I’ve mentioned above that the musical sticks closely to the novella, but of course, it’s a different medium, with its own ways to tell a story. At multiple points of the musical, the order of scenes is slightly different from the novella, and scenes and chapters may be merged to convey them more effectively as a visual and acoustic medium. As you may know or remember, the pilot acts as Le Petit Prince’s narrator, retelling the circumstances of his encounter with the prince, alternating between ex-post reflections, memories of his childhood and the time he spent with the prince as an adult.

After Dédicace , flickering lightning work representing a thunderstorm force the pilot to make an emergency crash landing in the desert at night; the stage and the desert are dark and quiet, the pilot’s oil lamp and flashlight being the only source of light. As the pilot starts reminiscing about his childhood, a pyramid looking like the gate to a different world, filled with a blue sky and white clouds, reveals itself in the background, illuminating the stage. The sand dunes and the plane can be seen more clearly now, and the pyramid is reflected on the floor. Within the pyramid are the grown-ups from the narrator’s memories as well as a rotating blackboard featuring his drawings as a child. And although this is a memory, the grown-ups are physically present as backdrop and interact verbally (and even sing along) with the adult pilot. This blending of present and past through the reality of the desert and the surreal pyramid window is, I must say, a very elegant way to combine the first chapter and the beginning of the second chapter of the novella, which, in written form, are clearly separated (by chapter, time and narrative style). ❤ It’s gorgeous, and as C’est un chapeau! starts to play its memorable tune, this scene convinced me to watch the whole musical.

The song is followed by the encounter between the pilot and the little prince and the ensuing plea for a drawing of a sheep. What the musical offers that the novella cannot (or only in a limited way) is the visual depiction of their body language around each other, the guarded and hesitant approach of the little prince (mentioned again further below), and ultimately how the two interact nonverbally, for example when the narrator is drawing or repairing his plane, or during the musical numbers themselves. Seeing the little prince rummage through the pilot’s belongings, tools unknown to him, is an amusing and very precious sight. ❤

Droit devant soi is the first duet and the song that connects the two; as in the third chapter of the novella, it addresses distances: the airplane that traverses the sky, the little prince’s far-away planet, a post for the sheep to prevent it from wandering off, and how limited you are if you only consider the path straight ahead. This ties in with the beginning and ending of the novella: the narrow-minded grown-ups and the fox’ lesson of the significance of the invisible. Worth mentioning is that while the novella’s chapter ends with an open “Straight ahead of you, nobody can go very far”, the song closes with a rather explicit “You have to get lost to better understand [find] yourself” — the second phrasing may be a better fit towards the end of the book when pilot, prince and reader have relived the little prince’s journey. By the end of the song, the emotional and physical distance between the two has mostly been bridged.

The pyramid is employed again when the narrator thinks about the prince’s home planet, the asteroid B-612, and once again there’s a parallel layer unique to the musical: While this is an ex-post sequence in the novella, the musical has the narrator tell the grown-ups in the background about the asteroid while the little prince is gesturing him to add details he may have omitted, clearly signifying that this musical number takes place simultaneously during their encounter as well as at a later stage of the pilot’s life. After Les grandes personnes sont comme ça , Les baobabs , an urgent and dramatic piece, has the performers face the audience as pilot and prince caution and discipline them. Interestingly, the original chapter and the duet address children specifically without mentioning grown-ups, but again the grown-ups within the pyramid become the focus in the musical as the second half of the song shows them mocking said discipline and responsibility, only to be swallowed up by the baobabs within the pyramid. The musical thus creates an additional link to the negligence and wrong priorities of grown-ups, a major theme of Le Petit Prince.

A few conversations later, the scenery shifts, moving from Earth to space and the prince’s home as he tells the pilot of his rose, which marks the beginning of the flashback depicting the prince’s journey. Près d’elle features what’s probably my favourite backdrop in the musical because it’s very simple, but effective: The song starts with the stage enveloped in darkness, only featuring endless space, stars, and the sun from afar as the prince watches on. His solo is, in contrast to the songs up to this point, immensely tender, positive and full of love, appreciation and wonder. The lighting gradually changes as dawn approaches the prince’s home, revealing more planets in the background. Both the song as well as the scenery convey how an entirely new world opens up to the little prince in his dedication to his flower as he watches over it and takes care of it for days. This song is remarkable to me because in the novella, it is neither part of a dialogue nor a monologue (it’s the narrator recounting the prince’s tale for the reader), yet they chose to have the little prince deliver the content of those passages through song and manage to imbue it with such affection as a result.

Although all three songs that play on the prince’s home soil are among my favourites and I think La rose is executed impressively well in many regards (the tune that conveys slowly waking at dawn, the gorgeous visuals of the rose’s blooming, how the song immediately starts after Près d’elle, the egocentric and demanding rose, her facial expressions and body language, and even the hints of tenderness in the music), this is the only scene in the entire musical that I can’t stand from a storytelling perspective. It’s by far the worst-written scene to me because it just doesn’t do what it’s supposed to do, which is disastrous because it’s a key moment that pervades the prince’s entire journey. See, when the prince sings how the flower arrived on his planet as a seed in Près d’elle, there is nothing but love in his words as it is sung solely from his perspective. In the novella, however, the narrator tells the reader once again what the prince told him and emphasizes the flower’s efforts from her perspective while clearly judging her as well, describing her as “coquettish”. The rose is indeed very vain, but the musical prioritizes the portrayal of that vanity and her demanding personality at the cost of her other traits while having the prince interject isolated lines about her personality that seem to come out of nowhere, as they are not sufficiently backed up in contrast to the novella. In the musical, he thinks to himself that she is complicated, dishonest, capricious and pretentious in response to her verses — for no reason.

In the novella, the prince adores and continues to admire the rose despite being aware of her lack of modesty from the beginning; he keeps taking care of her and giving in to her requests even as he realizes she is more complex than he had thought. The rose, on the other hand, becomes more and more difficult to deal with, and her pride and vanity come to “torment” the little prince, punishing him for mistakes he didn’t make and exercising power over him. It is this manipulation, the uncertainty and instability that, as far as I understand it, eventually exhaust the prince and leave him at a loss as to how to continue the relationship. This manipulation, power display and mental warfare is entirely absent in the musical (in La rose specifically), as are the rose’s defining pride and the prince’s lasting admiration (in fact, I feel no admiration or even affection from the prince at all as soon as the rose has bloomed), and instead of quiet exhaustion and resignation, there’s uncharacteristic anger that is even expressed physically as the prince silences the rose and attempts to force a kiss on her, and she responds in kind by messing up his hair and kicking him (just… what). I cannot comprehend the thought process behind all of this at all.

Another discrepancy is that this relationship develops over the span of several days in the original, whereas it seems like a single — and their first! — conversation in the musical (especially if you consider how carefully the lighting signalized the cycle of day and night so far). The lack of the flower’s and the lack of the narrator’s judging voice make the scene very abrupt in some parts; as a result of all this, the key conflict is not conveyed well at all. The last straw of the ongoing argument is when the rose, in the novella, compares what she considers bad conditions on the prince’s planet to the place she came from, which is exposed as an obvious lie (as she arrived as a seed and thus cannot possibly have memories of other places), though she covers it up and makes the prince feel bad instead. This scene is… hinted at in the musical, but not portrayed as a source of conflict at all; worse, it seems quite random.

Finally, the scene does not convey the rose’s significance to the prince and the source of his anguish well because the chapter in the novella concludes with a change in perspective, first by the narrator, then by the prince from a later point in time as he confides in the narrator and regrets what he has done. In the musical — and here I’ll forgive it for not managing to accomplish what the written medium did —, this realization is not communicated to the audience immediately following the conflict, but quite a bit later, namely when the prince has visited the geographer.

This mess continues in the mournful Adieu (et tâche d’être heureux) , the song with which the rose bids farewell to the prince. Again the musical portrays the characters wrongly, as you cannot feel the prince’s melancholy and the mutual affection between him and his rose. And rather than being dignified and proud as usual in her farewell and her regret, something which the prince admires even as he leaves her behind in the original, the rose in the musical is on her knees, clinging to the prince, forcing her presence on him and confessing to him quite one-sidedly as the prince looks at her in silence (instead of expressing his concern for her). There’s also an unnecessary kiss. Honestly, I can’t tell whether everything that bothers me about these two scenes is to blame on the writing alone or whether it’s made worse by the lack of chemistry between the two performers.

The following part describes the six stations on the prince’s journey before he reaches Earth. While not my favourite part of the musical and the one I revisit the least, it’s also perhaps the richest in visual and musical diversity, something that is stressed and explored in the Making Of video mentioned below. As in the novella, the little prince visits six different planets after leaving his rose behind — and the musical ensures that those are memorable and distinct experiences: the design of the planets (medium-sized floating orbs on which the respective character is sitting), the colours of the stage lights that bathe the space backdrop in matching shades, the character songs (each of them not just expressing the content of their chapter in the novella, but an acoustic representation of their defining traits), the costumes, and of course the performers themselves with their facial expressions and body language. Though they may be elaborate in contrast to Saint-Exupéry’s original drawings, which are quite simple, they stick to the essential points of those images. The prince himself travels with the help of “a flock of wild birds”, which is turned into a wheeled bird-shaped contraption on the stage, complete with constantly moving origami birds attached to it. ❤

First is the king, his bejewelled planet mostly covered by his mantle as in the original drawing; the stage is an intimidating red, and the king himself is wielding a Bilboquet (a cup-and-ball toy), which symbolizes dexterity, composure and control — and also perhaps the planet itself. Je t’ordonne is a commanding tune backed up by repeated “Je t’ordonne!” (“I command you!”). An interesting addition to the musical that shows in its own way how deluded the king is in his capacity to give “reasonable orders” and absolute control is when the prince manages to wield the Bilboquet just as effectively, thus stripping the king of what he believes to be a unique skill.

Second is the conceited man who proclaims to enjoy the spotlight — literally so, as his planet is a big disco ball complete with what looks to be percussion instruments that act as his mirrors, and the stage’s lights focus on him alone; his outfit is adorned by glittering elements and resembles a DJ’s and, upon closer examination, is cluttered with drawings of his face spelling “moi” (the French pronoun used to stress “I [Me]”), an element repeated in his song. The stage turns blue, which gives his sequence a dreamy look and emphasizes his self-absorbed nature, while Moi, je sounds heavy, large and swelling — just as his ego.

The stage becomes a sickly green for a short time when the prince visits the tippler, whose planet is a trash heap of wine glasses and bottles; all elements in his visual and musical design are uneven, down to the hat. He audibly crashes behind the stage at the end of Je bois pour oublier .

Next is the businessman, whose planet looks like the wheel of a car and whose costume features stars just like the one he thinks he owns. Je suis un homme sérieux is a song defined by its mechanical structure: monotonous and stressed, reminiscent of the sound of money, numbers and calculators — and true enough, the only items on his planet are a large abacus and a long roll of calculations. The businessman’s ceaseless counting of big numbers in the novella is incorporated into the song, his obsession and preoccupation emphasized by him not stopping to breathe when replying to the little prince. Fittingly, the stars and planets in the backdrop are lit up with yellow; he doesn’t appreciate them for their beauty, after all, but as dead possessions that add to his wealth.

What follows is the encounter with the lamplighter; the backdrop turns completely blue to make the illuminated planet and the sole item on it, a street lamp that the man constantly turns on and off. C’est la consigne is a song with repetitive elements, with its notes repeatedly going up and down so as to signify the passage of time and the cycle the lamplighter is trapped in, just as his planet is the only one to visibly rotate. How devoted the man is to his job despite the toll it takes on him is reflected in his gestures and costume, which consists of wires and blinking lights as shoulder pads, and his abrupt collapse. I think it’s a far gentler song in contrast to the others in this part, which perhaps reflects the fact that he’s the only one among the six whom the little prince has sympathies for.

Lastly, the little prince meets the geographer, who resides on a planet weighed down by piles of books. Surprisingly and in stark contrast to all musical numbers in this part, almost the entirety of their conversation and the content of the novella’s chapter takes place before Je prends note sets in. Unlike the other songs, this one thus contains very few passages of the story and the verbal exchange and is instead almost entirely about the geographer’s passion. He also seems strangely self-aware of his perceived ignorance in the musical, as he refers to his office as a “prison”, mentions that he is “stuck behind a desk” and admits that he “knows nothing about his planet”. This is an odd way to portray the character because the impression I get from the original is that the geographer claims to be a man of vast knowledge, fully immersed in the book he’s hunched over, despite not having witnessed anything himself and relying entirely on outside input (which can be interpreted as merely regurgitating what others have said rather than thinking for yourself). “Je prends note” is a pun because he’s taking note in the sense of acknowledging things and writing them down.

As mentioned in the previous part, the prince leaves the geographer’s planet with his thoughts on his rose (just as in the novella), but his ex-post reflection and realization has been moved to this point. As in the original, the geographer points the little prince into the direction of the Earth, and I think it’s immensely touching that La terre , the song that links this section to the next, is sung first by the geographer, then by the pilot’s performer. What’s more, the geographer is the one to recite the beginning of the chapter that is full of numbers, whereas the pilot’s performer and his vast voice rave about earth and humanity’s qualities and potential as the little prince uses binoculars to look at the one solitary star in the universe. It’s touching because the second part is unique to the musical, and the song — that serves as a bridge — very much demonstrates the difference between grown-ups (represented by the geographer, but also by the other five people in this part of the journey), who are all about numbers and facts, and those who have retained the spirit of children (represented by the pilot), who treasure feelings, connections and personal appreciation.

And so the little prince reaches his final destination…

The time the little prince spends on Earth prior to returning to the desert and meeting the pilot is easily my favourite part of the musical: The scenes are significant, and pretty much all the songs are my top favourites. Ephémères initiates Act II by drawing attention to humanity’s, but also the Earth’s ephemerality. It is unique to the musical, and ties in to both the conversation between the geographer and the little prince regarding the ephemeral nature of his flower (the geographer having little regard for ephemerality, the little prince mourning it) and the preceding La terre , which stresses the miniscule impact of humanity and the Earth in the vastness of the universe, yet appreciates them all the more for it.

Upon arriving on Earth, the first creature the little prince meets is the snake, a prop handled by a flexible woman, whose black suit blends into the background. Their conversation is extended to include parts of previous chapter and the beginning of the chapter that they’re adapting due to the musical’s lack of a narrator during those parts. Le serpent plays as the snake watches over the sleeping prince. The lighting work here is beautiful because it shows the passage of time without the need to change backdrops.

I have a soft spot for L’echo because it’s a very short chapter in the novella, which makes its inclusion as a song unexpected. The lighting, the backdrop, the music and the inclusion of the echoes as part of the song make this a very lovely piece that portrays the prince’s loneliness as he traverses the desert in search for someone, anyone to talk to. It is immediately followed by the melodic Le jardin des roses , which plays at daybreak, mirroring the awakening of his own rose down to the song (La rose ). This, I feel, is the one song that best exemplifies how much a musical adaptation can add to the original written work; its emotional impact as the prince is hit by the full force of his rose’s memory is immense due to the combination of very strong acoustic and visual elements: The lighting, the lyrics and the blooming roses signify it’s morning; the song of the roses is a reprise, which conveys the prince’s confusion, his homesickness and his longing for his rose, but at the same time, the roses’ voices are subdued in contrast to the one on his planet (because they are void of personality and not unique); the prince’s first reaction when the tune starts playing is rejection and sadness, expressed by him covering his ears and going as far as trying to shush them — yet in contrast to La rose, where his rose was the dominant voice, he sings along now, no longer afraid of expressing his own views.

Apprivoise-moi is one of the most beautiful songs in the musical, and comes very close to being my favourite; it’s melodic and heartbreakingly earnest, and I love the fox’ gentle voice as he befriends the prince. The scenes with the fox were the ones I looked forward to the most when I watched the musical for the first time because they’re crucial: They’re the turning point of the prince’s journey, and it is through them that the novella speaks directly to the reader to teach them the most important of lessons. They are fundamental to understanding the prince — not as the person he was on his journey, but as the person he is when the narrator meets him at the beginning of the story, when we first meet him.

And true enough, Puisque c’est ma rose does this encounter justice; I love it dearly, it’s my favourite song on the list and my favourite duet. Clearly, the creators love the novella just as much as the viewer, because there is so much of the original dialogue in this song, preserving its complete sentences while retaining the melody of the song. The fox’ singing voice is beautiful, and I love the mask, the pauses, the gestures… The reason this is a duet is because it reinforces the lessons the little prince has learned from the time he has spent with the fox.

After the fox and the prince part, the little prince meets the railway switchman, though L’aiguilleur doesn’t have much of a musical identity.

At last, we return to the desert where the pilot and the prince met, and the final part of his journey — the anticipated return — is set in motion. Chercher la source is about the search, the thirst, the dark of the night, the prince’s fragility and how dear he has become to the pilot, and recognizing what’s important; it’s solemn and heavy, sung by the pilot as he tries to shield the little prince. Shortly afterwards is On aura toujours rendez-vous , the duet that defines their relationship and that is also their farewell, as it plays after the pilot discovers the prince’s deal with the snake and contains the fox’ lesson, which the prince now passes on to his new friend. The song is sorrowful and hopeful as they play together one last time and the little prince attempts to comfort the pilot.

One last tribute to the departed prince is paid in Le plus beau et le plus triste paysage du monde . If there’s one song that convinces you of Daniel Lavoie’s (the pilot’s) immense voice power, it’s this one, for the song starts quietly, gently, ruefully — and grows into something tremendous, full of desperation, full of hope. As you may remember, the novella ends with a drawing of the place where the narrator first and last saw his friend — “the loveliest and saddest landscape in the world”; the beautiful thing is that the musical incorporates this by having the pilot draw in his notebook as he sings (complete with short pauses as he sketches) while the drawing itself appears, “stroke for stroke”, as a sketch made of light on the backdrop — and the pilot reaches out to it. It’s a very beautiful and creative translation of the ending scene.