Review: Gerry & Sewell (Aldwych Theatre)

Review by Lily Melhuish

⭐️⭐️

There’s no doubt that Gerry & Sewell arrives in the West End with passion behind it. Writer and director Jamie Eastlake has been very clear about his mission: to tell a political story, an ode to marginalised communities and the northern towns he believes have been left to decay. It’s an admirable goal, one that feels especially urgent in a climate where working‑class stories are too often pushed to the margins. But somewhere between the page, the pub‑theatre origins, and the bright lights of the West End, the clarity of that mission seems to have slipped through the cracks. What we’re left with is a production that wants to be sharp and socially charged, but instead plays more like a chaotic stoner comedy: silly, scattershot, and rarely in control of its own ideas.

Before the story even begins, the audience is invited to keep their phones on and film the opening routine: a frenzied dance party complete with manic lighting, zealous chanting, and choreography that seems more improvised than intentional. While it’s certainly energetic, it also guarantees a first half filled with pings, flashes, and screens lighting up across the auditorium. Call me Patti Lupone, but I’m a stickler for phones away at the theatre in any circumstance. Add to that the black‑and‑white flags handed out to the crowd, which were encouraged to be waved liberally, and anyone sitting beyond the first few rows might struggle to see the stage at all. It’s a lively start, yes, but a messy omen of the over‑stuffed chaos still to come.

The story, described as “a purely belter adventure” (a nod to the film the play is based on) is erratic to say the least. Gerry (Dean Logan) and Sewell (Jack Robertson), the hapless duo at the centre of all this mayhem, dream of season tickets to Newcastle United. With no money and no prospects, they embark on a series of misadventures to achieve their shared goal: selling junk, stealing sweets, and robbing former teachers. This pair will do literally anything except get a job. Their dynamic is warm and familiar, like a Geordie Del Boy and Rodney. Robertson’s Sewell is particularly endearing; his comedic timing is sharp, and he brings a humility to the role that grounds the mayhem. There are genuinely funny moments here, especially when the script leans into theatrical self‑awareness: ridiculous flashback perms, jokes about freeze‑frames - these gags cut through the clatter.

Tonally, the show never quite finds its footing. As Gerry and Sewell fumble their way through increasingly daft schemes, a far more serious story brews in the background. Gerry’s sister Claire, a new mother, dreams of becoming a singer and clings to any chance of escape. Their mum, the emotional backbone of the household, buckles under years of strain and is admitted to the hospital after a mental breakdown. Their father lingers uselessly at the edges; loud, unreliable, and the reason their other sister, Bridget, is noticeably absent. These two worlds, the slapstick and the sombre, seldom blend. One moment, we’re knee‑deep in toilet humour (sometimes literally); the next, we’re confronted with intense family trauma, punctuated by a recurring soundscape of haunting vocals layered with desperate cries and pulsing lights. These transitions feel oddly melodramatic, creating the nauseating effect of someone having a panic attack in a low‑budget 2000s medical drama. It’s hard to invest emotionally when the show can’t decide whether it wants us to laugh or cry, or whether it even understands the difference.

According to the director’s note, the script has been softened to avoid “pissing quite so many people off.” Ironically, this gentler approach may have blunted the show’s teeth entirely. Eastlake stresses the importance of retaining the show’s “heart,” but heart alone can’t carry a piece that lacks focus. Almost every character is written with a frustrating lack of self‑awareness, lurching from scene to scene with dim‑witted enthusiasm. If the goal is to spotlight sidelined youth, these portrayals risk doing the opposite, making the characters feel less like real people and more like caricatures.

The set, though, is genuinely impressive. Designed by Power Props, the space is framed by the stained, graffitied walls of Newcastle’s St. James’ Park stadium, instantly planting us in the heart of the city. Upstage, a skyline shifts fluidly between scrapyards, caravans, and an impressively realised Metro carriage. Visually, this world is rich, textured, and full of lived‑in detail. You get the sense of a community straining for, as Gerry puts it, “hope, respect, a f***ing chance.” It’s one of the few elements that consistently hits the mark.

Where the show stumbles most is in its attempts at profundity. Becky Clayburn is credited as Brabin, but multi‑roles a host of supporting characters including a bizarre personification of Tyneside, positioned as an all‑seeing poetic commentator. But the writing is too vague, too riddled with abstract proclamations to land with meaning. A strange moment in which Brabin declares herself a “raging queer” arrives out of nowhere and is never followed up, adding to the sense of narrative drift. With such a large cast, it’s hard to understand why so many roles fall onto one performer when others could have provided much‑needed variety.

There is heart in Gerry & Sewell, but what’s needed is more brains. With tighter writing, clearer political focus, and a more confident balance of comedy and drama, this could be the punchy, resonant working‑class tale it aspires to be. As it stands, though, it’s a messy, tonally confused production whose brightest ideas get lost in the noise.

Gerry & Sewell plays at Aldwych Theatre until 24th January. Tickets from https://allthatdazzles.londontheatredirect.com/play/gerry-and-sewell-tickets

Photos by Meg Jepson