From the moment I arrived at the Aldwych Theatre last night, there was something distinct about the audience arriving for Gerry and Sewell. Long before entering the auditorium, Newcastle United scarves were everywhere, alongside aptly chosen black and white outfits. The sense that this story belongs to its audience was undoubtedly affirmed from the get-go.

Adapted from Jonathan Tulloch’s The Season Ticket, Gerry and Sewell follows two friends growing up in the North-East with very little to call their own. What they do have, however, is a shared dream: securing a Newcastle United season ticket – the epitome of hope, belonging, and imagined escape. Set against a backdrop of political neglect, family instability, poverty, and personal trauma, the play traces that mission with unflinching honesty. What unfolds is a story of friendship, desperation, abuse, and resilience – above all, an unapologetic ode to Tyneside and its forgotten youth.

It is worth clarifying, if the star rating hasn’t already: I loved this production. That love, however, comes with an asterisk. I am not convinced it would have landed in quite the same way had I not developed a deep affection for the North-East myself. Four years at Durham University have embedded a love for the people, the humour, the geography, and the quiet defiance of the region. Gerry and Sewell is written with the North-East at its absolute core – some may argue to its detriment. Yet its refusal to soften its edges or translate itself for outsiders is precisely where its strength lies. This is a play that knows who it is for, and it stands proudly in that certainty.

That pride is immediately evident in the design by Richard, Rosie and Joe Power. The set, cluttered, graffiti-scarred, and deliberately murky, feels viscerally familiar. The Angel of the North looms in the background, ever-present, its significance made especially poignant at the end of Act One when the stage falls to blackout and, for a split second, the Angel alone remains illuminated. Opposing Metro stations – St James’ and the Stadium of Light – frame the space, visually encoding regional identity and rivalry. Most striking of all, however, is the moving Metro carriage itself, gliding on and off stage in that unmistakable yellow, complete with sliding doors. It is an astonishing piece of stagecraft, rooted in specificity and executed with precision.

The humour, too, is unmistakably Geordie, and it permeates the script from the outset. Early exchanges range from a “treasure chest” of “twenty fucking chicken nuggets” to the derisive classification of a “posh street” as “very pain au chocolat.” These characteristic jokes continue into Act Two, where Holding Out for a Hero segues neatly into Sewell’s declaration: “I bloody love Shrek 2.” The script frequently flirts with meta-theatricality – particularly effective given the West End residence – ensuring that even audiences unfamiliar with the region are not entirely left behind. A puppetry dog (a genius touch, designed and made by Georgia Hill) initially assumed “that Peruvian bear from down the road” raised genuine cackles, while a nod to the Tina soundtrack felt especially clever given the residence in the Aldwych.

Yet beneath the comedy lies something genuinely lyrical. Becky Clayburn, playing multiple roles but most powerfully embodying Tyneside itself, delivers moments of poetry that anchor the play’s emotional core. This personified North-East offers tenderness and hope alongside rage, frustration, and systemic failure. The writing here is quietly beautiful, allowing the play to breathe beyond plot and into something almost elegiac; such is testament to both the writing and direction of Jamie Eastlake.

Performances across the board are strong. Chelsea Halfpenny is a standout as Claire, Gerry’s sister. Her role as a singer allows music to be woven organically into the play, and her vocals are consistently stunning. Just as impressive, however, is her emotional restraint; she plays the weight of responsibility and tenderness of a maternal role with deep sensitivity. To contrast, Bill Fellows is chilling as Mr McCarten, Gerry’s father. His abusive dominance instils genuine discomfort, shaping a frightening yet painfully believable picture of Gerry’s home life. It is a performance that lingers, and one that further validates the production’s refusal to dilute its subject matter.

At the heart of the play are Dean Logan and Jack Robertson as Gerry and Sewell. Together, they are endearingly desperate; individually, they bring contrasting energies that balance beautifully. Robertson’s Sewell delivers lines with sharp comic timing, while Logan’s Gerry carries the emotional weight with quiet intensity. Their shared hope – fragile, stubborn, and utterly human -feels earned, and their performances are utterly triumphant.

Gerry and Sewell is, above all else, a real story. One of pain and persistence, of friendship forged in scarcity, and of hope that refuses to be diminished. It is also a love letter: to Newcastle, to Tyneside, and to those so often overlooked. If you share even a fraction of that love for the North-East, seize the opportunity to see it showcased on a West End stage.

Gerry and Sewell is running at the Aldwych Theatre until January 24th, before heading to Newcastle Theatre Royal from June 9th-13th. Get your tickets for the West End run here.