Backing and Belief — How to Support Queer Theatre

BokFest producers Josh Maughan and Freddie Acaster met in 2020 after being rejected at a drama school audition. (Thanks Guildhall!) Six years later, they’ve just closed the biggest season of their professional lives, presenting eight shows across four weeks and supporting over forty creatives and performers — in 30 degree heat. With a unique approach to producing fringe theatre with a specific LGBTQ+ focus, we asked them what drives their company, Springbok Production House, and why early-career infrastructure is so important.

When we started Springbok Production House, we didn’t really know exactly what producing was. We knew we loved theatre, we knew we wanted to tell queer stories that felt honest, surprising and a little bit unruly, and we knew those stories weren’t receiving the platforms they deserved. The rest, we figured out as we went. Thankfully, people backed us before we had all the answers.

One of those people was Phil Bartlett, former Artistic Director of the Hope Theatre. He saw something in us long before we’d earned it — whether it was potential or just two friends having a go — and gave us a platform. Looking back, that belief changed everything. It’s something we think about a lot now because producing, or at least the kind we’re interested in, is really just that: believing in people before everyone else does.

This June we wrapped up BokFest 2026 — the second edition of our queer new writing festival, demonstrating what happens when artists are properly supported. Too often in fringe theatre, writers are expected to produce, market, fundraise, rehearse and design all at once, which makes the process inaccessible for early career creatives. We know that reality because we’ve lived it ourselves. So when we built BokFest, we wanted to remove as many of those barriers as we could.

Sometimes the most valuable thing a producer can do isn’t find money (although it certainly helps), it’s answering the texts, trekking the props across London, handling the challenging emails or ensuring the posters are printed on time. We’ve also learnt that friendships and networks are just as important as budgets. The ability to call someone for advice, celebrate a breakthrough, borrow a prop, or honestly debrief after a difficult rehearsal is invaluable. Theatre has always been collaborative, but the queer theatre community feels especially generous.

Queer theatre deserves to be expansive. When programming this year’s season, we didn’t  just want stories about coming out or trauma — important as those stories are. We wanted messy, authentic and joyful narratives from every corner of the community. As a company, we’re increasingly interested in asking what an accessible, inclusive and exciting repertoire looks like today. How do we transform classic texts through a contemporary queer lens? How do we create work that feels artistically ambitious while remaining genuinely welcoming to audiences discovering fringe theatre for the first time?

Looking back at this year’s festival, what we’re proudest of isn’t the sold-out performances or the growing reputation of BokFest. It’s the conversations downstairs in the pub afterwards, the directors meeting writers they want to work with again, the audience members saying they’d never seen themselves reflected onstage quite like that before. Those moments remind us why we started Springbok in the first place.

We hope BokFest is only the beginning for these incredible plays and the brilliant people behind them. If the last few years have taught us anything, it’s that queer theatre doesn’t need fixing — it needs backing. And if we can be the people offering that belief, just as others once offered it to us, then we reckon we’re doing something right.

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