Théâtre de Paris, May 12 – July 9, 2011

I didn’t approach Pan with a specific message or intellectual intention. The story resonated with me instinctively, speaking the same language I do. It wasn’t about deciding, “I want to do Peter Pan to talk about this or that.” Instead, as we rehearsed, improvised, and explored, I realised how much the themes I wanted to convey—childhood, imagination, and wonder—were already present in the play. That’s the beauty of theatre: through the process, you uncover treasures and surprises far more interesting than any preconceived ideas you might have had at the start.

Pan holds a special place in my heart because it was one of the first plays I saw as a child in London, and it amazed me on every level. It made me dream vividly—especially the idea of flying. As a little girl, I spent hours jumping down stairs, though I don’t recommend that! That sense of wonder, the belief in the impossible, remains central to this play.

In staging Pan, I wanted everything to feel visibly theatrical. Nothing is hidden; everything is apparent. For me, the joy of theatre is in knowing it isn’t real but still believing in it. I avoided realistic sets or shiny props. For example, our crocodile is a person on all fours, visible inside their costume, which to me is the opposite of kitsch. It’s artisanal, pure, and playful, inviting the audience to engage with the magic of make-believe.

I asked my actors not to “perform” childhood but to reveal the childlike part that still exists within them—their openness, joy, and curiosity. This innocence is vital to the story and to theatre itself. Pan is about keeping that sense of wonder alive, creating a space where nothing is true, and yet we believe in it entirely. For me, that is the essence of theatre.