Les Serviteurs

In just over twenty years of existence of my company, Théâtre Narration, I've staged very few playwrights, texts written for the theater, often preferring to "deport" literary or poetic writing that encourages us to renew, to go beyond the conventions of representation. (Nothing to do, I believe, however, or only by a very long way, with so-called "story theater", which would be to theater what the storyteller is to the actor.)
What, from show to show, asserts itself and becomes more precise, is a need to adjust space and time, which originates in a relationship with text and language. It's an immoderate taste for text, for language, as a singular, irreducible sharpness, and for its insurrection in theater time. It's the desire to see the stage become an open chamber of listening and echoes, the site of a chemical, poetic precipitate... where language becomes body, and sensitive evidence, order and disorder, scandal and gentleness.

And above all, out of a taste for the unknown, for adventure without reference, I've staged living authors. With, in my career, two notable exceptions: Aeschylus, and Corneille.

There are still many authors - dead, living, to come... - that I'd like to mount, that I'm enraged by, that I regret not being able to mount, that I know I won't mount. (Among them, strangely enough, more and more playwrights...) And, in this urgency that's becoming mine, there's Jean-Luc Lagarce, whose Les Serviteurs I'm mounting.