I went to see Dear England at the Theatre Royal in Nottingham this week, and what a surprise: a play that feels urgent, moving, and deeply relevant to where we are as a country even for someone for whom football is mostly noise and names.
From the moment the stage lights rose, it was clear this is not just a sports play. James Graham’s script works hard to weave in themes that echo far beyond the pitch: identity, belonging, failure, the cost of expectations, and how a nation understands itself. The story of Gareth Southgate leading England’s men’s team becomes a kind of mirror for our political moment, a reminder that leadership is about more than winning, and that national pride, when misused, can become dangerous.
On that front, Dear England issues an invitation to talk. In a time when politics often divides, it presses us to ask: what do we really mean by “we”? Who counts as part of “us”? How do we handle dissent, disappointment, and hurt? The play does not shy away from questions of race, class, and masculinity, quietly and powerfully, rather than turning them into slogans. In the scenes where the team must confront their own vulnerabilities or where the press and public weigh in, we sense a national conversation waiting to be held.
The humour is sharp, almost mischievous, puncturing pomposity and caricature. Some familiar public figures are summoned in fleeting impersonations, an England manager here, a political figure or commentator there, but never to distract. Instead they help show how sport, media and politics swirl together. You sense how easy it is for a crowds mood to be manipulated, or for a symbol to be appropriated for someone else’s agenda.
And yet the theatre never feels like it is preaching. The direction is lively, the pace often pulsing. The moments of football on stage, penalty shootouts, team talk, tension before a match, are crafted not as spectacle alone but as metaphor. Even for someone like me, whose grasp of football is minimal, I was drawn in. In fact, I was swept up. The storytelling, the emotional arcs, the shifting loyalties, they all made me lean forward, care, and wonder.
The cast is terrific. David Sturzaker as Southgate brings a kind of quiet authority and inner struggle. His haunted past, the missed penalty as a player in 96, the pressure to represent more than himself, is handled with sensitivity. The players around him are distinct; you see fissures, hope, fear, and camaraderie. The ensemble work is confident, and transitions between stadium scenes, private conversations and flashbacks feel seamless.
By the time the plays final moments arrive, you realise you have lived through something both national and human. You feel the weight of expectations, the cost of leadership, and the fragility of faith in institutions. The play does not give us pat answers. Instead it leaves us with questions: How do we hold each other accountable? How do we repair what is broken in trust? How do we believe in something larger than ourselves, without losing ourselves?
I came away from Dear England thinking that this is a play our country needs right now. It offers a model of engagement: fierce, compassionate, reflective, challenging. And above all, it reassures you that even if you know almost nothing about the game, theatre is still a way in, a way to understand the forces shaping us and to imagine something just a little better.
If you have a chance to see it in Nottingham (or on tour), I would urge you to go.
