The year is 2108. Two stagehands, Mani and Kid, get stuck in a rundown New York City theatre as part of a standard nuclear warfare drill. As the threat of the world's end closes in on them, they debate the purpose of living in a world that’s poisoned the human experience, seeking answers to an impossible question: what is the point of trying if there’s nothing left to live for?
Don’t Panic is a bold, two-hander dark comedy that explores the purpose of living within a society that’s doomed to fail. Set in a corrupt, near-future dystopia, our two characters take us on a journey full of comedy, drama, and magical realism.
Ahead of performances at London's Etcetera Theatre, we caught up with the chatted with the team: Taylor Carmen (writer and actor), Gabrielle-Norma Griffin (actor), and Kay Brattan (director) to learn more about the show.
The title Don’t Panic feels like a wink to the audience. In a world ending in 2108, is that advice a genuine survival tactic or a piece of dark irony?
Taylor: For me it’s definitely both. Our characters live in a world eerily similar to ours, where you wake up bracing yourself for a global catastrophe on some level. The title is an acknowledgement of how ridiculous it feels to “just stay calm” when everything around us is on fire, but it’s also a reminder that we didn’t start the fire, and we can’t put it out if we’re panicking.
Gabrielle-Norma: I’d have to agree with Taylor. The title is definitely a mixture of both, nevertheless, throughout this process, I have truly felt the gravity of the title and it being an advice of genuine survival tactic. Telling someone not to panic when the world is on fire might be the equivalent of telling someone to calm down, nevertheless, climbing into Kids’ skin has allowed me to understand the wisdom that comes with grounding oneself and taking deep breaths in the face of monumental adversity. Without getting too philosophical - I’ll save that for the performance - rest isn't earned, it is a component of being a human, and after you have done everything in your power to make the world a better place, the only thing left to do is rest, breathe, and Don't Panic!
Kay: I’d say it’s a bit of both. As a piece of speculative fiction that also works as a cautionary tale, the play uses its title to balance a sense of instruction with an undercurrent of irony. ‘Don’t Panic’ feels almost reassuring on the surface, but in the context of a world ending in 2108, that reassurance becomes questionable, even darkly humorous. It’s reminiscent of Beckett in the way it gestures toward action while ultimately distilling the play down to its essential themes.
Magical realism is a bold choice for a dystopian setting. How does the 'magic' manifest in a rundown NYC theatre, and how does it help tell Mani and Kid’s story?
Taylor: The magic here provides a real escape for our characters, who are trapped by their setting. Without giving too much away, Mani’s background allows her to give Kid a glimpse at another world. A world where fresh air and damp soil and the sound of nature isn’t something you have to go far to experience. The magic allows us to travel away from the dystopia, without ever leaving the confines of the theatre. It’s a moment that allows two polar opposite people to connect more deeply to their humanity, where the looming danger evaporates and is replaced by this beautiful connection between
two people who share the desire to see a more beautiful world.
Gabrielle-Norma: Magic is everywhere! Where one might see water, trees, and the sun, another might interpret water as the giver of life, trees as the sustainer of life, and the sun as a promise that we get to experience life again. Magic is everywhere! A run down Theatre in New York City is no different. Magic is about using what you have, and creating something else, and there is a beautiful moment in the play, where we get to see just how magical the ordinary truly is.
Kay: Our imaginations are the most powerful tools we have for conjuring magic, and the world of Don’t Panic is one that has largely lost touch with that capacity. It’s a society constantly reminded that the end is near, and in the absence of hope, people have stopped allowing themselves to dream. Kid resists that loss—she’s a dreamer clinging to the impossible in a world that feels like it has no future. That instinct awakens something in Mani, and together they’re able to experience a fleeting moment of magic.
It’s about rediscovering the extraordinary within the ordinary—the overlooked potential in the things we take for granted. That, ultimately, is where the magic lives in Don’t
Panic.”
As both the writer and a performer, which came first: the characters of Mani and Kid, or the existential dilemma they find themselves in?
Taylor: The existential dilemma came first. About two years ago, I was feeling lost artistically, stuck in a corporate survival job that started to prioritize AI and generative content. It felt like every conversation ended in a fight over championing real artists or asking Chat GPT to churn out something quick and free. I was stuck, wondering what the point of my struggle was if the people in power weren’t going to listen. Slowly I started to build the world of Don’t Panic and set up the playground, and then one day Mani and Kid manifested, almost like two halves of myself talking back and forth over this exact issue. From there the play kind of came into being on its own, and these last two years have just been spent looking for the right space and time to do it. Now, it’s 2026, and we’re frighteningly closer to the reality of the play than I’d like, but that means it’s exactly the right moment to share it with other people.
Writing a 'two-hander' means there is nowhere to hide on stage. What was the biggest challenge in keeping the momentum of a dark comedy while stuck in a single location?
Taylor: Because these two are stuck in quite a dramatic situation, there were a lot of moments where I, as the writer, selfishly wanted to let them run off on long monologues about the state of the world and how they felt about it. But that would be a lecture with fun lighting and props. So instead, I used those tangents to develop their inner lives and find what made them tick. I then made it a goal to have each person speak as little as possible before the other feels the need to respond. There are a few moments that slow down, but most of the time I wanted their back and forth to feel rapid and sharp. This allowed the relationship to be the core of the story, allowing moments of dark humour to come into focus amidst
the chaos of their setting.
How did you balance the 'corrupt dystopia' world-building with the intimate, human comedy between two stagehands?
Taylor: I didn’t want to lore-dump in the first ten minutes and call it a dystopia. No one likes expository dialogue. Instead, there are details for the audience to pick up along the way that tell us where in time we are. A reference to how old a movie is, how injuries are treated in this world, tactile things that the characters actually engage with. This helps make our dystopian environment feel grounded, and simultaneously sheds light on these individuals. They’re not explaining the world, they’re fully living in it and you are here as a witness. This approach requires a bit more trust in the audience, but I think audiences value when a writer treats them as intelligent and capable viewers instead of being talked down to about the world of the story.
Being a 'two-hander' means the energy never leaves the stage. How have you built that shorthand and trust to ensure the 'dark comedy' timing lands even when the subject matter gets heavy?
Taylor: Finding a team of artists who read the script and lit up with excitement at the challenge was really important for me. Yes, the subject matter is heavy, but it’s not that much different from the daily headlines we’re getting in our feeds today. So I made sure to find a team who saw that darkness and gloom, and still got a smile on their face reading the story. From there it’s been about developing an unspoken, physical language of trust so we can be anywhere on stage and know that the other person is still there, still supporting you. It not only provides reassurance, but it also keeps that tension, that nonstop energy of a two-hander alive, even in moments where you may dip into something a bit more sincere or deep thematically.
Gabrielle-Norma: I think it goes back to being completely immersed in the character, and allowing
the story to swallow you up whole, despite how scary it might be. Luckily, Taylor is a part of an artist network of friends that I trust and care about, and with that trust, comes the responsibility and the privilege of knowing that your castmate is there for you. With it being a two-hander, you sort of need a rapport that allows you to play off of each other in a seamless way. It's funny, because I met Taylor less than six months ago. I’d done a Vox performance for my Masters Thesis, and it erred on the side of dystopia and the state of the world. Taylor had seen it, and reached out to me to see if I wanted to collaborate on, “ Don't Panic.” If you know anything about me, I am not chronically online. Taylor reached out to me on Instagram, and I believe weeks went by, enough time for her to follow up with another message. Suffice to say, eventually I saw her message, and I am so thankful, because we have been able to form this true and honest cast trust where I feel comfortable tackling a two-hander.
Dystopian plays can often feel heavy or bleak. How have you used the space at the Etcetera Theatre to lean into the 'dark comedy' aspect of the script?
Kay: It really starts with the writing. The comedy is already there in the text, so it’s about allowing the absurdity of the story to exist in tension with the bleakness of the world. The circumstances surrounding Mani and Kid are undeniably heavy, but their conversations aren’t always—and we lean into that contrast by following the rhythm the text demands.
Comedy, in many ways, comes down to timing and musicality—how the dialogue moves, how quickly it zips back and forth, and how the actors embody that energy physically. There’s something very Samuel Beckett-esque in the way Taylor’s language works, particularly in the sharp, rapid exchanges between the characters.
The space at the Etcetera Theatre supports that intimacy, but the dark comedy really comes to life through the actors—their pacing, their physicality, and the way they respond to each other moment by moment.
As the writer, has seeing Gabrielle-Norma’s interpretation of their character changed how you view the words you originally put on the page?
Taylor: Of course, and I fear any writer who doesn’t get overjoyed when that happens. These characters exist one way in my head, but I hope they go on to exist a million different ways, and Gabrielle-Norma has done me the incredible honour of showing me Kid for the first time outside of my head. She brings a gentle spirit to Kid that I love. The chaos that I initially imagined for Kid was much more aggressive and harsh than her version. Kid also holds the hope of the play for me, and to see someone embrace that without being overwhelmed by it is also beautiful. Gabrielle-Norma’s version reminds me that it’s not great big heroes who are going to save our world, it’s those who are afraid of what’s happening, but move forward with kindness through the chaos.
Mani and Kid are stagehands—people usually behind the scenes—now forced into the spotlight of their own survival. How does their profession influence how they handle the 'end of the world'?
Gabrielle-Norma: When you work in the theatre, especially the lovely stage managing folks behind the scenes, you have to be ready for anything. The beautiful thing about theatre, and why it's so closely reminiscent of our reality, is that it is live. You cannot pause it, rewind,or fast forward, and you sort of develop a mastery of handling anything that comes your way. This isn't a dress rehearsal, it's all happening now, and in Mani and The Kids’ world, where their nervous systems are shocked by drills and the end of the world, their particular set of skills comes in handy.
Comedy and tragedy are two sides of the same coin in this play. How do you and Taylor find the rhythm to make the audience laugh one second and reflect on doom the next?
Gabrielle-Norma: Finding the rhythm with Taylor, and with any actor, comes with a focus on being excited with rolling up your sleeves and being willing to play. Taylor has written such a wonderful and substantial play, and what an honor to be able to sink my teeth into something so relevant and representative of our world. I don't think about finding rhythm to make audiences laugh. I think about embodying the character enough that it pays honor to them and the human experience, and I hope that touches the audience in the way that they need. It’s never about curating a way that ensures a specific emotion at specific times, because what might be funny to one person is depressing for another. My base for success is truth and honesty, and whether I am paying respect to the role that I am playing, and the human experience. Playing opposite of Taylor allows me to do that.
With only two actors on stage, how do you use the 'theatre within a theatre' setting to make the environment feel like a third character?
Kay: I come from a site-specific background—from guerrilla theatre practices to directing burlesque in Toronto—so I’m always asking, ‘Why this story in this space?’ Early in the process, I look at how the natural architecture of a venue can actively support the storytelling.
With Don’t Panic, which is literally set inside a theatre, the key is to lean into what the Etcetera already offers us. I’m a big believer that performance space isn’t limited to the stage, so we’re using as much of the theatre as possible—really embracing the space in its entirety.
The goal is to make the environment feel alive, almost like a third character, by fully immersing the audience in Mani and Kid’s world. In a way, it’s as if the audience becomes the lingering presence of a show that’s just ended—the metaphorical ghosts still inhabiting the theatre alongside them.
Directing a two-person show is like conducting a duet. How do you keep the visual landscape of a 'rundown theatre' dynamic when the characters are trapped in one spot?
Kay: We’ve spent a lot of time imagining what theatre might look like in 2108—how the arts survive in a society that feels like it’s on the brink of collapse. Even now, we’re seeing funding stripped from arts institutions, but that doesn’t stop artists from creating; if anything, it breeds greater resilience and resourcefulness.
In Don’t Panic, theatre becomes a kind of protest—an act of defiance against the world outside. The space Mani and Kid inhabit isn’t a polished, commercial venue, but something much more fringe: a place that survives purely on the passion of the people who keep it alive. I often think of it as akin to the
underground punk venues of the 1970s—raw, immediate, and driven by a need for catharsis.
To keep that environment dynamic, we use the entire theatre as a living landscape. The characters may be confined in one sense, but physically and emotionally they move through the whole space, with the audience as witnesses to that journey. It’s that constant interaction—with the space and with each other—that keeps the world feeling active and alive.
The Etcetera Theatre is an intimate, iconic fringe space. How are you using that 'closeness' to make the audience feel like they are trapped in the drill with Mani and Kid?
For me, the relationship between the audience and the story is always really important. Even when we’re not breaking the fourth wall, I still think they’re part of the world in some way. In Don’t Panic, they’re a fly on the wall — but a very close one.
The Etcetera Theatre really lets us lean into that closeness. It’s such an intimate space, so there’s no real distance between the audience and the action — you’re right there with Mani and Kid. We’re using lighting to make the space feel tighter and more enclosed, almost bunker-like, so it feels like the walls are closing in around everyone.
Sound plays a big part in that too. We’re creating a sense of a world outside the room — things you can hear but not see — so it feels like that outside pressure is constantly bleeding into the space.
And from there, we let the proximity do the work. You’re sharing the same space, the same air, the same tension, so by the end it feels less like you’ve watched something happen, and more like you’ve been stuck in it with them.
The play asks an 'impossible question' about the point of trying. After living in this world throughout rehearsals, have you found an answer, or is the point to leave the audience searching?
Taylor: My hope is not to give anyone a definitive answer, but to spark conversations with one another after they leave the theatre. We’re definitely guiding people towards answers, but ultimately, the power lies in them to take from the play what they need.
Gabrielle-Norma: I don't profess to ever having the answer to those impossible questions, because I think rather than there being an answer, there is only a process. I like to believe that life is not found in the cerebral, but in the privilege of playing and experiencing. My role in this play is to help people know where to look, not what to see.
Kay: As much as it may sound like a cliché, I do want to leave the audience with a sense of hope. In a world defined by its ending, the play still allows small glimmers of hope to break through in quiet but meaningful ways. I don’t think it offers a definitive answer to that ‘impossible question’—instead, it invites the audience to sit with it. But if there is an answer, even a tentative one, it’s this: we try because we hope.
Magical realism usually implies that something impossible is treated as normal. Without giving too much away, does the 'magic' in Don’t Panic represent hope, or is it a symptom of the characters losing their minds?
Taylor: I view it as hope, but I’m sure someone could argue that having hope when the world is literally ending outside your door is a sign that you’re losing your mind. For me, though, the magic is hope, it’s resilience, it’s a form of rebellion against a world that demands you cooperate and accept things the way they are.
Gabrielle-Norma: I like to think it’s hope as well. Hope is human, and this play celebrates that. In a world like the one found in Don't Panic and our very own, hope can be seen as foolish, for its impracticality and its inability to push profits and sales and all the things that make our world go round. Nevertheless, Hope precedes evolution. It is the story of all of us, and whether we’re all just losing our minds - I guess we’ll never know.
Kay: Hope is its own kind of magic. It’s a powerful force—one that allows people to defy the odds and stand up for what they believe in. And when that hope is shared, when it creates a sense of connection or community, it becomes something even more extraordinary. In Don’t Panic, that shared hope is what sparks the ‘magic’ between Mani and Kid. It may seem irrational—almost like a kind of madness—to hold onto hope with the apocalypse unfolding around them. But I’d argue it’s the opposite: it’s a profound act of strength and resilience to keep hoping when everything else is falling apart.
2108 is close enough to feel real but far enough to be a fantasy. How much of our current world’s anxieties did you bake into this 'corrupt dystopia'?
Taylor: Every single anxiety I have about our current state of affairs is a direct inspiration for the dystopia of Don’t Panic. The play is structured in such a way that, if you don’t read the program beforehand, you may not even realize it’s set in the future.
And that was my intention. I’m a very big fan of dystopian stories like The Hunger Games, but I’ve witnessed audiences walk away from those stories as if they’re just entertainment. Dystopia stories are a warning. Don’t Panic doesn’t paint a world that’s ultra-futuristic and far off, it shows a very real possibility of where we could be in fifty to a hundred years if we allow people in power to continue stripping us of our humanity, treating us like tools they can use and disregard instead of individuals with dreams and ambitions for a better future.
Gabrielle-Norma: I am not a method actor, but playing Kid makes me feel like I am because after I am done running around in kids’ world, returning to my world doesn't look or feel much different than that of Don't Panic. Everyday, I joke that I am tired of living through historical events, but it does instill a level of hope and creativity that I see in characters of my favorite dystopian novels and TV shows. Like Taylor, I am a huge Hunger Games fan. I am equally inspired by The Walking Dead, but it is The Hunger Games series that resonated, because I remember reading it for the first time when I was twelve years old, thinking that the world was so fictional and so foreign to my reality. Interestingly enough, I had no idea how closely the Hunger Games series would eventually feel more like a nonfictional series. Nevertheless, Gabrielle-Norma is living 2026, and Kid is not, so it was important that I shed my interpretations and lived experiences of corruption, in order to allow Kids’ world to affect me. I share similarities with Kid, but shedding my anxieties with my realities with our world was both calming
and necessary to honoring the world Taylor created.
Kay: Dystopian fiction is almost always a response to the fears we’re living with in the present, and that pulse runs strongly through Don’t Panic. In our conversations on the world of the play, we kept coming back to dystopian and sci-fi worlds that don’t feel distant or pristine, but recognisably worn-in—the kind of environments you see in Blade Runner or The Fifth Element, full of grime, concrete, and decay rather than sleek, high-tech perfection. That aesthetic feels much closer to the trajectory we’re on now, where cities continue to sprawl, development overtakes natural spaces, and the future can feel increasingly claustrophobic.
Those anxieties are very real and very current. But rather than simply dwelling in them, Don’t Panic tries to channel that unease into something active—a kind of wake-up call. It reflects the world we’re worried about becoming, while also urging us to pay attention before we get there.
Describe Don't Panic in only three words.
Taylor: Electric. Urgent. Charming.
Kay: Vital. Enduring. Compassionate.
Gabrielle-Norma: Memorable. Healing. Human
If you were actually stuck in a theatre for the end of the world, what is the one prop or costume item you’d want with you?
Taylor: Sally’s robe in the current production of Cabaret on the West End. That robe looks like the most comfortable way to go out while looking incredible, and I can spend the end of the world by living out my dream of playing Sally Bowles. A win-win situation.
Kay: The massive Totoro puppet from My Neighbour Totoro.
Gabrielle-Norma: This might be very predictable but the skull from Hamlet.
What was the first piece of theatre you remember having a big impact on you?
Taylor: Hedwig And The Angry Inch at the Los Angeles Pantages theatre. I remember Darren Criss was starring as Hedwig. I didn’t know rock could live in musical theatre, so for my fifteen year old self that was a lesson in breaking all the rules a genre gives you.
Kay: I was absolutely obsessed with Les Misérables as a child—so much so that my parents took me to see a touring production in my hometown in Canada when I was around 11. It’s a heavy story for a kid, but what stayed with me were the moments of humanity that shine through the darkness. I even saw it again a few years ago with some family visiting, and we were all in tears by the end. There’s a reason it’s endured for so long—it hits you in the heart. That’s the kind of storytelling I aspire to create.
Gabrielle-Norma: Joseph and the Amazing Technicolour Dreamcoat. It was years ago, but I remember seeing the coat and how passionate the actors were, and suddenly I just knew that acting was what I wanted to do for the rest of my life. Truly Magical.
What keeps you inspired?
Taylor: Finding community with people whose talent you admire. Hosting dinner parties, game nights, going with a group to the movies, getting offline and connecting in person with people who fill you with energy to create.
Gabrielle-Norma: Recently, I read a quote that said, “If the goal is to experience, then everything is a win.” This life, this experience, is so finite. We truly are only visitors to this place.
This experience is like an airport on a random Tuesday morning - how we all ended up here at this point in time in this place, remains a mystery but we are here. I am motivated by experiencing everything that I possibly can, whether it's good or bad, I will let it all happen to me.
Kay: Stories inspire me—because everyone has one. Taking the time to really listen to someone’s story is, in itself, an inspiring act. I’m drawn to what drives people, what frustrates them, what they’re passionate about, and the journeys that have shaped them. There’s a real courage in sharing those experiences, and I find endless inspiration in the people who are brave enough to tell their stories.
What do you hope London audiences are talking about at the pub immediately after the curtain falls?
Kay: I hope audiences walk away thinking about the importance of community and empathy. It’s so easy to slip into isolation, especially when the world feels increasingly disconnected, but Don’t Panic really highlights how vital it is to reach for one another—particularly in moments when hope feels hardest to hold onto.
There are so many conversations we want to spark through this story, but more than anything, I’d love people to leave carrying even the smallest spark of hope—not just in the world, but in each other.
Don't Panic runs from April 21st to April 26th at the Etcetera Theatre (265 Camden High St, London NW1 7BU). For tickets and more information visit https://www.etceteratheatrecamden.com/events/dont-panic
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