Jerker Review: sexual fantasy and comfort during the AIDS epidemic
29 September 2026 | 19:30 | Waterloo East Theatre, London
⭐⭐⭐ | PR - Invite
The cleverness of Henry Adams’ production of Jerker, Robert Chesley's 1986 two-hander play, is that the less it becomes about sex, the more intimate it feels.
We enter London's Waterloo East Theatre to an unmistakably 80s soundtrack. Madonna's Like a Virgin, Sade's Smooth Operator and a stream of familiar hits immediately locate us in an era gone by. Onstage, two beds establish the separate worlds of JR and Bert, with Bert asleep and turned away from us as we take our seats.
Paul Dennison's JR and James Lee's Bert conduct their relationship almost entirely by telephone. Their conversation begins as a series of explicit sexual fantasies, but it gradually reveals something considerably more tender: two men finding genuine connection during the AIDS epidemic when intimacy itself became frightening.
Dennison and Lee are both excellent, committing completely to Chesley's world while finding humour and vulnerability beneath the sexual bravado. Crucially, they really listen to one another. Despite rarely occupying the same physical space, their reactions, pauses and growing familiarity make their bond feel remarkably real.
Adams, alongside assistant and intimacy director Alice Camarota, finds considerable invention within an intentionally limited theatrical vocabulary. Two beds, two telephones and a table do not offer a lot of staging possibilities. Yet receivers are balanced against chins and shoulders, aerials extended and bodies twisted around pillows as each man attempts to maintain both the fantasy and phone connection.
At 90 minutes however, the limitations of that form begin to show. Some of Chesley's sexual dialogue start to repeat a dramatic point already established. Occasionally, these venture into deliberately uncomfortable territory for a live audience, while others simply feel longer than the story requires. This is how JR and Bert connect, and yet we begin to wish that this time had been spent in allowing us a further glimpse into the men away from their fantasies.
This frustration may be part of Chesley's vision, as we learn that the men aren't quite the anonymous strangers they appear to be. JR has met Bert in the real world, but enjoys the secretiveness of their arrangement. When Bert suggests he say hello next time, JR's answer is empathetic: "Never in a million years". The telephone isn't simply facilitating sex, it is providing protection.
This makes the moment Bert asks "Can we just talk?" particularly poignant. He tells JR about a friend seriously ill in hospital. And for the first time, JR begins engaging with the real Bert opposed to the eroticised version in his head. JR soon reveals his own history of serving and being injured in Vietnam, with his limp, crutch and military tags giving the character a physical history. Dennison's masculine, soldier-like presence contrasts effectively with the vulnerability he extends to Bert.
This is where Jerker is at its best. Lust develops into friendship, affection and a unique semblance of love, without Chesley ever requiring these men to share a bed. Jonathan Simpson's lighting beautifully supports this transition and divide: JR is often warm, and almost glowing, while Bert becomes increasingly cold and washed out when illness reaches their relationship with frightening speed.
One of the production's most affecting moments is also its simplest, as JR abandons sensuality and tells Bert a bedtime story of two princes and a man made of magic and music, journeying through a forest before falling asleep in one another's arms. It is surprisingly tender, and now reverts the overly sexualised portrayal of gay men in the media.
The 80s soundtrack continues through the story, carrying us through the darkness and passing time, while the frequent use of telephones take on a weight beyond their initial comic awkwardness. And Adams wisely allows Chesley's final scenes to speak for themselves.
Jerker is explicit, somewhat repetitious and deliberately challenging in convention. Its restricted conversational form doesn't sustain the full 90 minutes, but when the sexual illusion drops, the play reveals something deeply human. Dennison and Lee contribute to this painfully realist progression that combines carnal relief with emotional relief, and what it means when somebody needs you to listen.
Jerker plays at the Waterloo East Theatre until Sunday 18th October: https://www.waterlooeast.co.uk/jerker
