After the Act – Royal Court Theatre

Picture: Alex Brenner

After the Act continues at the Royal Court Jerwood Theatre Downstairs, London until 14 June 2025.

Star rating: four stars ★ ★ ★ ★ ✩

Nearly 40 years ago, a seemingly innocuous decision by a Labour-controlled local council to treat gay people as equals resulted in protests that escalated to the highest levels of government. The inclusion of educational material that dared to suggest “gays and lesbians” (and, although unstated, bisexual and trans people) existed and weren’t demons was met with parental protest, whipped up by the tabloid media and resulted in front bench politicians talking about “perversion”.

The resultant legislation, known colloquially as Section 28, prevented local authority-maintained schools from “[promoting] the acceptability of homosexuality as a pretended family relationship.” Coming into force in 1988, it was not repealed until 2003 (although Scotland’s equivalent, Clause 2A, was repealed in 2000).

Devised theatre company Breach delivered After the Act in 2023 at the New Diorama Theatre, two decades after the repeal. After a UK tour in the autumn of 2024, the production arrives at the Royal Court. It’s a rare transfer into the space that usually focuses on brand new writing, but Breach’s work was David Byrne’s bravest commission when he was artistic director of the New Diorama, and it feels appropriate to celebrate that in his first season in post at the Court.

Despite the name, this verbatim piece, culled from personal testimonies, news reports and documents, spends much of its time – indeed, most of Act I – looking at the build up to the creation and passing of the legislation. There are a couple of protest events that break through to the wider world, especially an invasion of the BBC Six O’Clock News studio and the abseiling into the House of Lords. Both the scenes are re-created here, with the show kicking off with newsreaders Sue Lawley and Nicholas Witchell reacting to their unexpected visitors.

It’s not actually the best start, being one of the more unsuccessful attempts to combine verbatim theatre with music. But with plenty more opportunities to showcase this particular genre, Frew’s music grows from here, giving a sufficient 1980s vibe to the work.

The cast of four, led by original cast members Zachary Willis and Ellice Stevens (the latter of whom co-writes with director Billy Barrett) and joined by Ericka Posadas and Nkara Stephenson, chart the journey of the legislation from multiple viewpoints, from parents and politicians to pre-Section 28 schoolchildren growing up adrift because, however much Conservative campaigners suggested otherwise, they had no guidance about gay and lesbian life anyway. The closest we see is a teacher getting angry because when the legislation comes in she may not be able to discuss A Streetcar Named Desire properly without touching on Tennessee Williams’ own sexuality and how that manifests in his characters.

With Act I focusing on the build-up to the Local Government Act’s establishment, Act II has the freedom to focus on the effects since. Although it starts with Stevens reimagining Margaret Thatcher’s October 1987 Conservative Party Conference speech, in which she said that children are “being taught that they have inalienable right to be gay” as a sequin-clad, disco ball-infused dance number, much of Act II is necessarily more serious, as we hear verbatim stories about the effects the act had.

So we hear the story of Catherine (also Stevens), introduced as a student in Act II and now a PE teacher herself, who is spotted by a student at the local gay bar and, out of Act-induced fear, does her best to push the young girl back into the closet (a subplot whose story also inspired the 2022 film Blue Jean). We also meet Ian (Willis), whose homophobic bullying goes unaddressed by teachers, resulting in a suicide attempt at school. LB, another character first introduced in Act I, talks and sings about first coming to terms with being attracted to girls, and then coming to terms with their own non-binary gender identity – and through all this, being forced into what is euphemistically called “conversion therapy”, but in their experience is little more than physical and emotional torture.

As Act II develops, After the Act falls into a much more coherent and musically sound structure than the jumble of freneticism that characterises Act I. While the events leading up to Section 28’s repeal aren’t gone into, we do hear testimony from the same real-life characters and their views of the Act’s legacy. That brings the conversation round to the similarities between the homophobia that built up in the years before Section 28 was introduced, and how that is paralleled in the attitudes towards trans people in today’s world.

It’s telling that what felt like a really powerful expression in the play’s debut in 2023 now feels muted and just a drop in the ocean, that the parallels need to be reinforced far more than they are.

But as the musical winds time back to two weeks after the Act was enforced and a huge protest march that took place in Manchester, the euphoric message of unity in the face of oppression shows us the musical’s true message. Out of adversity and oppression comes unity, strength and resistance. This time round, we need to learn that lesson before it’s too late.

Scott Matthewman