Where Do We Go When We Die? Michinari Ozawa's Starry-Eyed Vision of Life After Loss in 'Our Cosmic Dust'

On a quiet park bench in Tokyo or London, you may find Michinari Ozawa sitting at night during difficult times in his life, simply looking up to the stars above. Space reminds him that Earth – entangled with heartbreak, loss, and anxiety – is just one small part of an unknowably vast universe. “Our concerns are not necessarily small or insignificant,” he says, “but smaller than how it feels to us in that moment.”

This idea led Ozawa to the title of his award-winning Japanese play Our Cosmic Dust, which has now been reimagined for its English-language debut at London’s Park Theatre. Through a blend of puppetry, LED technology, and deeply human storytelling, the production follows a confused and grieving schoolboy, Shotaro, who embarks on a celestial quest to find his late father in the sky, while his mother desperately chases after him. Ozawa and the cast are crafting a raw portrayal of the ambiguities of death and grief, but it is importantly done so with a focal point on those who are left behind, he explains: “How are they going to choose the path going forward? How are they going to choose to live?”

The company of Our Cosmic Dust. Photo Credit: Pamela Raith.

Born in Tokyo and known for his theatre company EPOCH MAN, Ozawa’s work ranges from surreal family narratives like The Aurelian Siblings to the galactic wonder of Our Cosmic Dust, which brings his lifelong fascination with the stars to life. “I didn't know much about it until I started writing this play,” he admits, “but I've always liked stars, the universe, all of it.”

When Ozawa isn’t admiring the sky, he is observing the people beneath it, imagining the complexities of their life stories. He describes to me his love of “people watching, whether it be in Tokyo or London” — finding quiet fascination in wondering about strangers’ untold stories. In many ways, this habit seeped into Our Cosmic Dust by way of influencing Shotaro’s journey and his encounters with the townspeople, each carrying their own hidden griefs, secrets, and ideas. A quiet kind of liberation, the show gives space to strangers to express what is usually hidden, offering a voice to emotions often confined to private circles.

“Sometimes I just sit on the bench and observe those around me. And I have often wondered, if I were to ask them: ‘Could you just tell me a little bit about your life, just within three minutes?’ I think a lot of them might be a little confused in the beginning – but once they start, I think most of them wouldn't be able to stop. Because I think, as human nature, most people carry a lot they want to express and communicate with different people. So, I just wanted to capture that sense of withheld stories within this play.”

Marrying philosophical questions with immersive visual storytelling was always central to Ozawa's vision. “I was very much interested in combining LED as well as the use of puppetry. So, in other words, the digital as well as the analogue, the new and old. I wanted to really see what the production would look like myself.” Shotaro, Our Cosmic Dust’s protagonist, is a puppet, not an actor – and in fact, Ozawa’s first time using puppetry (he taught himself everything from scratch). The question of what puppetry is, what the art form represents and can convey, continues to rattle ambiguously in his mind. One thing he is certain of, however, is how naturally puppetry is intertwined with his key theme of death: “What we need to remember about puppets is that they wouldn't really come to life unless somebody touches them. It doesn't have the soul itself. It doesn't really have the life to breathe in.” 

The company of Our Cosmic Dust. Photo Credit: Pamela Raith.

Since childhood, he has carried the same question: “Where do we all go when we die?” This ongoing curiosity compelled him to blend that sense of the unknown with the contrasting technologies of LED and puppets – to see where that would take us, he tells me. Ozawa’s creative style, which fuses traditional techniques with modern visuals and existential questions, is an undeniably unique piece of theatre in the British landscape.

Shotaro, who searches for the answers to these inevitable questions in the sky, becomes a vessel for Ozawa’s childlike wonder, as well as the audience’s own reflection. It is a deliberate and intentional decision to tell the story through a child.

“If I chose an adult protagonist, it might make it less empathetic for the audience, partly because adults have already thought about that question a long time ago and may have come to a conclusion. But with a child, there's a more innocent sense of real questioning — they’ve only just started to wonder about these things, and they’re genuinely trying to work it out in their head. And when that child asks adults where people go when they die, it forces those adults to reflect and ask themselves the same question all over again. That’s why, as a stage play, I thought we could portray not just the child’s perspective, but also the adults trying to dig deeper into what they really believe.”

Bringing this play to a British audience required a few cultural adaptations, given that theatre-making is vastly different in Japan and the UK. Ozawa tells me how certain references, like a kokeshi doll or the Japanese folktale Momotaro, were changed with the help of his translator. But the most significant change lay in casting; the original production featured only Japanese characters and actors, but Ozawa felt that it would not be right to do likewise in London. 

“We decided to make all the characters much more diverse. Everyone was born in different places with different backgrounds, but they all come together. Living in London, I encounter so many people from so many different places, and that fits with the choice of a diverse cast. It just felt like the right way to represent what I’ve experienced,” he says.

"I love London’s theatre scene very much, so I would love it if Our Cosmic Dust, had a longer life and a longer run somewhere in London. But also, I would love to bring more new plays to this country and maybe bring them back to Japan. That kind of cultural exchange – I would love to keep doing that going forward.” 

The company of Our Cosmic Dust. Photo Credit: Pamela Raith.

So too is his creative team reflective of this diversity. He speaks glowingly of his cast and creative team, describing them as “the strongest team for this production”. Of the show's first preview, he fondly recalls: “We created an extremely energetic production, and that was received by an extremely energetic audience. I've never felt that much reaction in the auditorium in Japan. It was such a pleasant surprise for me. It was just a wonderful, wonderful thing. We have created something very magical.”

In Ozawa’s eyes, Our Cosmic Dust is ultimately a story about gentleness, kindness, and the aching beauty of grief, but also the small, strange moments of humour and friction that bring the characters to life. So, if one ever finds oneself caught in an emotional rut – as we all inevitably do – he proposes two solutions: sit under the stars and remind yourself that you’re not alone, or go to the Park Theatre and let Our Cosmic Dust remind you of that instead.

In the meantime, Ozawa is content to sit on park benches and keep asking such big questions. Even if the answers never come, the stories and the stardust remain.