Juliette Burton. Photo: Steve Ullathorne
What’s striking about Villain Era is how sharply it understands the women it’s speaking to — and the ones it’s speaking for. Juliette Burton, the writer and performer behind the show, doesn’t approach villainy as a gimmick or a costume; she treats it as a lens, a challenge, and sometimes a liberation. Her work has always wrestled with identity, power, and the stories women are handed, but here she pushes further, pulling apart the myths that shape us and the rules we’re expected to obey.
Talking with Juliette, you feel that mix of mischief and seriousness immediately. She’s funny, sharp, and unafraid to sit with the uncomfortable bits — the rage, the conditioning, the cultural policing — and then flip them into something joyful, defiant, and deeply human. Villain Era isn’t just a show; it’s a reclamation. And Juliette is the one steering it, inviting audiences into a world where women get to be complex, loud, powerful, silly, sexy, nerdy, and unapologetically themselves. Find out more at the Fringe website.
• Villainous Women — Fiction’s “bad girls” often carry the truths polite society can’t handle. Which villainess taught you the most about power, and what did she give you that the so‑called heroines never could?
Coming to the show you will step into the world of fictional villainous and morally grey women including: Poison Ivy, Harley Quinn, Catwoman, Rogue, Emma Frost, Goblin Queen, witches like Agatha Harkness or Scarlet Witch, Greek Goddesses, and Yennefer of Vengerberg. She starts life powerless, unwanted and dismissed, then stops trying to be “good” and starts owning who she is. That was a revelation for me. Heroines are often rewarded for being selfless; villainesses are punished for being powerful.
Rogue is the other key one for me. My favourite comic book character began as a villain in the comic books in the 1980s. In the X-Men, she begins as a villain who absorbs the power and psyche of Carol Danvers aka Captain Marvel aka the most powerful Avenger and is terrified she can’t contain it. That fear that embracing your power might make you dangerous, felt familiar to me. Now I realise it only makes you dangerous who people who benefit from you being weak or controlled.
Fearing for her sanity Rogue turned to Professor Xavier for help. When I feared for my own sanity, I too turned to a bald man – Bill Bailey. He inspired me to get into stand up and just like Rogue became a leader in the XMen I also lead people… astray.
One of the things comic book villains and heroes like the XMen taught me is that power isn’t zero-sum. My power doesn’t diminish anyone else’s, it can highlight and sharpen it. The real shift happens when we stop seeing each other’s strength as a threat, and start learning how to exist alongside it in harmony.
If we can do that – personally, culturally, collectively – we don’t just survive each other’s differences but we become stronger because of them. That feels, to me, like the most hopeful “Villain Era” there could be.
Then there are witches like Agatha Harkness and Wanda Maximoff, who show that women’s power often grows with age which is exactly why we’re encouraged to disappear as we get older. Not me. I’m determined to get louder, prouder and embrace my power.
And Dark Phoenix, who taught me that the problem isn’t our innate power itself, but other people’s inability to cope with it.
It’s not even a case of ‘step into your power’ – we always had it. But now, we’re remembering our power and becoming it.
• Good Girl Conditioning — You describe yourself as a former “good girl”. What’s the most insidious part of that conditioning that you had to unlearn to step into your Villain Era?
The most insidious part of “good girl” conditioning is how deeply it ties identity, worth and safety to being agreeable, pleasing and non-disruptive. I learnt early that taking up space, having opinions, changing my body or challenging other people all come with social punishment. So I ended up chasing an impossible version of myself that was never meant to be achievable.
And even when I thought I’d attained it, I wasn’t allowed to veer from it even for a moment. You’re punished if you veer off the course that’s set and you’re punished if you achieve it – just look at women in the spotlight, allowed a brief stint there before they’re torn down one way or another.
And I think a lot of those “goals” are deliberately unattainable, set by systems and industries that profit from you feeling like you’re not enough. Comedy helped me unpick that, because it isn’t built on perfection or pleasing everyone. It’s built on truth, risk and joy. And there’s very little profit in joy, just freedom.
• Nerd Culture Politics — Nerd culture loves a redemption arc but fears female rage. How much of Villain Era is you reclaiming a space that was never built with women in mind?
Nerd culture has often been gatekept by people who frame it as “us vs them”, scarcity vs belonging, and who can be very attached to clear binaries of good and bad. It’s interesting, because on the surface nerd culture may love a redemption arc… but underneath that is the question: why do we need redemption at all and who decided someone was “beyond it” in the first place?
A lot of nerd storytelling, especially in comics, is basically modern mythology. The X-Men are essentially Greek gods in cool jackets. They constantly wrestle with identity, power and belonging, and just like ancient gods and goddesses we can turn to each of them to help us through an aspect of being human that we might be wrestling with at any given time in our lives. And I think the most compelling stories are the ones where hero and villain aren’t fixed states, but internal struggles.
The idea that nerd culture “fears female rage” is partly true in some spaces, but not all. I’ve also seen it be one of the few places and people that properly welcome, encourage and embrace powerful, complex women – women who are allowed to be messy, angry, moral, immoral, all of it.
What fascinates me most is the idea that society has to exist as if there’s a “them versus us”, eg men versus women, or nerds versus jocks, or old fans versus new fans, or an old franchise version versus a new franchise version/spinoff. It’s bizarre to me considering that so much of comic books and nerd culture is supposedly about wrestling with unity. The X-Men wrestle with the idea that they are inherently born different and so, do they use their powers to help protect those who would seek to persecute them? Or is tolerance extinction? For either ‘them’ or ‘us’?
The very fact that the nerd culture communities are aware of these conversations makes me feel safer in nerd culture than in other spaces in society right now, purely because we’re having those conversations, albeit via the prism of comic book lore.
All my shows are me reclaiming space… being on stage an inviting people into my world for an hour is my favourite place to be – I get to set the tone and invite people in. No gatekeeping, all inclusive… I wish that meant your food and drink was free but sadly just the joy.
• Sexy vs Silly — Your show promises to be “very silly, very sexy, incredibly nerdy”. Where do you think humour and sexuality meet, and why do British audiences still get twitchy when women mix the two?
Humour and sexuality have always been intertwined for me, they’re both about timing, truth, and not taking yourself too seriously. It still makes me laugh that when I came out as queer, my friends said, “we thought you already knew.” Apparently I was the last to know.
I also think we often confuse sexuality with sensuality and eroticism, and then immediately panic about what women are “allowed” to be in public. There’s still discomfort—particularly in British culture around openly sexual women who are also funny, clever, nerdy, or self-aware. It can disrupt the very tidy Madonna/whore boxes people would prefer to keep us in.
Adding in ‘funny’ confuses those who benefit from forcing women into polarised identities because humour empowers, laughter unites and brings us together, it breaks down pretty little lies about who we are, who we can be and what our roles are.
But the truth is women aren’t one thing. We’re allowed to be silly and sexy and ridiculous and powerful all at once. And if that makes people twitchy, I think that says more about their conditioning than it does about us.
• Rage as Fuel — You’re tackling inequality, bad sex lives, and the cultural policing of women’s behaviour. What role does anger play in your writing — ignition, compass, or something more dangerous?
Anger is definitely the ignition point for my writing. If something makes me angry, it usually means there’s a crack in the system somewhere and that’s where the comedy lives. Big things, small things, bad sex, inequality, cultural policing of women’s behaviour… it all starts with that moment of “hang on, why is this just normal?”
I used to be quite afraid of my anger. Therapy taught me that holding onto it was like holding hot stones except the only person getting burned was me. And that’s still true… if you just sit in resentment. But anger handled properly isn’t destruction, it’s information. It tells you what matters, what’s wrong, and what needs changing.
I’m angry about inequality, I’m angry about the amount of mediocre sex women are expected to quietly accept, and I’m very angry about how tightly women’s behaviour is still policed. But I don’t think anger is my compass, that’s a steadier commitment to belief we can do better. Anger is the spark, not the map.
Anger only becomes dangerous when it’s misused to divide people or distract from where the real power sits. In comedy, I try to aim it somewhere more useful: at the absurdity of the rules themselves. And ideally, we get to laugh at them while they fall apart.
• Queerness and Power — The press release hints at queerness as part of the journey. How does stepping into a “villain” identity open up new ways of talking about desire and identity?
When you’re raised in a culture where female desire is suppressed – whether that’s appetite, sexuality, difference, or queerness – it can start to feel like anything outside the “acceptable” script is automatically wrong. Even just wanting too much, or wanting differently, can get framed as selfish or even villainous.
So stepping into a “villain” identity becomes strangely freeing. It allows you to question who decided the rules in the first place, and why honesty about desire has to be punished. Whether that’s queerness, polyamory, or just forms of attraction and romance that don’t fit neatly into a norm, it all gets labelled as deviation from a story someone else wrote.
But “villainy” is really just perspective. It’s narrative. Good and bad aren’t fixed states – they’re labels we’ve inherited. And once you start pulling at that thread, the whole idea of what’s “normal” or “acceptable” starts to flip upside down in an exciting and liberating way.
• Fantasy Armour — You mention armour made of “hard truths, high fantasy and hilarious punchlines”. What’s the piece of metaphorical armour you didn’t realise you needed until you wrote this show?
Every woman needs a sword right now. That’s just a fact. But since actual armour isn’t exactly socially acceptable in most day-to-day situations, I think what I didn’t realise I needed was a full emotional breastplate – something that lets you walk into the world slightly more protected, but still very much a woman in power.
Or, you know… just better boundaries and less apologising. That too.
• Nerdgasms — You promise “live nerdgasms”. For the uninitiated: what exactly constitutes a nerdgasm, and how do you engineer one onstage without breaking Fringe fire regulations?
A nerdgasm is a kind of euphoric nerd peak—the tingle of recognition, like Spidey sense kicking in, when you feel completely seen by others who accept you, get you, understand your niche references, share your passions – whether that be for a fandom, for a passion or for challenging the status quo. It’s that moment of shared joy when a niche detail suddenly becomes a communal experience.
A nerdgasm happens when fandom, humour, sexuality and storytelling all collide in one room. Because the best nerdgasms aren’t solo, they’re collective. Multiple nerdgasms, if you will.
This cannot be engineered. A nerdgasm in the wild can only happen naturally, organically and only if we give ourselves permission to feel safe and lean in together. All I can do is create the conditions: honesty, play, a bit of chaos and a lot of love and respect. The rest is chemistry.
And if the fire alarm goes, well, we’ve clearly made the show incredibly hot.
• Villain Era Ethics — Every villain thinks they’re the hero of their own story. What’s the ethical line you refuse to cross, even in your Villain Era?
You can be a baddie, just don’t be a dick.
My “Villain Era” reign holds no cruelty or destruction. Just integrity, honesty, agency and refusing to shrink myself to make other people comfortable.
I’ve been the villain in other people’s stories for long enough that I’ve stopped trying to to be the “hero”. Instead, I’m leaning into the villain they’ve already decided I am. At least I look good in black. That doesn’t mean I wish them harm, I just wish them well while I live my life in the fullest, darkest, most powerful way possible. When you embrace your shadow self, turns out the team up is a power up.
That, to me, is the ethical line: don’t lose your humanity while you’re realising your power.
• Cultural Rebellion — Counter Culture readers love a rebellion. Do you see Villain Era as a personal metamorphosis, a cultural protest, or a gleeful act of mischief aimed at the patriarchy?
Villain Era is all of the above and more. Just like a woman, this show is multifaceted and is many things all at once.
Villain Era is all of the above and more. Like most women, it refuses to be just one thing at a time.
It’s a personal metamorphosis, because it’s been shaped by unlearning who I was told to be.
It’s a cultural protest, because so much of what I’m talking about – gender, power, sexuality, identity – doesn’t exist outside of politics, whether we name it or not.
And it’s a gleeful act of mischief aimed at the patriarchy because sometimes the best response to absurd systems that seek to control us is to laugh at them.
But underneath all of that, Villain Era is joyful, silly and fun. It’s a reclamation. It’s permission for me and for the audience to take up space without asking nicely.
