What happens when the end of the world becomes a local affair? That’s the question lingering in the air as I reflect on Prophets, Jack MacGregor’s latest play. Personally, I think MacGregor has a knack for turning distant, often overlooked corners of the globe into stages for humanity’s most pressing questions. From the desolate research base in Nightlands to the militia-ridden Mali of Everything Under the Sun, MacGregor’s work feels like a cartographer’s dream—or nightmare, depending on your perspective. But Prophets takes a different turn, anchoring itself on the fictional island of Saint John, a British Overseas Territory in the South Pacific. What makes this particularly fascinating is how MacGregor uses this isolated setting to explore faith, power, and the allure of apocalyptic thinking.
At the heart of the play is Kerris, a Scottish researcher played by Rebecca Wilkie, whose curiosity about the island’s religious practices feels almost as urgent as her official mission to study ancient plant life. Welcomed by Joe, a former merchant seaman portrayed by Xander Cowan, Kerris quickly senses that something is off. The nightly church services, led by an enigmatic figure known only as the prophet, seem to be more than just spiritual gatherings. From my perspective, this setup is ripe with tension—a clash between scientific inquiry and religious fervor, between the past and an imagined future.
But here’s where things get intriguing: as the play unfolds, it becomes clear that the real drama isn’t just on the island. Kerris’s own backstory, hinted at but never fully revealed, suggests a personal fascination with charismatic leaders and the trauma they can inflict. One thing that immediately stands out is how MacGregor keeps this backstory hazy, almost as if to mirror the ambiguity of faith itself. Is Kerris drawn to the island because of her research, or is she seeking answers to her own unresolved past? This ambiguity, while frustrating at times, adds a layer of complexity to her character.
What many people don’t realize is that plays like Prophets often serve as mirrors to our own anxieties. The island’s cult-like atmosphere, with its rewritten Bible and end-of-days rhetoric, feels eerily familiar in an age of conspiracy theories and doomsday predictions. If you take a step back and think about it, the play isn’t just critiquing cults—it’s questioning why we’re so drawn to them in the first place. Yet, this is where Prophets falls short. By keeping Kerris on the outside looking in, MacGregor misses an opportunity to delve deeper into the social forces that make apocalyptic thinking so appealing.
A detail that I find especially interesting is the play’s treatment of the British empire’s legacy. Saint John, as a fictional Overseas Territory, feels like a relic of colonial rule, its slow-moving administrative machinery hinting at a larger, unseen power structure. What this really suggests is that the island’s isolation isn’t just geographical—it’s political. The cult’s rise could be seen as a rebellion against this lingering colonial presence, but the play never fully explores this angle. Instead, we’re left with the uncontroversial takeaway that cults are dangerous, which, frankly, feels like a missed opportunity.
If there’s one thing Prophets does well, it’s capturing the tension between the personal and the political. Kerris’s journey, though incomplete, reflects a broader human struggle to make sense of chaos. In my opinion, the play’s greatest strength lies in its ability to spark questions rather than provide answers. What does it mean to believe in something—or someone—when the world feels like it’s falling apart? And at what point does faith become a form of control?
As the curtain falls, I’m left wondering if Prophets is less about the end of the world and more about the worlds we create to survive it. The island’s cult, with its rewritten Bible and elusive prophet, feels like a microcosm of our own fractured realities. This raises a deeper question: are we all, in some way, waiting for the end of days? Or are we just searching for meaning in a world that often feels beyond our control?
In the end, Prophets is a play that lingers, not because of its conclusions, but because of the questions it leaves unanswered. Personally, I think that’s where its true power lies. It’s not a perfect piece, but it’s a provocative one—a reminder that sometimes, the most important stories are the ones we’re still trying to understand.
