ajhlovestheatre

DEAR ENGLAND

by James Graham

Directed by Rupert Goold

Prince Edward Theatre, London – until 13 January 2024

https://www.delfontmackintosh.co.uk/whats-on/dear-england

Great theatre and great sport: two things that bring people together. We get both in James Graham’s new masterpiece, which, in Rupert Goold’s staging, is equal parts state-of-the-nation docudrama, national celebration/examination and magnificent populist entertainment. A total sell out after a slew of rave reviews at the National earlier this year, Goold’s stunning production swaggers into the Prince Edward (where, fun fact, it’s the first non-musical to play since the 1977 Christmas season of Peter Pan with Susannah York and Ron Moody, when the theatre was called the London Casino) with justifiable bravado.

Like this author’s other masterpiece to date, the politically charged 2012 This House (and also his more recent Labour Of Love, Ink and Quiz), Dear England is ostensibly about one specific thing (in this case the pressure upon England football manager Gareth Southgate to revivify an ailing team since his accession to the job in 2016) but actually addresses much more urgent, universal topics. It covers national identity, toxic masculinity and its opposite, the fragility and resilience of the human spirit, British exceptionalism, and the place of England in Europe as a whole. To be fair, Wales, Scotland and Northern Ireland don’t get a look-in, but, come on, it’s football Graham is writing about, not rugby. It’s also about the importance of love (“and yes I did just use that word” to quote Denzel Baidoo’s Bukayo Saka at the play’s tearstained conclusion) and emotional support in a frequently tough environment.

It’s interesting that the character instrumental in effecting a transformation in moribund English team spirit (a luminous Dervla Kerwan as psychologist Pippa Grange) has had her Aussie-ness slightly amplified by Graham; the real Grange only moved to Adelaide in 1996. It smacks a bit of contrivance but it brings a satisfying global complexity to the storytelling. Lord knows, Australia has its issues right now (where doesn’t?!) but the schematic neatness of the New World chivvying up the Old is irresistible from a dramatic point-of-view.

Goold’s production has a carnival-esque vigour, breadth and joy. It feels almost more choreographed than directed (I wasn’t this excited about football onstage since contemporary dance’s Meryl Tankard’s soccer ballets for the almost forgotten Andrew Lloyd Webber flop The Beautiful Game), with Ellen Kane and Hannes Langolf’s dynamic work creating unforgettable stage pictures. But then you stop and consider the attention to detail in the characterisations and in Graham’s gritty, lovely, life-affirming dialogue….

Graham’s writing here is mind-blowing; expansive in its command of themes, meticulously researched, warm and compassionate in its depiction of the real life people being portrayed onstage, and frequently killingly funny. Some of the humour is pretty low hanging fruit – there’s a ghastly dancing Theresa May, an impromptu fashion show for England managers, a suitably repellent Boris Johnson – but it becomes irresistible when all swirled up and served with this level of brio and dazzle.

What’s so beautiful is that, even though he is a formidable intellectual and artist, Graham refuses to patronise or look down his nose at regular people who don’t happen to have a brain as big as a planet. Unlike some of the so-called ‘urban elite’, Graham’s innate love for his fellow human and massive generosity of spirit shines through. It’s in so many scenes here, such as striker Harry Kane’s distress when he feels he’s let his team mates down. Kane – played, winningly (!) at the performance I caught by brilliant understudy Ryan Whittle – is famously not a great talker but the writer gives him a gruff honour and sensitivity that quietly engrosses. Similarly, there’s a grave, everyday poetry to the speech Kel Matsena’s Raheem Sterling gets, expressing his doubts about being a Black man expected to pledge allegiance to the same St George’s Cross that is the mascot of many who would happily see him banished back to the land of his ancestors. If you come see it, which you undoubtedly should, expect to be wiping away frequent tears.

You can also expect to be utterly exhilarated and transported, in a way more usually associated with epic ‘feel good’ musicals, such is the sheer breathtaking stagecraft on display. The flashy showmanship recalls the visual aesthetic of some of Goold’s most acclaimed productions (Enron, American Psycho, and especially last year’s The 47th for The Old Vic) but has a cool spareness that allows focus to rest effortlessly on individual figures and moments, before exploding again into yet another orgy of theatrical bravura. The pace is exquisitely managed, and there’s a palpable sense of excitement coursing through the house during the tournament sections that even gives a total footie ignoramus like myself heart palpitations. Cumulatively, Goold and Graham’s work cuts to the heart of the English obsession with football being part of the fabric of the nation, and draws a direct line between each player on the pitch and every one of their predecessors. It’s a mind-blowing achievement.

An almost unrecognisable Joseph Fiennes as Gareth Southgate far transcends mere impersonation in a quietly magnetic portrait of human decency and kindness that never cloys: it’s a remarkable achievement. He leads a huge cast without a single weak link. This is very much a company show and I can’t resist singling out the delightful work of Lloyd Hutchinson, John Hodgkinson and Paul Thornley as senior team staff and Darragh Hands’s finely observed Marcus Rashford, but really everybody is wonderful.

The technical elements represent the National at the top of their game (sorry, had to): Es Devlin’s set sandwiched between two vast discs, dressed only with lockers that double as portals or hiding places, has a clean almost futuristic feel, etched in neon bright light and slick video. The revolve is brilliantly used, and Evie Gurney’s costumes look like real life only more so. Great tsunamis of sound (Dan Balfour and Tom Gibbons) and light (Jon Clark) rise up and crash pleasurably over the audience, so that it’s impossible not to react to it on a physical and emotional level. Ash J Woodward’s elegant monochrome video designs against the expanse of the cyclorama contrast repeatedly with the vividly colourful humanity disporting before it. This is Total Theatre… it’s almost overwhelming but it never quite is.

If somebody had told me that two of the plays I would love most in 2023 were going to be centred on football (the other was the Bush Theatre’s Red Pitch by Tyrell Williams) I would never have believed it, but here we are. Do not miss Dear England though, it’s great art and great entertainment. A thundering triumph.