I Still Think About the Off-Broadway 'Winnie the Pooh' Musical

Cast of Winnie the Pooh: The New Musical Adaptation (Photo: Jeremy Daniel)

by Chris Peterson, OnStage Blog Founder

Every now and then, I still think about the off-Broadway Winnie the Pooh musical.

The news this week about a new Paddington musical being developed in the UK brought it all rushing back. It reminded me how much I loved that Pooh production—not just for its artistry or its charm, but for how it made me feel. And for how it made my son feel, too.

We saw it together, and he was completely enchanted. The characters he knew from bedtime stories were suddenly right there—life-sized, soft, and full of heart. He laughed, he sang, he stared wide-eyed at Pooh as if he were a real friend. And honestly? I did the same. I expected him to love it. I didn’t expect it to move me so deeply.

It wasn’t a flashy show. Just beautifully crafted puppets, a handful of kind and talented performers, and a story that whispered instead of shouted. For an hour or so, Winnie the Pooh gave us something I didn’t realize I was missing: space to breathe.

It was sweet and gentle and completely unafraid of being quiet. It didn’t try to be ironic or meta or wink at the grownups in the room. It just trusted the story to do what it’s always done—offer comfort. And in a world that often feels relentlessly fast and sharp, that kind of softness felt like a revelation.

The world has gotten harder and louder in so many ways. And theatre, naturally, often meets that moment with urgency—with confrontation, edge. And we need that. But I think we also need spaces where our shoulders can drop. Places where we’re reminded that gentleness can be powerful, too.

That show did that. For me, and for my son.

I watched adults cry quietly. I watched families walk out with a kind of stillness, like they’d just come out of a warm, safe place they didn’t want to leave. It wasn’t spectacle. It was sincerity. And that’s what stuck with me.

So yes, I still think about Pooh. And hearing about the upcoming Paddington musical made me realize just how much I miss that kind of storytelling. Gentle, honest, deeply human. I hope the Paddington team leans into that same spirit—not just nostalgia, but care.

We need stories that remind us we’re allowed to be soft. That wonder doesn’t need to be loud. That sometimes, a bear with a suitcase or a bear with very little brain can teach us more about love and patience than anything else.

I’m all for the bold and the groundbreaking. But I’m also hoping for more honey. More marmalade. More shows that take us by the hand and say, “Come sit for a while. You’re safe here.”

Maybe now more than ever.