Learning How To Dive

White Bear Theatre • 10th Feb - 21st Feb 2026

Not 24 hours had passed since leaving last night’s press night for The BBC’s First Homosexual at The Cinema Museum, before I find myself heading back the London borough of Kennington once again for the premiere of Brendan Murray’s new play ‘Learning How To Dive’ at the White Bear Theatre.

The cast of this three-hander is made up of the plays writer (Brendan Murray) alongside Damn Cheek Productions Co-Artistic Directors Darren Cheek and Karen Spicer, all directed by the companies Associate Artist, Willie Elliot. The play is presented in two distinct halves, the combination of which tell a story of love, loss and identity from three very different perspectives, and in doing so manages to touch on all the beautiful, complicated and sometimes messy circumstances through which love can exist.

The first half takes place a week after the funeral of Barry, the father of Darren Cheek’s character, Matt, who has come to break the news to an elderly and rather frail Terry, even though the two have never actually met before. It therefore comes as something of a surprise that Terry already seems to know an unsettling amount about his visitor, and through the tense dialogue that follows we discover all is not quite what it might seem, Matt having only recently found out about Terry’s existence from some documents he had discovered secreted in a briefcase at the bottom of his father’s wardrobe revealing a clandestine relationship his father had been having with Terry, now in his seventies, which had not only been successfully kept a secret from Matt, but also from Barrys wife Jill, (Spicer). “He lied to us for 35 years”, Matt declares trying to comprehend the sheer scale of the deception. “Sometimes lies can be a kindness”, Terry responds in a soft, almost resigned manner, as if acknowledging the inevitability that this moment would one day come.

Terry’s affectionately reflective and candid reminiscences about the stolen moments he got to share with Matt’s now deceased father leaves Matt having to digest one shocking revelation after the other, but despite his anger that everything he thought he knew about the man he had hero worshipped throughout his childhood now appearing to be a lie, he is unable to shut down Terry’s stories as he tres to make some sense of it all.

These events are cleverly juxta posed with those that unfold in the second act, which takes the audience back in time and to Matt’s family home just after the funeral. Here we find Jill, still somewhat numb with grief as she comes to terms with her loss, the emotional resonance of these scenes being heightened by the audience now being privy to events that neither Jill or Matt are aware of, and as such realise that as the equally bereft Matt consoles his mother, he will shortly discover a secret that will change the life he thought he knew forever. What we aren’t aware of however is that Jill has alternative suspicions that her husband might not have been all that he appeared to be.

It’s a clever device from Murray to let the narrative unravel in this order, and in doing so delivers moments of both genuine tension and heartbreaking sadness. Unfortunately what didn’t work quite so well structurally for me was the decision to have Jill deliver the majority of her own thoughts as a monologue, a definite shift in the dramatic style from the first act that had allowed both Murray and Cheek to bounce off each other’s very different energy during the interplay between the two as their characters unburdened themselves of their own innermost thoughts and feelings through a series of well-crafted exchanges. Spicer, on the other hand, must contend with only an empty chair to address most of her inner thoughts to, which, whilst still a poignant symbol that amplifies her loss, does leave the second act feeling somewhat disconnected from what had gone before.

It was therefore not too surprising to learn, during an insightful Q&A that followed the performance, that Act One had in fact existed as a stand-alone piece prior to the play being expanded for this latest iteration, and whilst this disconnect between the two halves bares no reflection on Spicer’s impressively measured and heartfelt performance, it would have been nice to have seen her also share the stage with someone she could direct her own anger, sadness and confusion at, and to have them respond in a more naturalistic way than the large slices of monologue allow for. (The unseen second son Chris, would have been a prime candidate, given he too appeared to have secrets of his own that only get hinted at… or maybe even the mysterious ‘Maureen’, another unseen character this particular audience seemed to be strangely obsessed with in the post-show Q&A).

In a challenging space, (with seating surrounding the central stage area of this compact black-box fringe theatre space) director Willie Elliott does a good job in choreographing the action around a static table and chairs so that everyone can feel equally engaged. There are also some lovely, more subtle touches like the quiet but relentless sound of an unseen clock ticking throughout, the passage of time also being something of an underlying theme.

Learning How To Dive is as funny as it is tense, as heartbreaking as it is charming and, with this being LGBT History month, it’s not only a reminder of the effect years of discrimination had on a whole generation of closeted gay men who felt unable to be seen or live an open and authentic life, but also takes seldom seen angle from which to tell it’s story.

★ ★ ★ ★

Learning How To Dive is on at the White Bear Theatre from 10th February to 21st February. Tickets available here

review: Simon J. Webb

photographs: Pori Smith