Fringe First award-winning playwright Jack MacGregor is preparing to premiere their brand-new work ‘Prophets’ at the Edinburgh Fringe 2026. A dark psychological thriller that explores the interplay between faith and cult, and set on the remote and rocky outpost of Saint John, ‘Prophets’ is about the limits of justice and the search for hope in a world of darkness. We sat down for an exclusive interview with Jack to learn more about the show.
Prophets will premiere with Assembly Festival at the Edinburgh Fringe 2026, with
performances at Assembly Roxy’s Roxy Boxy, 17:45 05 – 31 August (not 12, 17 or 24-Aug).
Prophets explores faith, control and psychological unraveling—what first drew you to set that story within a remote colonial outpost?
I’m really interested in settings that can be viewed as remote, I’m always seeking them out, most of my plays happen in unexpected places like this. Of course these places are at the centre of the character’s world and so the hook is an invitation into this place – the promise of something new and unexpected for audiences. In the case of Saint John, it’s a deep dive into British (and American) imperial legacies in the South Pacific, and the role of faith and cult in isolated communities.
Britain still claims multiple overseas territories, these places are not only strange relics of our colonial system and history, but have been known to operate as areas of legal ambiguity – places of extradition, imprisonment, corruption, and worse. The setting of an island under the control of a developing religious sect is also a bit of an homage to one of my favourite films, the Scottish folk horror classic The Wicker Man (1973) – and Prophets is in many ways an inversion (evolution?) of that kind of archetypal cult story.
How did you approach building the tension between belief and manipulation as Kerris becomes increasingly entangled in the island’s sect?
I sat down and wrote parables. Making the theology of the cult feel consistent and
developed has been the biggest challenge of the process. I initially was pulling from Gnostic Gospels but have since shifted to pulling from real life cargo cults and esoteric sects, some of them in the west (Branch Davidians, Heaven’s Gate, People’s Temple) and more global examples like the Moonies or Aum Shinrikyo. The unnamed cult at the heart of this play has written a third testament to the Bible centered around a figure known only as The Prophet. This fictional scripture is cited within the text itself, foreword, and possibly in production elements themselves. Kerris comes from faith herself – we find that out early on – and her outlook jars sharply with the islanders’ view of religious doctrine. Kerris’ position as a researcher invites curiosity and draws her deeper into the rituals of the island, not fully aware of the danger she is in until it’s too late.
The play sits between political thriller and psychological horror—how did you balance atmosphere with character-driven storytelling?
I view the changing style of my work as a progression from being interested in writing about systems more towards writing about the people trapped in those systems. Nothing is more important than the people in the room – including the room itself, people haven’t come to hear a story about how interesting a room is. I’ve learned to say less, to ditch most of the research unless the characters need to say it, and even then to let a lot go unsaid. Context is not more important than drama. I think this is my most sparing play in terms of political dialogue, it’s far more a character study between Kerris and Joseph – the first islander we are introduced to. Their strained relationship, their lack of trust, that is at the heart of Prophets; two people in a room and one wants the other to speak.
What does the idea of a “Day of Paradise” represent to you, and how did it evolve
during the writing process?
Some cults have an endgame – either utopian or apocalyptic, either way it seeks to bring about a transformation of the world. This endgame often justifies every extreme action done in the name of that belief system. The Day of Paradise is no exception. It’s the ultimate ticking clock for a drama, having the literal day of judgement approaching, the rapture that may actually (or may not) be about to happen. When you think of the stakes like that, then anything is justified from the perspective of the cult in charge of Saint John. I think we are naturally drawn to this rather intoxicating idea that we live in remarkable times that have never been seen before, or think that we ourselves might live to see the apocalypse, and it’s very interesting how this seems to repeat over and over again throughout history, with every generation thinking they are living through the end of days. Why are we so convinced the world will end in our lifetimes? Why do some people want it to end? I’m really interested in those questions.
As a piece of Scottish new writing premiering at the Edinburgh Festival Fringe, how
does place and identity shape the voice of the work?
Prophets sits within a niche of Scottish ‘island plays’ that were made prominent in the
90s/2000s by the likes of David Greig and Zinnie Harris, who I consider to be the closest
influences to my writing. It’s probably also not a coincidence that I grew up reading these playwrights and being inspired by them as a teenager finding my love for writing. I want to contribute to the canon of internationalist Scottish drama that steps out into the world and connects our small corner of the globe with everywhere else. For entirely understandable reasons, a lot of our literature in the past decade has been concerned with looking within Scotland and at Scottish identity, but I think audiences still want the invitation to somewhere they haven’t been before. When I write about Scotland I like to bring this perspective and seek out the strange and unfamiliar parts of our national landscape; the forestry estates of the Black Isle, the service stations along the A9, a sports bar in Elgin. I think about plays like Gagarin Way by Gregory Burke placing the action in an electronic warehouse in Fife – the best dramas are found in the margins.
Your work often explores systems of power and moral compromise—what feels
distinct about Prophets within that wider thread?
There’s an exchange in the play that gets to the heart of this question, I really don’t want to spoil it but it plays people vs systems off one another. One of the advantages of the structure in Prophets is its approach to time and setting, spiralling between scenes on the island and scenes back in Scotland. This split story allows us to get into scenes late and get out of them early. It allows for details to be revealed in a nonlinear sequence – we know something terrible has happened on the island, we just don’t know what yet. You use the term moral compromise, I think that’s the promise of all drama, I wish I could make a claim to be super cool and unique in exploring that but sadly it’s Ibsen who really nailed that, all I can do is try my best! Prophets is a weird mix of ideas that have sat with me for years; faith, memory, politics, pain. I’m trying not to give too much away but this play feels the most human and in some ways the most personal. It asks: what gives us the strength to keep going – is it God, is it other people? Where do we find that strength when all we have is ourselves?