Interview with Emanuele Aldrovandi

Some productions entertain, while others quietly invite us to reflect on the choices that shape our lives. Ten Ways to Die Happy does both, blending humour, audience participation and thought-provoking storytelling into an experience that is different every single performance. Ahead of bringing the show to this year's Edinburgh Fringe, I caught up with writer Emanuele Aldrovandi to discuss creating a production where every audience shapes the story, why the show is really about life rather than death, and how our understanding of happiness changes with every choice we make.

I’d love to start at the beginning. What first inspired you to write Ten Ways to Die Happy, and where did the original idea come from?

From a structural point of view, I wanted to create a performance that involved the audience while still leaving them free, so that their choices could genuinely influence the course of the show. At the same time, however, I wanted the performance to have a solid structure that could still “hold” across the infinite possible versions.

From a thematic point of view, the starting point was a series of questions about the relationship between time, our choices and our personal idea of happiness. How do we imagine our possible lives? How do we spend the time we have? And what does it really mean to use it well?

Death can often feel like a taboo subject. Why did you feel theatre was the right place to begin that conversation?

I do not think the performance is really about death. Death is the limit that allows us to talk about time and about life. The questions are: what choices do we make, which of them are irreversible, and what do we really care about?

Theatre is particularly suitable for this conversation because it happens collectively. In this performance the audience does not simply watch a story: the spectators contribute to shaping the ten possible lives that constitute the core of the dramaturgy. Each person inevitably projects something of their own life into what happens.

📷 Provided uncredited

The title immediately catches people’s attention. How did you arrive at Ten Ways to Die Happy, and what does that phrase really mean to you?

The idea for the title came from Paolo Cantù, the director of the theatre in Reggio Emilia where Jacopo Giacomoni, Luca Mammoli and I spent a year in residence rehearsing the show. At the beginning, there were not ten players but many more - all the spectators - but it did not work, so we tried different approaches and eventually arrived at this one, which we were able to refine through many rehearsal sessions. At the end of each session, we met the audience and tested what we had imagined. These long periods of work were fundamental.

Eventually, we arrived at the current form: ten spectators come onstage, and each of them has a certain amount of energy, represented by flowers, which they can use however they want in order to make choices and build possible lives for themselves. When they run out of flowers, their life ends, and they win if they manage to “die happy”.

At that point, we were talking in the foyer about what to call the show, and that phrase immediately seemed effective to everyone.

The play balances comedy with some deeply emotional themes. Why do you think humour is often the best way to explore life’s biggest questions?

I believe irony is a way for us to approach very serious questions without becoming didactic or telling the audience what they should think.

Moreover, as the philosopher Richard Rorty also wrote, irony is the basis for not taking our own convictions too seriously and for being able to take a step back in order to understand those of others. I firmly believe that it is one of the main antidotes to violence and domination, which are usually carried out by those who believe they are right.

As you were writing the play, did your own perspective on life and mortality change in any way?

The funny thing is that the first time Jacopo Giacomoni and I started working on the show, we were thirty-six or thirty-seven, and there was a moment when the players reached the age of forty, which seemed incredibly far away to us. Now we are arriving in Edinburgh and we are forty ourselves. In the meantime, so many things have happened: he didn’t have any children and now he has three, for example; I had a second child and lost my father.

The show is still the same, as we conceived and wrote it, but our lives have changed, and seeing it now is different. I imagine it will be the same when we see it again in ten years’ time, if it continues to tour.

Every audience member will inevitably bring their own experiences of grief, loss or fear into the theatre. How conscious were you of creating a story that speaks to such a wide range of people?

It was evident from the very beginning, from the first performances, because the stories always ended in different ways. And the audience, through its choices, sometimes rewarded the characters who made the most moral choices, and other times the most likeable ones. The way the selected people behaved also influenced the others.

It is a show that allows you to see not only how varied humanity can be, but also how human beings influence one another.

📷 Provided uncredited

Without giving too much away, was there one scene that proved especially difficult to write because of its emotional weight?

More than one particular scene, the difficult part was finding the right balance throughout the performance. Structurally, this show is a total experiment for me. I have usually written what an Italian critic described as “a contemporary reworking of the well-made play”, without improvisation or audience involvement. Here, instead, we had to create a very precise structure that could still leave real freedom to the spectators, without ever exposing them or forcing an emotional response. At the same time, we had to give the performer all the necessary structure and the right lines for every possible variation, so that they could improvise, but within written patterns. This was the most difficult part.

Theatre often asks audiences to reflect on themselves. What conversations were you hoping people would have with each other after leaving the performance?

Many spectators have told us that during the performance they found themselves wondering what different choices they could have made in their lives and how their present might have been different if they had made them.

How much has Ten Ways to Die Happy changed since those very first drafts?

The central questions have remained the same: time, choices and the personal idea of happiness. With each performance, though, we refined everything: both the writing and the structure. We cut some things, added others, and the performer became increasingly prepared for every possible situation.

With this international version, however, it will be a bit like starting again from the beginning, at least as far as the performer’s work is concerned, because Perla Ambrosini will be doing it for the first time. So I am sure the performance will grow and adjust once again over the many shows at the Fringe. 

Every production teaches us something new. What has this one taught you, not just as a playwright, but as a person?

I don’t know whether it taught me anything, but ever since we first came up with the metaphor of the flowers as “energy” to spend, which at a certain point runs out, I have often found myself thinking in my own life: “No, I’m not going to do this, it requires too much energy, and I want to devote that energy to something else.”

The idea of having a certain number of flowers that eventually runs out has helped me make decisions about what I really wanted.

📷 Provided uncredited

Why do you think this festival is the ideal home for a production like this?

This answer may sound banal, but sometimes banal things are true. A festival like the Fringe is important because it allows us to present our work outside our national borders and, at the same time, to discover artists and performances that might never arrive in Italy.

It is also an ideal context for a participatory performance, because it brings together spectators with very different ages, backgrounds and experiences. Since the audience actively shapes the performance, this international variety becomes part of the work itself.

Finally, if I had one minute to persuade someone to book a ticket, what would I tell them about Ten Ways to Die Happy without giving away any of its surprises?

I would tell them that Ten Ways to Die Happy is a playful, energetic and highly structured participatory performance involving the entire audience.

Ten spectators are randomly selected, but participation is always voluntary, and anyone who does not want to take part can simply sit and watch without ever being forced or exposed. Those who choose to participate will not regret it.

It will be very funny, but it may also make you think about the different lives you could have lived, the choices you have made and what happiness really means to you. And if you come with friends, you will probably have a lot to talk about over a beer afterwards.

Whether you're someone who loves immersive theatre or simply enjoys leaving a performance with plenty to think about, Ten Ways to Die Happy promises an experience unlike anything else at this year's Fringe. It's funny, inventive and quietly profound, encouraging every audience member to consider the paths they've taken and the ones they left behind. If you're looking for a show that will spark conversation long after the curtain falls, this could be one of the festival's most memorable discoveries. Ten Ways To Die Happy is at the Edinburgh Fringe at Underbelly Bristo Square from 5 – 31 Aug (not 18) at 1:55pm. Ticket information here: https://www.edfringe.com/tickets/whats-on/ten-ways-to-die-happy