Paolo Nani Interview: 'It is good to be nervous - every performance should be the first performance'

When it comes to comedy, ‘The Letter’ shows that Paolo Nani knows best, writes Kate Copstick

Paolo Nani: With props contained in just once suitcase, he has created a worldwide hit show. Picture: Contributed

A conversation with Paolo Nani is a unique experience. He speaks Italian, Danish, Spanish and English but mainly he speaks Paolo Nani, an enchanting language communicated by the entire body, and which is only 50 per cent verbal. In it we discuss his career, his family, his creative process and the joyous experience we shared last night in a field outside Florence. This is not a review and so I will simply say that The Letter – a tiny masterpiece that was born in 1992 in Denmark and has had over 1500 performances since, travelling the world, winning plaudits and prizes, capturing hearts and tickling funny bones – is an hour of unadulterated joy.

Audiences intrigue him. “The Spanish do not like you to be stupid,” he says, assuming whole-body ‘stupidity’ and adding, “You have to be cool”. And instantly, he is, physically, to the cool side of James Dean. The Chinese are a lovely audience, he has found, but the Japanese terrifying. “They are ...” Paolo morphs into a tight-lipped, poker-faced statue. French on the whole are a delight, Parisiens, less so. His instant moue is perfectly Parisien.

In Italy he always follows the show with a chat with the audience. He has just come from Milan. “I ask,” he says. “How may see the show for the first time ...” He raises his eyebrows, cocks his head to the side, spreads his hands, palms upwards, raises his shoulders and does something extraordinary with his lips. “No-one?” The eyebrows bounce and the eyes widen. “I ask, ‘Two times? Three? Four ?’” It turns out that people who see the show once tend to come back at least eight times.

His father was a carpenter and his mother sold crockery. Little Paolo did not know what he wanted to do but “I never thought I would fit in a proper job”. Luckily, in 1978, Teatro Nucleo were forced out of Argentina and relocated to his home town of Ferrara, doing their old-school, hardcore political theatre. “Very dramatic,” he says. His whole body tenses and his eyebrows meet in a serious ‘V’. “Extermination camps and Anne Frank.” OK, not exactly the circus, but he did some workshops and fairly soon left home to join them, performing in their open air performances in Ferrara, before moving to Argentina. He shows us a picture of the company – all romantic hair, big coats and statement boots. He smiles and executes a complex three-part shrug that says “That was then, a wonderful, but other life which I look back on with great fondness”.

In 1990 he moved to Denmark to join Nullo Facchini. He executes another in his panoply of expressive shrugs. “Nullo said, ‘Why not try something funny?’” And The Letter was first posted. The piece is really the quintessence of his ‘method’. I am allergic to methods and worry that they breed performing plagues, like Lecoq and, now, Philippe Gaulier. “Who is Philippe Gaulier?” he asks. My eyes mist with tears of joy.

“You must know what is The Game,” he explains. “And then you must know the style … and you must find the correct timing.” In The Letter, the ‘game’ does not change. A man writes a letter and then finds out his pen has no ink. But the comic symphony played on style and timing fills an hour to bursting. I think it might be a work of creative genius.

And it is all Nani and a handful of props. “And the noises,” he says. “The noises are the music of the show. In the beginning I made a mistake, I was totally silent. But then I discover the noises.” He drums his fingers on the table, sighs, picks up a fork and then drops it, moves his chair three times and he makes ‘the music’. He smiles and undulates the upper half of his torso. “When I arrive at the theatre and there are maybe eight technicians and I am there, only me, with the small suitcase, and they look ...” He gives that look that every techie has given that says, “Oh boy, we’ve got a right one here.” “But at the end of the show, they are happy.” You would have to be dead not to be happy after this show.

Even after 1,500 performances worldwide, Paolo still gets nervous. “The show is fixed,” he says, “the performances are not. It is good to be nervous. Every performance should be the first performance”.

He is 62, and has already broken ankles and legs performing The Letter. Is there a time when he will stop ?

“I was good friends with Victor Borge,” says Paolo. “Victor died at 92, three days after his last performance. I think that can be OK.”

The Letter, Pleasance Dome – KingDome (Venue 23). Until 25 August.

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