Image Credit: Poster for ULTRA.

There comes a point when talking about the future is no longer enough – you have to build it. That’s exactly what writer and director Gus Mitchell and creative producer Katurah Morrish are setting out to do with Forgery Collective, a new company born from a shared belief that ambitious, adventurous theatre deserves more time, more freedom and more imagination.

Their journeys into theatre may have begun in different places – Gus, fascinated by the stories, systems and philosophies that shape the world around us; Katurah, discovering the joy of experimentation through youth theatre before Cambridge, the Royal Central School of Speech and Drama and a career championing artists and audiences alike – but they meet on common ground: a conviction that live performance can challenge, provoke and create genuine human experiences.

Their debut production, ULTRA, premieres at Lanzarote Works on 2–3 July, thrusting six members of the ultra-rich into a luxurious bunker as the world outside teeters on the brink. Part philosophical thriller, part dark satire, it’s a play that asks unsettling questions about power, technology, inequality and what happens when those who believe they control the future are finally forced to confront it.

Away from rehearsals, you’ll find Gus seeking inspiration at The Horse Hospital, Close-Up Cinema and The Old Church in Stoke Newington, while Katurah champions grassroots culture through Actors East, Sister Midnight and Bold Elephant – spaces where collaboration, experimentation and community come first.

As Gus tells us, “Theatre at its best can really be an experience of magic,” while Katurah believes that “with enough willpower and collaboration, even the most unlikely visions can come to life.” We’d say that’s as good a reason as any to dive headfirst into London’s theatrical new wave. See ULTRA, back independent theatre, and discover the companies creating the city’s next chapter.

Let’s start with Gus…

Your writing often explores big questions about the future, power, meaning and the systems we live inside. Looking back, what were the earliest books, ideas, people or experiences that made you curious about those kinds of questions – and when did you first realise theatre might be the place to explore them?

My growing into an adult has coincided with all these ongoing collapses: the end of “the end of history” feeling that defined the 90s and early 00s, the end of a stable climate, and now of the “liberal international order” – and a lot of other things. So it’s been the background noise of my everyday life, and I can’t really tune it out. We’re living in the midst of overwhelming changes we can’t process. Whether you focus on tech and AI or the climate or transhumanism or changing global power structures…we know we’re living in big times, but that makes us feel very small more often than not.

It took me a while to see how theatre fit into that picture of meaning-making. I think I always saw life in general quite theatrically: people do what they do for reasons that aren’t natural, often quite contrived, we’re living by scripts a lot of the time, produced either by ourselves or other people. Theatre is the perfect medium for living these questions, because its starting point are those truths that in “real life” we have to pretend not to be aware of – all of this is kind of fake, we’re all acting, performing, and we could always perform differently, make up something new or different.

Brecht obviously made a big impression in thinking about that – Fiona Shaw in Mother Courage at the National Theatre in 2009 was a milestone play I remember seeing – and I directed The Life of Galileo as a student. And reading Peter Brook, too: he convinced me that a theatre piece should work on its audience in as many layers and levels as possible, access those innate imaginative capabilities everybody has innately. How often do you have a group of strangers together and you can try and give them a real experience that might feel new? I wouldn’t want to waste that opportunity.

Image Credit: Photo of Gus Mitchel, Forgery Collective, Writer and Director.

If you could quietly erase one piece of conventional wisdom from the theatre industry – something people repeat so often they’ve stopped questioning it – what would disappear, and what might emerge in its place?

I’d say on a practical level, I wish there was less of a financial concentration in buildings, and more investment in groups and ensembles. Most theatre achievements have come out of a dedicated collective spirit by small groups of people, whether that’s Shakespeare’s company or Brecht’s Berliner Ensemble or Moliere’s troupe or Commedia’s travelling players or even Ancient Greek drama festivals. There’s things you can do with consistent groups of actors or longer development that can lead to much deeper work. It’s not something the UK funding system encourages. I think at this point it’s something which artists who care about it have to re-create by and for themselves, because they decide it really matters too much.

I’d like to see artists assume more power, rather than feeling that they have to wait for gatekeepers to let them make ambitious work. I think there’s a focus on product over process, which I understand. Everyone is keen to make their first show, get credits, climb a ladder. We’re reaching a point where a play like this, or even just any full-length play, would be an anomaly in most fringe or indie theatres in London.

Forgery Collective talks about making “urgent new plays” in unexpected spaces. What gap did you feel was missing in London’s theatre ecology, and what kind of work are you hoping Forgery becomes known for over the next 5-years?

Our guiding idea is toward creating a kind of ecosystem of writers, directors, actors, technicians, designers and other interested artists who have investment in producing ambitious work and enjoy doing that in a collective spirit and with solidarity, pooling and sharing resources, contacts, support. (I think theatre could learn a lot from music scenes.) We want to try build a diverse, maybe a younger audience who are excited by new plays being written and made with them in mind, to speak to them and to how mad being alive at this moment in history is.

Because we have access to so much culture and “content” all of the time, it numbs us, and we feel we’ve seen everything. Theatre can and should push back against that more. I really do believe that theatre at its best can really be an experience of magic, where you see possibilities and worlds evolve and dissolve in front of your eyes, and you leave with a better sense of the infinite creative potential that’s always there in reality.

I’d say also that theatre needs to be a bit meaner, more intellectually alive and curious, more urgent. It needs to be less concerned with pleasing and more concerned with shaking its audience up a little bit, challenging them, believing that they are as hungry for sense and meaning as you are and making them work for it alongside you.

Image Credit: Cast in rehearsal for ULTRA.

At the heart of ULTRA is a group of ultra-rich people waiting inside a luxury bunker for something they don’t fully understand. What fascinated you about putting these characters under pressure – and what does the play reveal about power, fear and human nature when the future suddenly arrives at the door?

The impulse when I started writing the play was quite simple: what would it be like if the ultra-rich actually did go down into those bunkers we all know they’re building, in the apocalyptic “event” they so clearly expect (and WANT?) to happen? How long would they last? Then, how do I make that dramatic?

There’s a book by Douglas Rushkoff called Survival of the Richest which I read and was very helpful in defining how these people think: it’s a complete assumption of superiority over humanity, a sense of infallibility combined with a fatalism, a really closed picture of the world. He calls it “the mindset.” People like Musk, Thiel, Bezos, and even people less rich and powerful than that – they barely see themselves as human, they’re gods-in-waiting, that’s how they see themselves. These people are supreme under the current system, yet they act as though they have no power at all, as though the future of rampant AI and climate collapse and general decay is just inevitable. They have no positive human vision at all, only a technological one. But then, we’ve all become very prone to that kind of vanity and that fatalism ourselves – it’s the way we reconcile ourselves to the status quo.

In all the “eat the rich” films and bunker TV shows that’ve come out in the last few years, there’s always an outside element, some kind of comeuppance, that comes in and forces these people to reconsider who they are. I didn’t want that. I wanted to ask the same question, though: “What in the world would it actually take for these people to realise what and who they are, and what they’ve done?”

I hope in asking that the play also turns the mirror to us and asks how we have allowed ourselves to become so moulded in their image and by their whims. You’re probably not going to like these characters, but I hope something about them might feel uncomfortably familiar.

Run Riot is all about helping people discover culture and community. Could you recommend three of your favourite cultural places, venues or communities in London – and tell us what makes each one special to you?

The Horse Hospital – They put on genre-spanning, multi-artform events catering to every imaginable cultural niche and they do it week in week out. It feels like an unlikely survivor from a past London that was much more fun. See what they’ve got on this week, it’ll probably be weird and memorable.

Close-Up Cinema – One of my favourite London cinemas, especially for seeing classics on the big screen, which everyone should try to do as often as possible, I think. There’s few happier feelings than settling down in their tiny studio cinema for a 4 hour black-and-white Soviet movie set in the Middle Ages, and you know that everyone else there is just as up for it as you.

The Old Church – Stoke Newington: London’s only surviving Elizabethan church. A very blissful place to hear live music: ambient, klezmer, gongs, I’ve heard all sorts. Also – they’re currently fundraising to fix their sewage pipe, help them out!

Image Credit: Photo of Katurah Morrish, Forgery Collective, Producer.

Enter Katurah…

Every creative career has a few pivotal moments that quietly change the direction of travel. Looking back at your childhood, your years at Cambridge and your early twenties, what were the experiences that drew you towards a life in the arts? And which cultural influences have most shaped your instincts, taste and approach to making work today?

I’m indebted to my old youth theatre, Group 64, for much of what’s happened in my career. It was a total playground. Plays across every genre and period, and the chance to try acting, tech, directing, stage management and producing. Low stakes experimentation with a high exposure to all the many roads you could go down if you stayed on the wild ride of theatre and the arts.

I was also lucky enough to tour with Trinity Laban on a new writing piece as a teenager. I remember being struck by how little we travelled with, and realising you can make genuinely high-impact work with very little, given the right attitude.

Around the same time, I sent a bit of a wing-and-a-prayer email to the New Wimbledon Theatre asking if they’d take me for work experience. They did, and it was brilliant. A carousel of different departments, from creative teams to accounts and company management, and loved all of it. It fuelled a desire to be involved, no matter what and no matter how, just be involved in making live performances.

That spirit of experimentation and try-it-all carried through university in Cambridge and later at Central. On theatre tours I was often performing while also working as Education Officer, and I loved thinking not just about the production itself, but how to translate it into meaningful, engaging work for young people of all ages.

Working at the Coronet Theatre in West London as a skint graduate was another turning point. First, front of house, then in Development. It was a multi-artform jamboree with work from all around the world. It was brilliantly chaotic, deeply ambitious and totally mad. The vibe of that place has definitely stuck with me, that with enough willpower and collaboration, even the most unlikely visions can come to life.

In terms of my tastes and instincts, they’ve come from everywhere. I’m as influenced by classical actor training, literature and exhibitions as I am by gigs, nights out, and years of teaching buzzing seven-year-olds in drama classes. I’m drawn to work with big energy, and that’s the thread I hope I continue to follow.

You’ve worked across youth arts, independent theatre and major cultural institutions. What lessons have you learned about creating opportunities for emerging artists -and where do you think the industry still has work to do?

It’s a tricky question, and one I feel slightly under-equipped to answer, but from trying to make work in this dizzying climate, and from observing some of the brilliant organisations I’ve worked with, I’ve noticed a few common themes.

Practically speaking, access and flexibility are key. If people can’t take part, they don’t. Opportunities end up going only to those already in a position to say yes. It’s not a new idea, but it still feels incredibly urgent.

That’s partly about money and time. If an opportunity requires someone to stop paid work but doesn’t provide enough support to make that possible, it’s worth asking who that opportunity is really designed for, even if participation itself is free.

It’s also about where and how opportunities are advertised and delivered. If you’re not reaching communities your artform hasn’t historically engaged with, or your way of working isn’t accessible enough for different people’s needs, you’ll miss an enormous amount of talent.

Ultimately, art suffers when it becomes homogenous. Opportunities that actively welcome people beyond the established norms strengthen the whole ecosystem. I think the NT is doing brilliant work here, and hearing Yamin’s plans to reach more young people and emerging artists in new ways is super exciting.

As for the opportunities themselves, I’m a big believer in wide scope to imagine, with clear parameters to focus that imagination.

I was lucky to be a commissioned artist in Upstart’s DARE Festival a few years ago, and it got that balance exactly right. The brief was broad—pitch any kind of playable performance, on any subject, at any stage of development—but with practical constraints around what could be achieved. The application process was flexible in terms of format, they worked around people’s commitments, and provided seed funding for time and expenses.

That combination creates room for ambitious ideas without the paralysis of endless possibility, while giving artists the practical support to participate without sacrificing their finances or other commitments.

I had a similar experience during my residency at Canada Water Theatre. Shortly before my time there, I realised the project actually needed a series of workshops with schoolchildren before it could be staged. They trusted that instinct, embraced the change, and supported me to use the residency in the way that best served the work. That flexibility made all the difference.

Image Credit: Cast in rehearsal for Ultra.

One of the most striking things about Forgery is its commitment to giving artists more time, flexibility and ownership in the creative process. Why was that approach important to build into the company from the beginning, and what happens when people are given the space to make work differently?

The whole ethos of Forgery is to make the work fit around people’s lives, not the other way round. No one’s had to miss a shift or rearrange their life for the show, and that’s created a real sense of ownership, belonging and collaborative experimentation. It reminds me of making theatre as a student: something you chose to do because you loved it. The difference now is that everyone brings a wealth of experience, so every offer is rich with skill and generosity.

We’ve made this central to our practice because we believe the industry’s relentless pace of creation often comes at the expense of the work itself. We were lucky to develop the show through a flexible, drop-in workshop process, where creatives could come and play with new ideas without any expectation of a long-term commitment.

We also deliberately extended the rehearsal period to accommodate people’s other commitments. Because much of the company had already been part of the workshops, they arrived with a shared understanding of the world of the play rather than starting from scratch and developing the play at breakneck speed. Giving the work that extra time to breathe has created a depth and rootedness that I think audiences can really feel.

As Creative Producer, you’ve helped shape not only the production but also the conditions in which it has been made. What excites you most about ULTRA as a piece of theatre, and what do you hope audiences are still debating on their journey home?

ULTRA’s allure for me was in the ambiguity. The threads you pick up on are all recogniseable, but it never lets you rest in the safety of knowing exactly what’s happened. It feels a bit like interpreting the world at the moment, we all know many things are deeply wrong, but unpicking exactly who and how and where to start with it all in the cacophony feels almost impossible.

I think I want people to disagree. About all of it. I want audiences to leave with completely different interpretations of what they’ve seen, which themes resonated most, and who they sympathised with, or didn’t. It’s a tall order, but the kaleidoscope of narratives weaving in and out of contemporary anxieties, in the mouths of six unreliable narrators should hopefully trigger at least a bit of the argument on the overground home I’m imagining.

London’s cultural life isn’t just found in major institutions. Could you share three places, communities or grassroots initiatives that you think deserve more attention – and tell us what makes them special?

First, I want to shout out Actors East, who we owe a huge amount to as we workshopped and rehearsed most of ULTRA in their brilliant venues in Haggerston and Dalston. They’re champions of affordable rehearsal space and just all-round good people. If you’re trying to get work off the ground, look them up. They also programme wicked events and have a lovely café/bar in Haggerston, so if you’re local, go and say hi.

Second is Sister Midnight, a venture just about to get off the ground near me in Catford. They’re a community-owned music venue and radio station building a creative hub for Lewisham and across SE London. In their own words, they’re aiming to create a space for “belonging, solidarity and experimentation”. They’re fiercely democratic, rooted in grassroots practice, and it’s genuinely exciting to see it coming together. They’re also very close to hitting their funding target, so if you feel so inclined, do have a look and maybe chuck them a few quid.

Finally, Bold Elephant in Elephant and Castle. They’ve transformed a disused 1950s office block into a home for site-specific, immersive and devised work. 100% of their profits go back into supporting small independent companies and freelance theatre makers to have space to create. The whole thing grew out of Bold & Saucy Theatre, created by my old acting teacher at Central, Sarah Davey Hull. SDH was a maverick and a genius, and she tragically and unexpectedly passed away shortly after the venue opened. But her vision absolutely lives on, and I’ve no doubt the team will keep filling empty buildings with bold and saucy work.

Find Gus Mitchel at gusmitchellwriting.com and on Insta @gustopha_gus

Find Katurah Morrish @katurah-morrish

See their work → @forgery.collective

Forgery Collective present
ULTRA
Lanzarote Works, Dalston
Thu 2 Jul, 19:30 – tickets + info → dice.fm
Fri 3 Jul, 18:30 (includes workshop social) – tickets + info → dice.fm