We sat down for an exclusive interview with Christopher McElroen, director of Our American Queen at the Bridewell Theatre 9 Jan – 7 Feb.
Our American Queen is the forgotten story of Kate Chase, the most influential woman in 19th century American politics before women had the vote. Circumventing lack of opportunities for herself, Kate became a strong supporter of her widowed father’s three attempts – and failures – to achieve the presidency, which would have made her acting First Lady.
How did your understanding of Kate Chase evolve during the development of Our American Queen, and how did that shift influence your directorial approach?
Going in, I understood Kate Chase as a woman of extraordinary intellect, political skill, and social grace — all of which is true. But the deeper I went into the work, the more I saw the young woman underneath the public persona, someone who, despite her brilliance and ambition, simply wanted to be seen and loved. That realisation shifted my entire approach. Instead of directing from the outside — the history, the politics, the grandeur — I began directing from the inside out. At its core, Our American Queen isn’t a political drama; it’s the story of a woman searching for recognition, affection, and a place to belong. Once I understood that, everything else started to fall into place.
In bringing a largely forgotten historical figure to the stage, what artistic choices did you make to ensure Kate’s story resonates with a 21st-century audience?
We’ve certainly made some design choices — particularly in the sound and video — that gently pull the piece toward a contemporary sensibility. But ultimately, what makes Kate’s story resonate today isn’t the design; it’s the universality of her journey. At its core, Our American Queen is a timeless story about the desire to be seen — not just by society, but by one’s own family. It’s about awakening to what unconditional love is, and realising how much damage can be done when it’s withheld. Those are 21st-century concerns just as much as they were 19th-century ones. So while the world around Kate is historical, the emotional landscape is profoundly modern. That’s where the connection happens.
The play highlights pressures on women that feel both historical and contemporary — how did you navigate that duality in tone, pacing, and staging?
The play begins in a very formal, recognisably 1860s world — in language, behaviour, and social ritual. That structure matters, because it shows how rigid the expectations around Kate are. But at a certain point, we allow ourselves some theatrical interventions that gently pull the story forward rather than trapping it in the past. That said, whether the frame is historical or contemporary, the human struggle at the centre doesn’t change. Kate’s need for love, recognition, and acceptance — from her father, from the men around her, from the country itself — is timeless. The staging and pacing are really about letting the audience feel how those pressures accumulate, until they’re no longer abstract or historical, but deeply personal and immediate.
Given your work with the american vicarious often reframes American narratives, what drew you to Kate Chase as the next subject through which to reflect America back to itself?
Kate Chase sits at a fascinating intersection of power and erasure. She was central to American political life, shaping events and perceptions in real time — and yet history ultimately wrote her out. That contradiction felt very relevant to me. Through Kate, we can look at how ambition is encouraged, punished, or redirected depending on who holds it. Her story allows us to reflect on how America remembers — and forgets — and how often the contributions of women are absorbed into the myth of great men rather than acknowledged on their own terms.
How did you collaborate with Wallis Currie-Wood to shape a version of Kate Chase that is both historically grounded and emotionally immediate?
Wallis is an artist who requires very little direction in the traditional sense. Her preparation is meticulous, her instincts are strong, and her choices are always within the frame of the world we’re building. My role has largely been about trust — trusting her intelligence, her emotional precision, and her ability to hold contradiction. Rather than shaping the performance from the outside, the work has been about creating the conditions for her to do what she does best: inhabit Kate fully, with the confidence to take risks, fail in the rehearsal room, and discover the character from the inside out.
What do you hope audiences reconsider — about political ambition, gender expectations, or American memory — after witnessing this chapter of Kate Chase’s life?
At its core, the play is a very human story about how easily we destroy the things we love. If you love something — or someone — tell them. Protect it. Kate’s story isn’t a cautionary tale about ambition so much as it is about the cost of withholding love, approval, and honesty in the name of power, principle, or legacy. That feels as relevant now as it ever has.