Dear England

An inspiring and beautifully crafted celebration of belief, unity and hope

I will begin with a confession: I am not a huge football fan. Walking into Dear England, I was more than sceptical. In fact, that scepticism provides perhaps my only real criticism of the evening, and even that is rooted in my own experience rather than any shortcoming of the production itself. Not knowing every player or all the cultural in-jokes surrounding the team, I occasionally wondered whether I had missed some of the intricacies that die-hard supporters would instantly recognise. Yet such is the skill of James Graham’s writing and Rupert Goold’s direction that it scarcely mattered. This is a story about people first, football second.

The play follows Gareth Southgate as he steps into his role as England manager, tasked not only with selecting a squad but with reshaping an entire national psyche. Portrayed with quiet restraint by David Sturzaker, Southgate’s journey becomes less about tactics and more about legacy, vulnerability and ownership of narrative. By the interval, I was fully invested, not in match results, but in the emotional architecture of a team learning how to believe in themselves.

The character work is detailed and affectionate. These are amusing portrayals without tipping into cringe-inducing caricature (with the pointed exception of the Prime Ministers, who are knowingly broader). Oscar Gough’s Harry Kane captures the forward’s understated manner and clipped delivery with impressive subtlety.

One of the production’s most affecting threads is the inclusion of sports psychologist Pippa Grange, played with grounded sincerity by Samantha Womack. Through her, we see the squad not as distant millionaires but as young men grappling with fear, expectation and identity. Moments of teasing, a cheeky “You’re a wizard, ’arry” tossed across the dressing room, or affectionate digs about Milton Keynes humanise them beautifully. The ensemble (including Stuart Ash, Natalie Boakye, Ebube Chukwuma, Sam Craig, Miles Henderson and Alex Wadham) create the pulse of the piece, their tightly choreographed movement sequences evoking both locker-room camaraderie and the collective rhythm of elite sport.

From a design perspective, the stage initially appears deceptively simple: an illuminated ring hovering above the space. Yet Es Devlin’s design proves quietly spectacular. That ring morphs into scoreboards, countdown clocks and sweeping arcs of light that frame the action with cinematic clarity. Stylised black-and-white imagery sweeps across the rear wall, sometimes employing forced perspective and a forced revolve to expand the playing space. The use of lockers as entrances and exits is particularly effective; and rather than slipping into neutral transitions, the cast execute precise, choreographed team movements behind them. It builds power without distracting from the central drama.

Sound design by Dan Balfour and Tom Gibbons is crucial to the immersive quality. Directional audio places the thud of a (mimed) football into the auditorium. A standout moment sees the team introduced one by one, names blazing above, music and sounds surging, each actor striking a pose. It is theatrical, bold and communal: a triumph not just for the fictional squad but for the creative team as a whole.

The second half inevitably slows as it charts the pain of near-misses and penalty heartbreak. It was always going to be dramatically challenging, after all, England have not won a major men’s tournament in nearly 60 years. Yet the inclusion of the Lionesses’ triumph injects a welcome surge of joy and perspective, lifting both audience and narrative.

What surprised me most is how little prior football knowledge ultimately mattered. This is an ensemble piece driven by quality rather than grandstanding. Performances are textured, the storytelling cohesive, and the design elements work in seamless harmony.

We might not be winning at football – but this is, hands down, a win for theatre.

Photography by Marc Brenner