Ariane Mnouchkine – Collective creation

Paris, 1973. The dim, cavernous interior of La Cartoucherie—a former munitions factory on the outskirts of the city—has been transformed into a bustling revolutionary fairground. It is here that 1789, a theatrical reenactment of the French Revolution, is about to unfold, not on a single stage but all around the audience. The spectators, a mix of students, workers, intellectuals, and curious Parisians, mill about uncertainly. There are no plush seats; instead, platforms and scaffoldings are arranged like islands in a sea of standing viewers. The smell of fresh bread and onion soup wafts through the air—members of the troupe have cooked a simple soup they plan to share with the audience during intermission, an offering of fellowship. Suddenly, a drumroll resounds. Actors in 18th-century peasant garb emerge, shouting grievances and singing a rousing tune of rebellion. On a raised platform to the left, an actor playing a starched-wig aristocrat topples a pile of fake coins, symbolizing the collapse of the old order. On another platform to the right, a group of sans-culottes (revolutionary commoners) hoist a makeshift tricolor flag and cheer. The audience instinctively splits to give space as a chorus of market women with baskets snakes through, singing of bread and justice. Laughter erupts when one of the “aristocrats” flees through the crowd, pursued by a yelling mob of actors who gently sweep some spectators into their chase. In the midst of this orchestrated chaos stands Ariane Mnouchkine, the director, though you wouldn’t know it at first glance. She’s dressed plainly, moving among her actors and occasionally among the audience, guiding the action with the lightest touch—a whispered cue here, a hand signal there. Her face is alive with intensity; at 34, she has already the gravitas and warmth of a beloved leader. This isn’t just a play to her—it’s a communal ceremony, a living slice of history shared by actors and audience together. For a moment, as a guillotine prop is rolled out and a red scarf flutters down symbolizing the blood of the tyrants, Ariane steps back and observes the faces around her. People are enthralled, surprised, moved. Strangers grin at each other as a sly joke is played out by an actor mimicking King Louis. A few eyes well with tears when the crowd sings a mournful verse about hunger. The barriers between “them” (the performers) and “us” (the audience) have dissolved; all are, in effect, citizens of this theatrical revolutionary France for the night. This is the magic of Théâtre du Soleil, the Theatre of the Sun, which Ariane Mnouchkine founded and nurtured: a collective creation that envelops everyone in its warmth.