Written by Jack MacGregor

Directed by Fraser Scott

Review by Dominic Corr

Assembly Roxy

There’s a danger with Fringe buzz. And few, if any, came close to that surrounding Jack MacGregor’s Prophets.

A trio of the country’s best: MacGregor, Fraser Scott (director), and Leah Byrne (producing). A sold-out run, the recipient of the Assembly Festival ART Award, and enough previews and buzz to fill the posters – there is, justifiable, pressure on this to succeed. And boy, does it all pay off even if you need to let the dust settle first.

Quickly, Prophets quickly establishes itself as a magnetic, deeply unsettling piece of new Scottish writing. Penned by MacGregor and staged under the taut direction of Scott, this atmospheric thriller plunges the audience onto a tiny, remote British Overseas Territory, where a solitary researcher arrives to investigate an isolated community bound by strict, insular faith. What begins as an awkward cross-cultural meeting gradually morphs into a suffocating psychological standoff, as digging beneath the island’s pious surface reveals the chilling mechanics of an escalating cult. Framed by Emma Moran’s stark, texture-heavy design -where dark grit underfoot and precise, harsh lighting build an inescapable sense of dread – the atmosphere is thick enough to cut with a knife. But that might be the sweat of the Roxyboxy.

Powering this intense narrative is a pair of astonishingly committed central performances. Benefitting from performing a single role, Rebecca Wilkie anchors the story as the determined investigator, bringing a fiercely focused, unbreakable resolve that hides her own internal fissures. She finds a terrifying sparring partner in Xander Cowan, who delivers a masterclass in physical versatility, slipping from character, accent, and physicality with fluid ease. Seamlessly shifting between an awkward, eager-to-please islander and the deeply intimidating, stuffy civil servant, and the sinister figure of the community’s spiritual leader, Cowan’s sudden transformations send genuine shivers through the space.

Where the production stumbles slightly, however, is in the sheer density of its thematic ambition. MacGregor’s narrative attempts to grapple with an enormous array of heavy concepts – from religious extremism and systemic manipulation to trauma, grief, and the precarious road to emotional recovery – all crammed into a relentless sixty-minute runtime. But, for a debut at the Fringe, it pierces with a terrific light of the future. In attempting to parse so many monumental ideas in such a restricted timeframe, several pivotal character revelations and dramatic turns feel somewhat rushed. Because the vast, off-stage population remains an abstract concept rather than a fully realized presence, the final, tragic climax loses a fraction of its potential emotional punch, leaving the audience wishing the piece had been given more room to breathe and expand; even ten minutes or so.

Even with its narrative overstuffed, there is no denying the raw talent and sheer dramatic force pulsing through this production. It is a bold, gripping work that announces its creative team as major theatrical talents, delivering a thoroughly thrilling hour that keeps the heart hammering in the chest.

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