Ros Watt answers our questions ahead of Trans People Are Awful heading to the Edinburgh Festival Fringe

Trans People Are Awful is a pitch-black comedy thriller about identity, shame and the stories people build around themselves in order to survive. Set in a garage in North-East Scotland, the show follows a young trans man attempting to document his own twisted “perfect transition” through increasingly grotesque acts of violence. The show asks what happens when marginalised characters are only permitted to be sympathetic or inspirational? We chat with writer and performer Ros Watt about conversation starters, the fun in playing the bad-guy, and showing up for our community

Let's start with the obvious: your show is called Trans People Are Awful. What are people's immediate reactions when you tell them the name?

Ah. Panic mainly. It’s funny because when I started making the show back in January, I was a really non-passing trans person, so people immediately upon meeting me could tell I was queer and probably trans as I had a high voice but a flat chest etc. So I used to get an ‘oh interesting’ reaction, where allies were wanting to support my decision to make something so ‘political’ or ‘brave’ or ‘topical’, while also being a little worried to jump to support the title.

However mid-way through the process, I started to be read as a cis man in certain environments which shifted people’s response to me saying the title, to the extent where I now say the name with an immediate caveat of ‘oh it’s about a trans guy who…’ and ‘because I am trans’ and ‘it’s a dark comedy!’.

The title makes people uneasy, which I love. Every day on social media, we all read language about trans people that is so heinous and dehumanising to the point that everyone is almost immune to it. There’s something about just stating the subtext of what people are saying online plainly - ‘trans people are awful’, I’m amused by it and more than that, it’s a conversation starter which was always my main aim. Let’s talk about it.

What's your experience been when auditioning for roles as a trans man? Have you been told you are only wanted for the morally good characters?

I’ve never been explicitly told I’m only wanted for the morally good characters but undeniably there is a noticeable pattern. I have a typecast of ‘vulnerable young boy’ which, don’t get me wrong, I find fun most of the time, however it is somewhat limiting.

I have had one experience where I was seen for the role of a murderer and was told that they didn’t want the first trans person within the series to be a murderer as they worried what that was saying about trans people as a whole. And it really struck me. It highlighted how much I really am always the good guy in my work, but I adore playing the bad guy! Something has to shift.

I completely understand that if we look back at trans representation in the 80s/90s, trans people appeared in the media as being weird or scary or dangerous, and it’s so important and positive we moved away from that. However, I believe the pendulum has swung too hard the other way, and until we acknowledge that trans people have as much capability of being terrible as anyone else, we will never have authentic, nuanced representation.

Humans will always do terrible things. We are at a point where one trans person will commit an absolutely heinous crime, and everyone jumps on it as evidence of why trans people as a whole do not deserve the right to live freely. I am attempting to open this conversation. Trans people are awful, not because they are trans, but because people are awful.

The character in your show, Boy, is a terrible person doing terrible things. Do you want the audiences to end up caring for him?

Hmmm, it’s difficult. He’s a truly heinous person with absolutely corrupt logic and a huge ego to go along with it. Wanting them to care for him might be the wrong word. I want the audience to be able to somewhat empathise with the situation in which he finds himself. I want them to be able to understand what led him to do these terrible things and hold themselves to account in how they might be able to avoid situations like this happening.

Boy wants all of the things humans inherently want the most - love, community, feeling worthwhile; these are all relatable feelings, and I hope the audience find themselves able to look through the crimes and start to analyse what drives him to behave this way and care that his circumstances were so bleak.

The show has opera, dance, an axe from Facebook Marketplace and a lot of fake blood. What's the strangest thing you've had to figure out in rehearsals?

There’re so many strange moments to the point that I’m often sat wondering if I’ve completely lost the plot and pondering what I’m doing with my life. I think nothing is stranger than sitting alone in a basement rehearsal room with prop amputated genitalia and just figuring out how to use them best. Those are the real check in with myself moments.

You also perform as a drag king called Strange Little Man and came second in Europe's biggest drag king competition. Does Boy share any DNA with him, or are they kept firmly apart?

I find it almost impossible to detach myself fully from my characters and my work. So maybe Ros is the middle-man between Boy and Strange Little Man. I am not these characters, but we all share the same neurodiversity and how we are in touch with the world and our way of holding madness.

Strange Little Man is my most confident fun-loving version of me. If he has something to say, he isn’t afraid to say it. Whereas Boy is absorbed and powered far more by my madness and is the most self-conscious, paranoid version of me. I made characters I love and want to hug. Maybe that’s their connection to one another - first in line for a hug from me.

You grew up in Scotland, and the show is set in a garage in the North-East. How much of home made it into the piece?

A lot. Possibly too much. It’s only since moving to London that I have been able to begin to understand my hometown and the way it operates. Small towns can be so intense and bizarre to live in while simultaneously being incredibly slow moving and stuck in its way of being.

This is far from a critique of Inverurie. In fact, in many ways my show is a thank you to the area. I didn’t move away from the North-East till I was 24. It held me there. Ten minutes walk to the middle of nowhere. The sports centre. The Morrisons.

All of my work has sat and grown in me for many years, and it blooms entirely from me living in Inverurie, working in a care home for 7 years, and standing barefoot in the River Don with a heron.

What do you want people to be thinking about on their way out of the show?

I want people to be thinking about the pressures of representation and what that means. But more than that, community. How can we show up more for our community? How many of our neighbours do we actually know? It’s that classic thing, we all want a village but how many of us are a villager?

Trans People Are Awful will be performed at 3:20pm at Pleasance Courtyard from 5th – 31st August. Booking link: https://www.pleasance.co.uk/event/trans-people-are-awful