Alan Cumming: The Disruptor in the Hills

Fully aware of the task ahead, and the challenges of funding, identity, and taking over at Pitlochry Festival Theatre, Dominic Corr speaks to the new Artistic Director about ambition, Scottishness, and the joy of a very large foyer filled with friends.

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The Zoom window flickers to life—predictably, stubbornly—and after the ritual tech-juggling that has become the universal handshake of our times, Alan Cumming is present, ready, and only once pausing to admire a rainbow out of the window from the 22nd floor in Manchester. Stopping to chat with us before returning to film a new Russell T Davies series. Yet despite the schedule, the fatigue, the geographical distance from Perthshire, Cumming radiates something both chaotic and sharply focused. It’s exactly the energy that has, in the space of a year, begun reshaping Pitlochry Festival Theatre.

The new season, spoken in hushed tongues and whispered around many a drinking table, has landed. And with what cannot be overstated enough, an almighty crash and approval. Gossiped about for months, argued over with colleagues, anticipated with equal parts excitement and trepidation, it’s now public, and Cumming is finally able to talk about it.

“I’ve just felt this great wave of support,” he says, settling back. “I was presenting at the Scottish BAFTAs and as I left the stage someone said, ‘We’re all so supportive of what you’re trying to do at Pitlochry,’ and the whole room cheered. I was bracing myself for negativity—but it’s been overwhelmingly positive.”

Bracing, of course, because his first major act as Artistic Director was to dismantle the theatre’s deeply ingrained repertory system. A decision like that can turn a hero into a villain before he’s even moved his toothbrush into the dressing room. But Cumming is matter of fact about it.

“It wasn’t financially viable anymore,” he explains. “Yes, I was the catalyst, but it was also the logical step. I’m not doing anything to be clever for the sake of it. Everything has been thought through.” If disruption is required, then he will disrupt. But never for show; for the craft. Cumming’s vision for Pitlochry operates on two planes simultaneously: outward to the international stage, inward to the local community. The duality is deliberate. The balance is carefully held.

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Scotland, Stagecraft, and Self-Belief

“I’ve been very conscious of reaching out to high-profile people and bringing in big titles,” he says, “while also going round town talking to hotels, local businesses, the community. I want people who’ve never been inside Pitlochry Festival Theatre to feel invited. Not intimidated.” There is a subtext running through this season: Scottish theatre’s self-image. Its confidence—or lack of it. It’s something which has reached a boiling point; a conversation too few of us want to have, but one which Cumming slams right onto the table. For all our extraordinary artistic output, Scotland’s institutional theatre culture is young. Barely adolescent. The National Theatre of Scotland is not yet old enough to have a pint in most states of America.

“I think Scotland sometimes doesn’t believe in itself as much as it should,” Cumming reflects. “We have this incredible, unusual theatrical style—the variety influence, the panto DNA, the open dialogue with audiences. It’s exciting. But you only see it clearly when you’ve been away.”

Being away is something he knows intimately. Yet his return is not nostalgic. It’s strategic. And Pitlochry, he insists, is the perfect lever. “It’s got this beautiful legacy, incredible facilities—the workshops, rehearsal spaces, the amphitheatre—so the roots are already strong. What I want to do is graft something forward-looking onto that.”

One of the more audacious ideas is already in motion: major productions being developed in the Highlands before heading to the world’s stages. It’s not just about international fame. He’s actively nurturing Scottish talent too. Finn den Hertog, who’s directing Lear, takes a central focus, and new writers provide a genuine spark, and (without spoilers) seem to be steadily making roots within the theatre – waiting for their moment in future seasons. With Scottish premieres, new writing, familiar faces and fresh talents, the season contains something for everyone: from Once to My Fair Lady, a return of A History of Paper to Douglas Maxwell’s Inexperience, it’s very safe to say that where the magnificent Studio space recently re-opened in Pitlochry is producing some of Scotland’s best new-writing, this next chapter is set to elevate it. Pitlochry continues to evolve from the new heights to which Elizabeth Newman, the theatre’s previous Artistic Director, lifted it: a place where risk is supported, talent is cultivated, and the unexpected is welcome.

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The Foyer That Refuses to Sit Quietly

If Cumming has a favourite part of the theatre, it might just be the foyer: a cavernous, glass-fronted, too-often quiet space overlooking the Tummel

“I spend more time in the foyer than anyone working behind the scenes,” he laughs. “It’s huge. It’s beautiful. And for years it’s been underused. I keep saying: we’re missing a trick.”

So he’s filling it. With ceilidhs. With community gatherings. With winter crafts, exhibitions, and new festival activity. A bridge between the cities and the Highlands. A cultural migration. A brand-new festival-within-a-festival. It is, in every sense, ambitious. And where better to play host to a festival which Cummings opens up to discuss the need to hear “Queer stories celebrated”, in a world where the news is too full of cynicism and attempts at villifying groups. The upcoming Out In The Hills festival is set to do just that.

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A Disruptive Force—In a Good Way

“I know I’m a f**king whirlwind,” Cumming admits. “The finance director said, ‘Alan, you have too many ideas.’ And a board member called me ‘a disruptive force—in a good way.’ Which is fair. I’ve come in like a Tasmanian devil.” said with a grin, all mischief.

“But look—when those cultural ideas begin to happen? When the foyer is alive, when new writers are being staged, when international artists are making work in Pitlochry? That’s when the chaos becomes worth it.”

There is something infectious in Cumming’s enthusiasm: not naïve. Certainly not delusional. Just stubbornly hopeful in a sector that has been forced into a defensive crouch for too long. And perhaps that is what Pitlochry—and Scottish theatre at large—needs most. Not another lament for funding shortfalls. Not another polite season of respectable programming. But a jolt of energy. A shake-up. A disruptive force with a smile.

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