‘Just let us audition’: UK transgender actors appeal to be cast in non-trans roles
Kim Tatum dreams of playing Norma Desmond, Sunset Boulevard’s exquisite former star of silent films. Mariah Louca longs to perform as Dangerous Liaisons’ evil schemer Marquise de Merteuil. And for Reece Lyons, it’s the monstrous ambition of Lady Macbeth that makes her the ideal role. But, until attitudes within British theatre shift, it’s unlikely these talented performers will get to play their dream characters. Despite their skill, training and accolades, trans women just don’t seem to get cast in cisgender roles.
“I have never seen a trans woman on stage play a mother or a love interest,” Offie-award-winning Lyons says. “Why don’t we come to mind for that?” Lyons is sitting on a low couch in a light-streamed room across from Tatum and Louca. Frustrated with the constant obstacles they face in the industry, the three actors are calling for trans women to be put on an equal footing for cis roles.
In 2019, the performing arts and entertainment trade union Equity called for more casting directors to consider trans actors for non-trans parts. But from the experiences of this intergenerational trio – and the anecdotal accounts of their trans community actor friends – that hasn’t happened. “We just want to have the chance to audition,” explains Tatum, who also performs under the name Mzz Kimberley, “to prove we are just as good as our cis counterparts. Things have drastically changed since I began my career in the 90s, but the industry is reluctant to take a chance on us.”
Ten years ago, it was not uncommon to see cis performers play trans roles on stage and screen. The industry has largely now acknowledged this isn’t acceptable. Yet for many, this is where the conversation has become stuck. “The formalities have been ticked off, like respecting pronouns,” Lyons explains. “But transphobia still comes out in casting processes. We are only ever invited under very specific terms and conditions to play trans women.”
Consequently, trans performers struggle to find consistent work. “You can’t have a sustainable career within theatre if you’re only going to play trans roles,” Lyons says. There just aren’t enough parts. The failure to audition trans women for cis roles is a refusal to truly see them as women.
For a long time, this wasn’t something Louca had to deal with. Until the age of 40, she didn’t disclose that she was trans to the industry. “I didn’t want the world to for ever pigeonhole me as a trans woman rather than just a woman,” she says. “Of course, it has its dangers and its downsides, but it was wonderful to just be seen as the woman I’ve always known myself to be.” On stage, Louca was cast in a liberatingly wide variety of roles. “I’d been playing mothers and queens and wives,” she smiles, “and I didn’t want that to change.”
In 2019, around the time Equity made its statement and the National Theatre held a two-day trans casting conference, it seemed the conversation was shifting. Casting directors Louca spoke to said the industry actively wanted trans voices, so she made the tough decision to disclose. “I did get busy very quickly,” she says carefully, “but it’s already slowed down. And it’s moved me into the casting bracket of exclusively trans roles.”
Auditions for cis parts are far more rare, Louca finds, and the majority of trans roles she’s been seen for have put trans agony at the forefront. None of the three are against playing trans roles, so long as that’s not all they’re considered for. Lyons talks with pride about performing in Travis Alabanza’s one-woman show, Overflow, in 2020 as Rosie, a trans woman who talks to the audience from a club bathroom. But being seen almost exclusively for trans roles reduces them. “Trauma is often all we’re given to perform,” Louca says. “Why would I want to relive that?” Even with trans roles that supposedly seek authenticity, transphobia can creep in: one director told Louca that she wasn’t cast for a part because she “didn’t look trans enough”.
Tatum, who performed in Young Jean Lee’s 2021 satire Straight White Men at Southwark Playhouse in London, echoes this point: “Many don’t understand that being trans or non-binary isn’t new. We’ve always been here. As a community, we were pushed underground for years. But when a marginalised community finds their voice, there’s always someone trying to knock them down with false propaganda.”
To help bring about more opportunities and greater equality for trans women, Louca believes there should be quotas in place. “If there’s 20 people auditioning, audition two or three trans people,” she suggests. Demonstrably increasing the numbers of trans performers considered for non-trans roles would enable more performers to build sustainable careers, develop more talent for our stages, and help influence attitudes among audiences. “Casting directors, producers and directors are deciding our narrative,” says Tatum. “But when you give trans women more visibility on stage and screen, it helps society understand us more.”
In October 2023, hate crime against trans people hit a record high in England and Wales. “I went through years of not being able to breathe [in public],” says Tatum. “I hid under large glasses and a baseball hat.”
Fuelled by the desire to claim back the narrative – as well as responding to the lack of opportunities they are seeing – Louca and Lyons are developing their own work. Louca is writing a police thriller for TV that she wants to star in. It’s had significant interest, but she’s struggling to get it greenlit without a star attached, despite being told that it’s “flipping the trans conversation on its head” – and there are few “star” trans actors in the UK. “The US are leaps and bounds ahead in that department,” she says, particularly on screen.
For the stage, Lyons is writing a one-woman show about morally grey Lilith having an affair with Adam behind Eve’s back. “More often than not trans women on stage are likable because they’ve been written by a cis person who is very cautious and wants to do it for representation,” Lyons says with an edge of cynicism. “I’m not doing it for representation. I’m doing it so that you can identify with her and go, fuck, I’ve been that woman.”
Making their own work shouldn’t be the only option. These actors are fed up with being rejected before they’ve had a chance to show what they can do. “The talent exists,” Louca determines. “If you’d just let us audition, you’d see it.”
