and Annette’s laid back, chatting-with-friends approach serves as a great contrast to Hodgson’s more monologic style.

When not delving into his bag of impressions, Hodgson’s own stage persona is witty, giddy and eloquent: he recites esoteric Great Western Rail Service schedules at the drop of a hat, and grew up the son of socialist teachers that dismissed out of hand “that American rubbish” (hey Kieran, I feel you, buddy). Some of the show’s best moments come out of how utterly British his own mannerisms and turns of phrase are in contrast to his personae, referring to the Premier Inn as ‘Lenny Henry’s purple misery palace’, or recounting family holidays ‘singing along’ to the death of Aslan on The Lion, The Witch and the Wardrobe cassette tape in the car.

But for young Kieran, America was anything but rubbish. Since childhood Hodgson has been taken with the larger-than-life, buck-stops-here bravado of the States. He treats his own entry like a presidential campaign rally, blaring ‘Born in the USA’ and high fiving audience members en route, because in the midst of dour and utilitarian British politics, he ‘just wants to see what it feels like’. The real journey of Voice of America is his road-trip from wide-eyed childhood fantasies of cowboys and big yellow schoolbuses through to his adult disillusionment as he realises the apple pie doesn’t taste so sweet.

There’s one obvious orange elephant in the room, but Hodgson is smarter than to lay America’s collapse directly at Trump’s door. In fact, he makes a point of barely touching the impression until the very end when it counts most. Trump’s treatment in the show is one I honestly wish we saw more of in modern political commentary, one that understands that a) poking fun is redundant when your target is a glorified stand-up with no shame and b) Trump is not an exception to US imperialist exceptionalism, he’s just saying the quiet parts inconveniently loudly.

A lot of liberal folks love to talk about how awful Trump is because it’s easy to broadcast your own goodness by distancing yourself from one of the most obviously evil men on Earth; it’s a lot harder to separate yourself from the evils of the people you voted for. And in Hodgson’s show, those figures aren’t off the hook. Hodgson recalls buying a book of Obama speeches for his father, who already owned a book of Kennedy speeches. This leads, however, to a very nuanced conversation between father and son where Papa Hodgson points out that Kennedy’s soaring speech about the survival and the success of liberty masked his justifications for invading Cuba. Hodgson himself notes that by the end of Obama’s presidency, ten times more drone strikes on civilians had been ordered than during the Bush administration, and Guantanamo Bay was still open. Hodgson’s father keeps those books on the shelf to remind himself that America is, and always has been, about power.

Hodgson has a slightly more hopeful take, found in the mixtapes his family would play in their mum’s car, or a heartwarming exchange between two audience members he chanced upon when one offered up a seat to him at the opera in New York. His America, or at least the one he wants to see, is built on people from all walks of life sharing art, stories, or simple kindnesses - like a humble Sandwich Guy taking a little extra time to get your lunch just right.

I’m maybe more skeptical than Hodgson is - personally I think we can celebrate moments of personal expression or community without necessarily tying them to national identity, especially one that has centuries of colonial horror wired into its mainframe. But it’s at least a good first step on the road to something better, and, as ‘Trump’ makes clear in our unsettling finale, we had better get on with it or the joke will be on us.