Review: After The Act, Royal Court Theatre

It’s finally happened! I’m now so old I’ve officially lived long enough to see theatre made about events I’ve taken part in. After the Act, written by Billy Barrett and Ellice Stevens, is described as a musical based on highly controversial legislation from the 1980s that aimed to ban the “promotion” of homosexuality in schools, otherwise known as Section or Clause 28.

You’d be right in thinking this isn’t a very jolly subject for a musical, a genre often accused of trivialising everything it touches. But this is hardly a musical in the conventional sense, nor is it simply a play with songs. Given that it’s a selection of meticulously researched verbatim contemporaneous accounts of the Act and its consequences, this is more of a musical documentary.

At times this works well, particularly when the five-strong cast (Ericka Posadas, Nkara Stephenson, Zachary Willis, Calie Hough and Ellice Stevens) relate the touching stories of those who were scared, brave, oppressed, or empowered to act by the legislation. Stevens, in particular, demonstrates a precise comedic nerve, while Willis’s delivery of Ian’s heartfelt confessions really resonated and had me reaching for the Kleenex. Posadas and Stephenson breathe life into the lesbians who famously chained themselves to a camera during the BBC’s main six o’clock news bulletin. It was genuinely refreshing to hear these long-stifled voices brought to life with such empathy and energy. The range of selected voices is generally wise and judicious, and I’m sure many audience members found their own experiences eerily echoed by those on stage.

Setting direct testimony to music with few edits, however, is even messier than it sounds, and the result is messier than a cake thrown at a clown. The musical setting is rumbustious and largely suits the atmosphere of anger and protest, but not without problems: important words are sometimes lost, and accounts from those who introduced, supported and implemented the law are presented almost verbatim.

In the first act, I really struggled to sit through an extended scene that gave voice to the concerned parents who supported the Act’s repression. As someone who lived through hearing those loud and prominent voices at the time, it made for uncomfortable and unnecessary listening, and too many opportunities to lampoon and ridicule them are missed. Taking the stage means making art, and making art means making choices. I became exasperated when what felt like the entire House of Commons debate on the issue was set to music, just before the interval. Given that most of these opinions were steeped in loathing and ignorance, they hardly warrant repeating. Political debates do not make great lyrics, and the writers criminally miss opportunities to intervene and irrevocably puncture the speakers’ poisonous pomposity.

My wish was partly granted during the opening of the second act, however, which starts with what can only be described as a “Disco Thatcher.” Here, setting her harmful rhetoric to music serves to ridicule her, and this seemed to satisfy the crowd, though again, the absence of queer voices offering a counterpoint felt like an inexcusable missed opportunity.

That said, the show develops significantly in the second act. It draws explicit parallels with contemporary struggles over gender diversity and recognition, lending the show modern relevance and helping to resolve its somewhat clumsy structure. Despite the chaos, the show wraps with a clear moral stance, a rousing call to arms, and heartfelt tribute to those who put their lives in peril for the greater good.

Directed by: Billy Barrett
Music by: Frew
Choreographed by: Sung-Im Her
Costumes & set designed by: Bethany Wells
Sound design by: Owen Crouch
Lighting design by: Jodie Underwood
Video design by: Zakk Hein
Music supervision by: Martin Lowe

After The Act plays at the Royal Court Theatre until Saturday 14 June.