After The Act Review - Royal Court's Unmissable LGBT Drama

The 1980s marked a period of significant adversity for LGBT individuals in the UK. The emergence of HIV and AIDS, first documented in gay and bisexual men, provoked moral panic and fuelled systemic discrimination. Simultaneously, Margaret Thatcher’s Conservative government introduced Section 28, a legislative measure that prohibited local authorities from “intentionally promoting homosexuality.” Its introduction had a chilling effect on education and public discourse, effectively erasing LGBT identities from view and reinforcing social stigma.

Now playing at the Royal Court, Section 28: The Musical engages with this history through an inventive and emotionally resonant theatrical lens. Co-created by writer performer Ellice Stevens and writer director Billy Barrett, the production draws on first person accounts to illuminate the human cost of the legislation. A four person cast plays 27 roles, shifting fluidly between characters with varied perspectives, from closeted schoolteachers to young people navigating self discovery. The tone moves confidently between satire and sincerity, with exaggerated depictions of public figures like Margaret Thatcher and Nicholas Witchell offering sharp political critique without undermining the play’s emotional weight.

Image by Alex Brenner

One of the production’s most affecting sequences features the cast using skipping ropes to accompany a monologue about growing up LGBT within the church. As the story darkens, the rhythm intensifies and collapses into chaos, leaving the stage littered with tangled rope and punctuated by silence. It is a stark and poetic representation of internal conflict and institutional violence.

Music, composed by Frew, plays a central role in the production’s storytelling. Several numbers are layered with competing vocal lines that blur the message and erupt into cacophony. At times, actors’ voices broke or rasped under the strain, diminishing the impact of key moments. With each actor portraying multiple characters, it became difficult to discern who was speaking and where the action was set. While the transitions were impressive in execution, they contributed to a sense of disorientation.

In contrast, Frew’s synth driven soundscapes during spoken scenes are melodic and atmospheric. These interludes enhance the dialogue and offer a welcome reprieve from the otherwise heavy musical intensity.

Image by Alex Brenner

The ensemble, comprising Stevens, Ericka Posadas, Nkara Stephenson and Zachary Willis, is consistently strong. Each performer demonstrates impressive vocal and physical range, shifting seamlessly between characters and emotional states. Willis stands out for his detailed characterisation and compelling accent work. Barrett’s direction embraces urgency and confrontation, mirroring the pressure of the material. However, the unrelenting pace occasionally restricts opportunities for emotional pause, which may lessen the resonance of certain scenes.

The performance I attended was impacted by technical issues, including two pauses due to microphone and sound problems. These interruptions were managed professionally but disrupted the rhythm of an already tightly wound production.

Image by Alex Brenner

Lizzy Leech’s set design evokes the environment of a school gymnasium, using benches, climbing frames and bookcases as versatile staging elements. These are rearranged with energy and imagination, reflecting the show’s themes of disruption and adaptation. Projections of archival news footage and cultural artefacts provide crucial historical context, grounding the piece in lived reality. The visual design balances playfulness with political weight, reinforcing the production’s central themes.

As a gay man who grew up in the late nineties and early noughties, I felt the echoes of Section 28 in the unspoken silences at school, in the absence of representation, and in the internalised belief that queerness was something to be hidden. Watching this production was both moving and unsettling. It forced me to reckon with how recent this history truly is and how its impact continues to shape lives long after the law was repealed. That resonance is heightened by the context of its staging. The Royal Court Theatre, located in the Borough of Kensington and Chelsea and under continuous Conservative control since 1965, becomes a stage not just for performance but for protest. Section 28: The Musical is not a polished production, nor is it always cohesive. But it is provocative, uncompromising, and unapologetic in its portrayal of trauma and resistance. I would recommend it without hesitation. It is a vital and necessary piece of theatre that embraces the messiness of its subject matter with conviction and power.

After The Act is playing at The Royal Court Theatre in Sloane Square until 14th June

Tickets are available at www.royalcourttheatre.com

Images by Alex Brenner