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After the Act tells the story of the UK’s Local Government Act of 1988, specifically Section 28: the infamous legislation which banned local authorities from “promoting homosexuality”, leaving teachers afraid to discuss it or even to disclose their own sexuality. It was repealed in 2003 — a very long 15 years for any young people needing to talk. It’s the sheer cruelty of that fact that pierces through this fizzing, raucous, deliberately chaotic piece of theatre, composed from archives and interviews with activists, teachers and school pupils at the time.
Premiered at the tiny New Diorama Theatre in 2023, the script by Billy Barrett (who also directs) and Ellice Stevens (who also performs) charts the build-up to the legislation: the attempts by local councils to introduce anti-discrimination policies, the parental outrage — keenly stoked by sections of the media — that children might learn about same-sex relationships, and the vehement homophobia in public discourse. The Sun newspaper reports a vicar threatening to shoot his teenage son if he has Aids. Vitriolic headlines roll across Zakk Hein’s video backdrop and ugly political exchanges slice back and forth across the stage. Particularly shocking is one MP’s approval of an arson attack on a gay newspaper headquarters.
Barrett and Stevens go at all this with a buzzing mix of music, mischief and mayhem, blending satirical agitprop and camp spectacle. The show is underpinned by the 1980s-influenced score composed by Frew, played live, by Frew and Calie Hough, on synth and drums. The multitasking four-strong cast (Stevens, Ericka Posadas, Nkara Stephenson and Zachary Willis) clamber round the set, using school hall furniture — benches, blackboards and gym stools — as props, turn some of the most obnoxious headlines into mocking chants and re-enact famous protest acts, culminating, spectacularly, in the moment when lesbian activists abseiled on to the floor of the House of Lords.
The performers bring a potent mix of wit and burning anger to the stage, though in places the tongue-in-cheek style, frenetic energy and soundtrack undercut the impact or obscure the words of significant speeches. Details are lost in the maelstrom. Indeed, the most powerful moments are the quietest, movingly delivered by the cast, as the piece charts the destructive impact of the act on individuals.
We hear testimony from LB, whose church attempted to “release” her from the “demons” of her “abnormal sexuality”, leaving her retching, shaking and terrified of sex. We hear from Catherine, a teacher so petrified of losing her job that, when a desperate sixth-former sought her support, she turned her away — a moment that haunts her still. Perhaps most heartbreaking is Ian, shy, diffident, hideously bullied at school, who hesitantly admits that he tried to kill himself. The legacy of the act, he says, was “complete and utter denial of enabling someone to be who they fundamentally are”.
Culture wars have casualties. For all its exuberant defiance, After the Act is a serious and timely reminder of that fact.
★★★☆☆
To June 14, royalcourttheatre.com
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