You are presenting this production literally as “the last Hamlet,” after which the play will no longer be performed. What is it about Shakespeare’s tragedy that lends itself to such a project?
Ben Duke
Hamlet is everywhere. Not only does he embody a certain vision of masculinity and, in a sense, a certain image of the artist, but he is also a character who exceeds the mere realm of theatrical performance: he leaves the stage to inhabit our thoughts. He belongs to a certain lineage. His father was named Hamlet, just like his father’s father. He is part of a cycle of wars and violence. Unwilling to become a military hero like his father, he tries to break that cycle. Shakespeare’s tragedy raises the question of what will come after him. He dies before having children: as so often in Shakespeare, the very idea of posterity is rendered problematic. But I think the real problem is that he does not turn his gaze toward the future. He spends his short life generating chaos and destruction. There is perhaps a paradox in the fact that Hamlet is denied posterity while we keep returning to him endlessly, as though we were bringing him back to life again and again. I wondered whether we might be able to put an end to that. And if we were finally to end Hamlet’s lineage, could we build a better future on his grave?
In Shakespeare’s play, Hamlet hires a troupe of actors to expose the murder of his father by his uncle Claudius. You choose to portray him as an anxious actor, lacking confidence, concerned above all with his own survival. Do you not believe in the idea of theatre as a lie to tell the truth?
I have contradictory feelings about theatre: I have devoted my life to it, I have placed it above everything else, but at this stage of my life, I feel as though it is like sand slipping through my fingers, as though everything I have accomplished is disintegrating, as though it has no impact. I don’t know whether, through this Hamlet, I am criticising theatre. I am convinced that theatre must persuade its audience. Because that is what I feel today: we are trying to convince the public that theatre has value, particularly in the United Kingdom or in France, where culture is under attack from all sides, where we are made to feel that, in times of war, we count for very little. So yes, as an actor, Hamlet is threatened, and in striving for his own survival, it is theatre itself that he is defending.
When you choose to take on major theatrical figures such as Hamlet, Medea, or Romeo and Juliet, it is often in order to appropriate them and deliver a highly personal version. Could you tell us more about your creative process?
I like using these myths that are part of the collective consciousness. I am interested in the spaces I can open up within them. When we take a story that everyone knows and alter it, the audience becomes alert: they think they know it and then, suddenly, they no longer recognise it. That is how I work. Once the story has been opened up, I can find my place inside it. As in any creative process, I sometimes make mistakes and lose my way. In those moments, it is useful to return to Hamlet or Romeo and Juliet because there is always something to be found within those stories: they always have something to tell us. These are non-linear creative processes; they are the opposite of efficiency.
Your artistic language is physical, hybridising dance and theatre. In order to choose to stage a play, does it have to speak to your own body? And if so, what is it in Hamlet that speaks to your body?
There are two parts in my creative process, like two phases that ideally end up converging. First, there are the words. I often begin by writing scenes or putting my ideas for a scene down on paper. Then I work with the dancers. Sometimes the physicality of a scene becomes immediately apparent to us. At other times, we explore simple ideas around family or fear, which give us a certain direction. All that remains is to hope that these different lines of research move toward one another, until the point where I begin to understand what the physicality of the piece will be. In the case of Hamlet, we are still at the threshold of the creative process, but it seems to me that there is something linked to trauma, as though the body could become a path we might travel in order to return to the past, toward something we hope to repair but cannot access through words alone. Hamlet’s physicality lies in his relationship with his parents, with Ophelia, with himself…
You explain that once we stop performing Hamlet, his disappearance will make room for new stories for our world. Do you feel particularly concerned by this question of new narratives?
I have this fantasy of Shakespearean theatre, which at the time was made for everyone, regardless of social class. On stage, the community represented society as a whole. It seems to me that theatre today is somewhat more exclusive. There are obstacles, particularly economic ones, to its becoming a popular art form again. I want to make space for new narratives, but I am myself a white man with a relatively privileged background, and that is the ambiguity of my position. In a way, I can identify with Hamlet’s voice, which seeks to erase itself in order to bring into the light those who have until now remained in the shadows.
Isn’t declaring that you want to stage the last Hamlet something of a provocation?
It is very likely that, yes. It is an act of hubris, isn’t it? I am announcing this project fully aware that it is impossible. I like undertaking impossible tasks. I know things will not unfold as planned, that it will go badly, but that is how I manage to find a form of freedom. I will not succeed, but I will try anyway, attempt to do it. One could just as easily accuse me of pretending to be done with Hamlet while still wanting to dedicate a play to him. That’s how it is. Those who know me know that I love dealing with serious ideas without ever taking myself too seriously.
Interview conducted by Simon Hatab in March 2026