Ben Duke Tells Old Stories in New Ways

Emily May

Ahead of becoming the first British choreographer to stage a full season of works at Théâtre de la Ville this autumn, Ben Duke discusses bringing physicality back into classic literature, the ridiculous, self-deprecating brand of humour he deploys onstage, and how he balances the push and pull between language and motion.

Ben Duke struggles with being called a choreographer. “That’s not really what I do,” he says on a patchy Zoom call from his car. “I don’t really feel like a director either.” Recently, the title “theatremaker” has begun to grow on him, and it’s easy to see why: the catch-all term suits his eclectic style. Over the past decade, his productions for his own company, Lost Dog, and for high-profile ensembles like Rambert, have brought together elements of movement, spoken text and comedy.

Educated in English literature at Newcastle University before training at Guildford School of Acting and London Contemporary Dance School, Duke has made a name for himself telling old stories in new ways. In 2016, he developed a one-man show out of Milton’s Paradise Lost, while his 2020 duet Juliet and Romeo imagined what might have happened if Shakespeare’s lovers survived into middle age and found themselves in need of relationship therapy. In 2023, Duke made Ruination, a group retelling of the Greek myth of Medea. Premiered at the Royal Opera House before a trip to the 2024 Venice Dance Biennale, the work questioned whether the woman who supposedly killed her own children might finally be given a fair trial.

“I’m drawn to stories that are well known,” Duke says, adding that audiences’ pre-existing familiarity gives him freedom to “mess” with them. While other contemporary choreographers, like Crystal Pite, have incorporated text through dancers syncing their movements to a prerecorded soundtrack, Duke has performers talking and dancing at the same time. “The speaking body is the moving body; we’re not separating them into actors and dancers,” he says. The point is to recover something that was lost when playwrights’ words became text on a page: “Literature is always in danger of leaving us in our heads,” he says. “But [Shakespeare] was dealing with a physical and embodied art form. It just so happens that all that remains of it are words. We’re bringing physicality back to it.”

This autumn, Parisian audiences will get to experience Duke’s “messing” for themselves, as he becomes the first British choreographer to have a full season (running from September to November) of works performed at Théâtre de la Ville. The showcase includes Duke’s latest work, The Last Hamlet, which premiered at the Avignon Festival in July 2026.

Performed by Duke himself—returning to the stage after a long period of passing his roles on to others—alongside two other dancers, The Last Hamlet questions whether we really need any more interpretations of Shakespeare’s most famous tragedy. As a role, “Hamlet has stood there as a kind of actor’s Everest,” says Duke. “There’s something egotistical about the white, male, privileged actor wanting to offer their version, even though we’re saturated with them.”

This idea made him think about where he’s at in his career, and the need to make space for a new generation. He’ll be doing that at Theatre de la Ville, by featuring the work of Emily Terndrup and Liam Francis—two artists who have collaborated with him frequently—alongside his own. Yet at the same time, Duke sees the irony in having manufactured the opportunity for himself to try his hand at Hamlet’s soliloquies in this show. “I don’t want to get off the stage,” he says. “I want to keep doing this thing that I love doing.”

Movement-wise, The Last Hamlet, like much of Duke’s work, draws heavily on techniques from contact improvisation. “There’s a lot of touch, being held, and being lifted,” he says. For this work, physical contact was intended to stand in contrast to the fact that, for much of the original play, Hamlet is seen alone and talking to himself. “He represents the kind of isolated maleness that we cultivate, where men are alone, or consider themselves alone, or are raised by fathers who don’t make contact.”

Duke notes that many in France have perceived the “dance theatre with a narrative” category it fell into as a distinctly British form. “Maybe there’s a kind of lineage from DV8,” Duke ponders, referencing the groundbreaking dance theatre company founded by Lloyd Newson, Nigel Charnock and Michelle Richecoeur in 1986. He also notes that there was “a lot of interest in the use of humour,” which he finds always goes hand in hand with tragedy.

Duke’s humour tends to be irreverent and self-deprecating: In The Last Hamlet, he confuses Hamlet with The Lion King, and in Paradise Lost, mocks his youthful dream of changing the world through contemporary dance. “There’s a delight in undercutting… the ridiculous stuff that prevents us from taking ourselves too seriously,” he says of English wit. What he enjoys about the French, by contrast, is “their ability to take themselves seriously. I love post-show talks where there’s no shame in people being philosophical or intellectual. We struggle with that in the UK.”

And Duke has frequently worked with French performers: Solène Weinachter and Jean-Daniel Broussé, whose own works have been presented at the Théâtre de la Ville over the past couple of years, are prime examples. “The more time I spend in France, the more time I want to spend in France,” Duke says. Would he ever be tempted to “mess” with the work of great French writers in the future? “I’d be very nervous of doing that,” he says, sheepishly admitting his French isn’t up to the task. “Then again, Molière is someone who deals with humour, seriousness, and maybe a different kind of ridiculousness…”

Perhaps there’s a Ben Duke Tartuffe on the horizon, then. Whatever source material he broaches next, his approach to staging it is sure to contrast the last. “I’m struck by this desire [to find] a system, or some kind of rules about when text gives way to movement, when movement gives way to text, and how we judge those things,” Duke says. “But I remain convinced that it’s an instinctive process. Every piece I pick up is different in that way.”

Emily May is a British-born, Berlin-based writer and editor. Trained as a dancer at Trinity Laban Conservatoire in London, she frequently contributes to publications including The Times Literary Supplement, The New York Times, The Financial Times, Frieze, and ArtReview review. She is an editor and proofreader for CN D Magazine.

Ben Duke Focus
From September 22 to November 21 at the Théâtre de la Ville in Paris

Juliet and Romeo 
Choreography: Ben Duke 
From October 24 to 28 at Les Abbesses
with the Théâtre de la Ville in Paris 

Paradise Lost 
Choreography: Ben Duke 
From November 10 to 15 at Les Abbesses 
with the Théâtre de la Ville in Paris 

Lost Dog Dance
learn more

Embodied literature: an interview with Ben Duke
by Emily May for Springback Magazine, February 2022.
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