To Piss Off or Not to Piss Off

Is it appropriate to swear in a children’s show aimed at those age 7 and above? We’ve decided it is, specifically changing “piss off” to “shut up.” But was it the right decision? I wasn’t initially sure – it packs a punch at a pivotal point in the play. But watching the show with a large school audience of Year 5 children gave me my answer. When Seb delivered “shut up” instead, an emotionally charged moment directed at his best and only friend, David, the audience reacted with complete outrage. Audible gasps. Shocked laughter. Mission accomplished.

It confirmed we’d made the right call. If we’d kept “piss off,” it would have derailed the moment. The children would have been so fixated on the shock of the language that they’d have missed the emotional punch underneath it. “Shut up” was enough. More than enough. It landed exactly as intended: a hurt-fuelled lashing out from a child who doesn’t yet have the words to say, “I’m in pain.” His anger, his fear, his confusion, all the pressure that’s been building up, finally forces its way out through those two simple words.

The line in question appears just once in Overheard in a Tower Block. Seb, age 11, is under intense pressure: his parents are splitting up, he’s isolated at school, and he feels solely responsible for everything falling apart around him. His outburst isn’t funny or gratuitous. It’s raw and honest.

From a writer’s point of view, the original line was truthful. Necessary, even. And perhaps more importantly, it was believable. Anyone who’s ever worked with children, in any setting, knows that, occasionally, “piss off” is exactly how a child, like Seb, speaks. Not because they’re naughty or broken, but because they’re human.  But here’s the tension: real life doesn’t come with a safeguarding policy. Theatre for school audiences does.

There was also a broader principle at play. Too often, people assume work for children needs to be simplified and that difficult language or emotionally complex moments should be avoided. But children are incredibly perceptive. They live through big, hard things every day. We never wanted to patronise them or soften Seb’s experience to make it more “appropriate.” Keeping “piss off” felt, in part, like a stand against dumbing down, and a way of respecting children’s emotional intelligence and trusting them with the truth.

So, what stopped us? The fear that someone might complain. That a parent or teacher in the audience could fixate on those two words and blow them out of proportion, ignoring the context entirely. Or that the press might catch wind of it and declare we’d gone too far.  And that’s where this stops being just about one line in one play, and starts being about something much bigger: censorship, and the climate of caution surrounding work for young people.

Of course, we’re not talking about the same level of controversy – “piss off” is hardly provocative in 2025. But the instinct to retreat is the same. It’s risk aversion, plain and simple. We pre-empt the complaint before it’s made. We dilute our work in case it offends. We change the line, not because it’s wrong, but because we’re afraid someone might say that it is.

We’ve seen this play out across the sector. I was recently at The Stage’s Future of Theatre conference where Rebecca Lenkiewicz spoke on a panel about her play The Witch of Walkern, a powerful work exploring themes of gender and trauma. The play had been cancelled by a girls’ school due to concerns about references to child abuse, despite being created specifically for the age group that lives in a world where these conversations are deeply relevant and urgently needed. This also reminded me of The Family Sex Show, which aimed to teach young people about bodies, boundaries, and consent, another important, carefully developed piece that was ultimately pulled after its creators and venues received threats and abuse. In both cases, the creators were transparent about the content and open to dialogue. And in both cases, caution won.

Of course, we’re not talking about the same level of controversy – “piss off” is hardly provocative in 2025. But the instinct to retreat is the same. It’s risk aversion, plain and simple. We pre-empt the complaint before it’s made. We dilute our work in case it offends. We change the line, not because it’s wrong, but because we’re afraid someone might say that it is.  So, we changed it. From “piss off” to “shut up.” Still angry. Still hurt. Still a breaking point.  Just with the edges slightly sanded down. And if that lets more schools book the show, and more children see themselves in Seb, then maybe that’s a trade-off worth making.  But, I’ll be honest, part of me still misses that line. Not for shock value, but because I know exactly what Seb meant when he said it. And I think a lot of 11-year-olds would too.

To piss off or not to piss off? In the end, we chose not to. And after seeing those Year 5s explode with outrage, for exactly the right reasons, I know we made the right choice. But we’re right to keep asking the question. And to stay alert to the forces that make the answer harder than it should be.