A five star review for Learning how to dive

A quick note before I begin.

Two weeks before ‘Learning How To Dive’ opened, I interviewed the playwright, Brendan Murray, about his new play. I expected a standard media chat about the background, the inspiration, and the show dates. But both the interview and the play turned out to be much more than that.

Brendan came across as warm, open, funny, and instantly likeable. His answers felt honest and had a northern sense of 'that's just how things are.'

The biggest surprise from the interview was learning that ‘Learning How To Dive’ is actually about Brendan himself. And, of course, about the not-so-fictional Barry.

It’s the story of a love affair that lasted over thirty years with a married man who had a wife and family.

There are shared dreams of living together in an English cottage, secret passionate meetings, the challenges of living a double life, and the strength it takes to be the other man. You could sense the audience shifting in their seats as they watched a story that might have mirrored their own lives.

I knew I had to see this play. I wanted to see it so much that I travelled from Scotland’s east coast all the way to London, just to experience the show Brendan had described so well.

I had never been so completely drawn into a performance before.

At first, the small theatre space above The White Bear in Kennington made me feel a bit awkward in that very British way. I’d never sat so close to a performance before.

But my discomfort faded quickly when Brendan came on stage as Terry, wearing pyjamas, socks, and sandals. Within seconds, he was answering the door to Matt, played by Darren Cheek, who was grieving and angry as he delivered the news that his dad, Barry, had died.

The first half of the play took me on an emotional ride. I felt nervous, wondering how things would unfold between Terry and Matt. There was relief and laughter from Brendan Murray’s clever lines, and I watched Darren Cheek as Matt, expecting him to lose his temper at any moment. Instead, he surprised us with moments of compassion and empathy for his dad’s lover, shown through quiet pauses and intense looks.

In the second half, Karen Spicer gave an extraordinary and moving performance as Jill, Barry’s grieving widow.

I’m not usually someone who cries at the theatre, but I have to admit, seeing Jill talk to Barry’s empty chair made me take a deep breath to keep from crying in the packed, cosy auditorium.

During both performances (yes, I went twice), I found myself torn between watching the stage and glancing at the audience, searching for signs that others might see themselves in the story.

The audience Q&A was a great idea. People shared thoughtful feedback and reflections, even though it was limited to ten minutes. We easily could have talked for an hour.

By the end, I felt both moved and exhausted.

This production should go on tour. People across the country need to see it.

It’s moving, uncomfortable, and funny. It’s real life, told in a time when we should all be more understanding.

FIVE STARS!