
‘It is absolutely, fundamentally not autobiography': Chris Bush on her new play about the trans experience
A few years back, Chris Bush, the 38-year-old playwright from Sheffield, was working on two projects pretty much simultaneously. One was called Faustus: That Damned Woman, a radical, gender-switching retelling of the Faust myth (the deal-with-the-devil guy), which she was producing with the groundbreaking Headlong theatre company. It was, she was sure, the best piece she had ever written. 'In my mind, because it's Faustus, it's proper literature, so I was very excited,' Bush recalls. 'I was already being a dickhead, going: 'Oh yeah, this is the thing that's going to transfer into the West End. And win me my first Olivier.''
The other show was a jukebox musical drawing from the back catalogue of singer-songwriter Richard Hawley. The Crucible in Sheffield had already started selling tickets for the show, but the narrative of the play was a disaster and director Rob Hastie called in Bush a few months before opening to do a page-one, conceptual overhaul of the existing script. 'Maybe this sounds grand,' she says, 'but my energy coming into it was a bit: 'Oh, I'm doing a favour for a theatre that I love dearly and respect, and a director who I respect and love dearly, to try to get this show on.''
Bush laughs: she couldn't really have been more wrong. Faustus: That Damned Woman opened at the Lyric Hammersmith in London in 2020 to lukewarm reviews; there was talk of a UK tour, but that was scuppered by the Covid pandemic. The Hawley musical, meanwhile, which she rewrote in a wild, sleep-deprived month, went on to tick off all her career ambitions and has become something of a modern classic. Standing at the Sky's Edge, which follows three generations of residents in a Sheffield housing estate, started life at the Crucible in 2019 before transferring first to the National Theatre in 2023 and then to the West End last year. At the 2023 Olivier awards, it earned eight nominations, winning two, including best new musical.
'Throughout my career,' says Bush, 'the things that have been, 'Oh it's a [meeting over] coffee that I don't expect to go anywhere' have happened to be the things that have snowballed and become the really special ones.'
Remembering this lesson makes Bush nervous. Her latest play, Otherland, has just opened at the Almeida theatre in north London. Bush has been working on it for almost eight years and it is, she believes, the most ambitious, technically daring and certainly the most personal piece she has ever written. The idea of it fizzling out would be heart-wrenching. 'Hopefully we can break the cycle,' she says, smiling. 'Because in my head, I've set up Otherland to be absolutely transformative in terms of the impact it is going to have. So I hope it can be what I'm building it up to be in my head.'
Otherland begins with the break-up of a young couple, Harry and Jo. The snippy back-and-forth of the separation will probably be familiar – such as the pass-agg dividing of the CDs (though gen Z-ers might be bemused by this detail) – but the reason for the rupture is specific: Harry wants to come out as a trans woman and Jo struggles to deal with the change. The rest of the play follows their divergent paths, told through conventional dialogue but also in musical interludes and surreal, allegorical flights of fancy. Harry embarks on her journey, an often-tortuous navigation of practical hurdles, such as toilets and applying for a new passport, to broader challenges of acceptance and relentless questioning. Jo tries to live off-grid, but meets a new partner, Gabby, and has to decide if she wants to be a surrogate mother. Very different experiences, but, in Bush's deft hands, also not.
The jumping-off point for Otherland is a familiar scenario for Bush, who has long, dark hair, centre-parted, and wears a necklace of a paper boat. 'It is absolutely, fundamentally not autobiography,' she says, over coffee in a cafe around the corner from the Almeida. 'It is not a true story of me. However, yes, I was in a long-term relationship for the best part of a decade, which did end. And actually there is quite a lot of me in elements of Harry, a trans character. There is, I'd say, almost nothing, or as little as possible, of my ex in the character of Jo. Which felt like the responsible thing for me to do as an artist, because I can write about my own experiences and trauma and, actually, I'm not interested in getting into anybody else's.
'But one of the tragedies,' she goes on, 'which is touched on in the show, is that one of the reasons I finally felt able to come out after so long was because I felt like I was in a stable and loving enough relationship and that this was going to be fine. Then it very quickly wasn't. And that was, you know, as difficult as one might expect it to be.'
Bush came out as a trans woman not long after her 30th birthday. Already an established playwright, she felt there was an expectation to immediately focus on gender identity in her work. But Bush was reluctant to do so, partly because she felt uncomfortable at that time writing about herself, but mainly because she didn't want to be pigeonholed.
'Then also, because it's fucking terrifying, actually,' Bush adds. 'Even in London, even in the arts, why would I invite that into my professional or public life? You know, I'm a playwright: no one gives a shit about playwrights, ultimately. But being able to see that any trans woman or any trans person with any public profile only has to say the most innocuous thing to immediately get virtual and real-world hatred. Why would you sign up for that yourself?'
The idea of entering the bear pit that is the public discourse on trans issues is clearly still scary for Bush. This is the first newspaper interview she has given where she has spoken about gender identity and her own personal experience, and she weighs her words carefully. Bush is also keen to tread gently with Otherland.
'I didn't want to write an angry play,' she says. 'For reasons that I thoroughly understand and quite often feel myself, there is a lot of anger and a lot of rage and a lot of blame in work made by trans artists. I've been in audiences before where it does just feel like you get told off for 90 minutes and told that you should feel bad about yourself and your choices. But this show is really a plea for understanding for womanhood of all different types and shapes and sizes and forms.'
At the same time, though, Bush wants to make sure that Otherland counts – and makes a difference. By her calculation, if all the tickets sell in the four-week run, about 10,000 people will come to the Almeida to see it. Whether she likes it or not, she has become a spokesperson for a group that is the subject of endless debate but makes up a very small part of the British population. 'There might not be another play written by a trans woman this year, this decade, this whatever, of this prestige and at a venue like the Almeida,' she notes. 'So even if you don't sign up for it, you are put in a position of representing more than just yourself.'
Bush sighs: 'So yeah, you know, pressure.'
The potential for theatre to move hearts and minds clearly drives Bush and Otherland. 'My most naive belief is that theatre really does have the capacity to change the world in a way that no other artistic medium does,' she says. 'Theatre is a machine for empathy. You sit in the dark with a group of other living, breathing people watching other living, breathing people who you know are real. And you watch a world that is like yours, in some cases, maybe very like yours, or it might be very, very different. And you get an insight into another world or a character or a point of view. And that is how things start to change.'
Bush has always had a deep attachment to the theatre. Her mother studied drama in the 1970s and wanted to be an actor, but ended up in teaching; her father trained as an architect but did backstage theatre work as a hobby. When Bush was a teenager, Michael Grandage was artistic director of Sheffield Theatres and it was a golden age for a young dramaturg in the city: Joseph Fiennes played Edward II and Kenneth Branagh was Richard III; you could scarcely leave the house without bumping into Derek Jacobi.
Sign up to Observed
Analysis and opinion on the week's news and culture brought to you by the best Observer writers
after newsletter promotion
By this point, Bush was already writing. When she was 13, she entered the National Young Playwrights festival, a competition for writers aged 12 to 25. Her play, a gritty piece of social realism called Harsh Reality – which was, she now accepts, somewhat at odds with her own upbringing – won a prize and was performed by professional actors. Bush studied English at York University and wrote plays that the drama society took up to the Edinburgh fringe. 'I spent quite a lot of time trying to be Tom Stoppard when I was figuring out what kind of a writer I wanted to be,' she says. 'Turns out, that's quite hard.'
Most of these shows sank with little trace, but then Bush had a brainwave: 'What sells in Edinburgh?' she asks. 'Things that are in the news sell and musicals sell.' In 2007, her final year at York, she wrote TONY! The Blair Musical, a rock opera that reimagined the Labour leader as an Eva Perón figure and included a barbershop quartet of former Tory leaders. The show, which had previews in York two weeks after Blair stood down, had a sell-out run at the fringe and then a week at the Pleasance in London. 'We hit this tidal wave of publicity,' says Bush. 'I really thought I'd made it.' A comic pause: 'Then nothing happened for about five years.'
Around this time, Bush was in flux personally. 'I wasn't one of these people who knew from an extremely early age who I was,' she says. 'But certainly from my early teens, I had a very, very clear idea of who I was. Or who I would like to be, if I had any say in it. Which I didn't feel like I did at the time.'
Part of the issue was that Bush didn't know any trans people to swap notes with. Also, the recurring narrative of those that did come out was that they were so desperate, even suicidal, that they had no choice but to start hormone therapy. 'And I was going: 'Well, I'm not being who I want to be, but I'm not suicidal. Therefore, I can't want this enough.' I spent years, decades, telling myself: 'If I just leave this alone, it will eventually go away.' And this is not a great long-term strategy.'
When eventually Bush did come out, there was not much fallout, aside from the relationship break-up. 'Broadly, people are indifferent to loosely positive,' she says. Her parents were understanding and the writing work kept coming. After doing community shows in Sheffield, she made a punchy adaptation of Pericles at the National in 2018 that had a cast of 230. 'Has the National Theatre ever felt as open, compassionate and heartfelt as this?' asked the Guardian's five-star review. Then, the same year, there was another eye-catching project: The Assassination of Katie Hopkins at Theatr Clwyd in Wales, which imagines a near future where Hopkins is killed and posthumously becomes 'a Diana of the far right'.
Bush – who now lives in south London with her partner Roni Neale, a stage manager and writer, and their two cats – remains one of Britain's busiest playwrights: in 2023, she opened a near-impossible eight shows. 'I'm not down the mines, but I still live with an absolute fear of the work drying up, because anything in the arts feels precarious,' she says. 'And also, I'm not from inherited wealth. I pay my bills through writing theatre, which puts me in such a rarefied position. I do think it's important to talk about money, because theatre becomes such a middle-class pursuit, and is, generally speaking, entirely populated by people who don't make a living out of it. Because you can't really make a living out of it.'
The discussion of money could be timely. After Otherland, Bush hopes to kick on with a television adaptation of Standing at the Sky's Edge, which is in development with Red, the production company that made It's a Sin and Happy Valley. She thinks there's a pretty solid pilot and would like to write all the episodes. 'It will be a very, very different thing, which I hope will still have the spirit of the original,' says Bush. 'Trying to contrast some slightly knowingly kitsch, big old MGM musicals, people cartwheeling down the balconies, versus those quiet moments of heartbreak, which is such a fun challenge. If we get to make it – touch wood – then it will be incredibly exciting.'
Bush finishes her coffee and is needed back at rehearsals for Otherland. She has been very specific about casting on this run and others going forward: the eight actors had to be female; the play should never be performed by an all-white ensemble; and Harry must be played by a trans woman, in this case newcomer Fizz Sinclair. 'I'm not a religious person at all, but theatre is the closest thing I have to a spiritual experience,' says Bush. 'Particularly in a space like the Almeida, which really has a very sacred feel to that auditorium, that you gather and bear witness to something.
'Theatre is extremely special,' Bush continues, as we part ways. 'I want to do a couple of TV series to buy a house. But theatre will always be the thing that I want to do the most.'
Otherland runs at the Almeida theatre in London until 15 March
Hashtags

Try Our AI Features
Explore what Daily8 AI can do for you:
Comments
No comments yet...
Related Articles


Daily Mirror
4 hours ago
- Daily Mirror
Love Island star recalls how she delivered baby sister at home with shoelace
EXCLUSIVE: Love Island 2025 star Alima Gagigo has opened up about the extraordinary moment she delivered her baby sister at home - and she's determined to make a difference in the villa Love Island stunner Alima Gagigo is already making headlines - and not just for her villa debut. In a story that's as jaw-dropping as it is heartwarming, the 23-year-old Londoner has revealed she once delivered her baby sister at home using a shoelace to tie the umbilical cord. The incident happened in January 2020, just before the COVID-19 pandemic took hold. Speaking exclusively to The Mirror, ahead of the brand new series kicking off on Monday June 9, Alima shared the extraordinary moment that proved she's not just reality TV-ready - she's resilient under pressure, too. 'Yeah! It was back in January 2020. My sister's a COVID baby,' she said. 'It was just me and my mum at home, and the labour was 15 minutes. I had to tie the umbilical cord with a shoelace while on the phone with paramedics. It was scary but amazing looking back.' Alima is a wealth management client services executive living in Glasgow. Now, the educated beauty is swapping emergency home births for bikinis and bombshell drama in the sun-soaked Love Island villa, and she's determined to make a difference while doing it. Representation, she says, is front and centre. '100%. When I watched the show last year, seeing girls like Whitney made a difference,' Alima told us. 'If I can be that person this year, it could give confidence to others who might want to go on the show in the future. Representation really matters.' Alima, who describes her hair plans as 'glueless wigs - closures instead of frontals,' is stepping into the ITV2 spotlight following in the footsteps of fan favourite love island star Whitney Adebayo, who starred on the 10th series joining as a bombshell. And it turns out Whitney's already showing love for her fellow Islander. 'I actually didn't know that - this is the first time I'm hearing it!' she said when told of Whitney's online support. 'I follow her and absolutely loved her journey. As another dark-skinned woman, I could really relate. Maybe she supports me because she knows what I might be going through.' The support from her circle has also been overwhelming, with her family cheering her on from the sidelines. 'Everyone's buzzing! Friends and family are super excited. My mum was especially excited - taking pictures and everything when she dropped me at the airport!' And while Love Island's latest season is already making headlines - ITV bosses recently confirmed they won't shy away from showing sex on screen if it happens - Alima admits she is 'going to stay true to myself.' 'On the outside, I don't really do that kind of thing, so I don't think I'll be getting up to much in the villa either.' That down-to-earth energy is exactly what fans are already loving. Alima, who says she's 'not really anxious' about how she'll be perceived as a Black woman on the show, is focused on being authentic. 'Seeing girls like Whitney and Mimii [Ngulube] last year who were themselves and came across amazing gave me confidence,' she added. 'I want to be fully myself, regardless of stereotypes.' She's not afraid to laugh either - especially when it comes to her biggest dating ick. 'Honestly, if someone rapped or sang to me and it was bad - I wouldn't know what to say. If it's good, then fair enough, but if As the 2025 series kicks off with a fresh group of hopefuls and more drama promised than ever before, Alima is clearly more than ready to hit the villa. Catch Love Island every night at 9pm from Monday 9 June on ITV2 and ITVX


The Herald Scotland
12 hours ago
- The Herald Scotland
Chilling future of a UK where women can't carry a pregnancy to term
But that would mean missing out on a novel that's as captivating as it is chilling, a study of a teenage girl coming of age in an utterly changed world that, like her, is still finding its feet. This post-apocalyptic tale from the Aberdeenshire-born Heather Critchlow takes place a few decades in the future, after the outbreak of a disease that isn't just worse than Covid, it's worse than the Black Death, furiously contagious and killing everyone it infects. The government's attempts to speed along production of an effective vaccine have failed. They can only come up with one plan to safeguard the future: gathering up trainloads of children who haven't yet been exposed to the virus and transporting them to secure camps in the countryside. Marianne is the government's press secretary, and also the Prime Minister's secret lover. However, her loyalty falters when she learns in cabinet meetings that the vaccine is ineffective, and she goes completely rogue after being approached by a shadowy stranger who informs her that places in the camps aren't being allocated fairly but going to those whose parents can pay – and that sometimes the trains aren't even full. The Tomorrow Project by H Critchlow (Image: free) Horrified, she takes part in a clandestine effort to smuggle children aboard using her government ID. The very last of them is seven-year-old Maia. So a kid from a tower block in south London is smuggled into a group of privileged children to spend the next ten years in a fenced-off, self-sufficient compound. No one leaves or enters, and the gates are gradually choked with vines as nature reclaims the surrounding land. With no communication with the outside world, they could be the last humans on Earth. Life is geared towards survival at all costs, and after a decade the community's morale is waning. No one has been able to carry a pregnancy to term, and crops are failing due to the soil becoming exhausted. The prospect of this last spark of humanity dying out, combined with Maia's compulsion to return to London and seek out her old home, strengthens her resolve to head out into the unknown. With its echoes of the 1970s TV series Survivors, Critchlow's careful world-building frames Maia's own coming-of-age story. Although the camp is united in its sense of loss, the world they're mourning is one that Maia was wrenched out of when she was still too young to understand it. "Her memories are blurs and half-truths, mythology she spins from the pieces." Read more Her bond with boyfriend Finn, the first friend she made in the camp, and now her first love, isn't enough to fill the void left inside her by the loss of her mother and her childhood home. Critchlow's two crime novels to date have been good, but she really comes into her own here. The undercurrent of bleakness is never quite dispelled, but rays of hope shine through the darkness as Maia soldiers on, determined to make some kind of life for herself. Once she hits the road, Critchlow's immersive depiction of the relationships and politics of an insular, fearful community is left behind, replaced by the sobering imagery of the world outside its gates, where humanity's works are being swallowed up by nature faster than anyone imagined, evoking feelings of terror but also a powerful sense of mystery and wonder.


The Courier
15 hours ago
- The Courier
How Dundee mum Christina learned to love her 'bigger' body through burlesque
Most of us had a Covid hobby and, for Dundee mum Christina Hutton, it was joining a burlesque group. The carer joined Marvelesque – the city's largest group of burlesque performers – shortly after restrictions lifted in 2021. 'I walked in, and I genuinely have never looked back,' she says. 'It's been one hell of a journey – but it's been such a good one.' Four years later, Christina has not only discovered a 'family' (Marvelesque director Tequila Rose is now her baby's godmother), she also, for the first time, has embraced her plus-size body. The 30-year-old mum-of-two explains: 'The biggest thing for me is the positivity that Marvelesque brings. 'I'm a bigger girl, and for a lot of my life, the word 'fat' has been used. 'But in Marvy (Marvelesque), that's not a thing. It's not an obstacle. There's no judgment. 'We're lots of people with lots of different shapes and sizes. 'We all get to go on stage and dance and have fun. 'As a group, it's a totally safe space. 'In terms of body positivity, it helped me find a confidence that I probably would never have found anywhere else in my life.' Christina, who is mum to Lucas, 14, and Noah, seven months, has always loved performing on stage. But she says the world of dance and theatre is not always 'inclusive' of all body types or disabilities. 'I grew up in musical theatre,' she says. 'Then I had my eldest son when I was 15, so I just stopped. 'But there was always a thing in theatre that if you didn't look a certain way, you could never get a certain part. 'It's not inclusive in quite a lot of ways, in terms of people's body shapes. 'It's the same with dance. There's always been this image that dancers have to look a certain way. 'And burlesque isn't like that. Burlesque genuinely accepts all body shapes, all body types, all abilities and disabilities.' 'We will take anybody in. We can adapt dances for people who maybe can't do some of the moves that others do.' Christina says that, in recent years, social media has made it easier to find authentic body representation. But it wasn't always that way. She adds: 'In my life, I've not really seen that, so it was just good to find a home in burlesque. 'I can get on stage and I can make people cheer and woo, and appreciate me for who I am.' But Christina is not the only one who has found a sense of belonging through the dance group. Marvelesque, which is led by 'Burlesque power couple' Blair Watson and his fiancée Tequila Diamond, has around 50 members. The burlesque group meets at dance studio Showcase The Street in Stobswell, Dundee, once a week for rehearsals. 'They support you through absolutely everything,' Christina says. 'They're there through the highs, they're there through the lows. 'We have a group chat, and if you're having a bad day, you ask for a photo of somebody's pet, and you get bombarded with 40 pictures of everybody's animals. 'Or if you're having a really big life event – I had a baby seven months ago, and that was a huge part of Marvy as well. 'The Marvy people came to my baby shower and performed for me.' Christina, who has performed on stage several times with Marvelesque, has also discovered a new side to her personality. Her stage name is Ruby Le Bast. 'Christina and Ruby are very different people,' she says. 'What Ruby does on stage is not what Christina would do in real life. 'We all have stage names, and finding your stage name is a journey within itself.' So what's the story behind Ruby Le Bast? Christina explains: 'Ruby is obviously a red jewel, and red is one of my favourite colours. 'But it's also named after my boyfriend, who is called Robbie. 'When we were in Amsterdam, he kept getting called Ruby – and I thought it was the funniest thing in the world. 'So when it came to me choosing my burlesque name, Ruby just felt right. 'Bast is after the Egyptian goddess of dance, pleasure and cats. 'And I love cats – I'm a total cat person. 'And the 'Le' just connects them together. 'So Ruby Le Bast was born.' Not only do burlesque stage names help performers 'step into character' when they take the stage, Christina says they also serve as a layer of protection. Many of the Dundee artists use them to maintain privacy and keep their burlesque persona separate from their day-to-day lives and professional careers. Right now, Christina and the Marvelesque crew are rehearsing day and night ahead of the Dundee Burlesque Festival. The two-day event, which is expected to attract around 150 visitors, will take place at Bonar Hall and The Barrells this weekend. It will feature a series of workshops as well as a 'big burlesque show' on Saturday night. The burlesque festival, which is the only one of its kind in Dundee, has been running for three years and is the group's biggest annual production. It's one of three major events organised by Marvelesque this year. The group hosted a sold-out Roaring 20s-themed event in March, and will mark their 10-year anniversary with a Halloween party in October. Christina says: 'I've got my first solo on Dundee Burlesque Festival, which was really exciting. 'And that's going to be one hell of a show. We've got people coming from worldwide. 'We've actually got somebody coming from New York to perform in Dundee, which is absolutely insane when I say that out loud.' In addition, Burlesque dancers from Finland and England are expected. So what does the future hold for Ruby? 'I think in terms of burlesque, we have the diamonds, which are our performers who travel,' she says. 'They do a lot of things at the Edinburgh Fringe Festival, and they're constantly back and forward, up and down the country, performing where there's a stadium. 'They get hired out and things like that. 'That's what you want to work up towards in Marvelesque. 'So, I don't know, maybe Ruby could be a diamond at one point as well. 'That would be smashing.'