For this most charismatic of actors, it must be agony. Not for having to carry this defiantly impressionistic meditation on her life as a performer who was diagnosed with multiple sclerosis 12 years ago, although that must be hard enough. Rather, for a woman who confesses her love for shoes but who can't wear high heels any more, having to watch lithe young bodies stretch, pirouette and cavort with choreographed perfection from the front corner of the stage must add insult to an injury that's not of her making.
This, though, is the point of the exercise, which puts the body politic centre-stage in a series of routines underscored by a jukebox full of early 1960s pop hits, and played out in a mint-coloured room with a glass-fronted pink boudoir at the back.
The little girl sports a sparkly scarlet dress as she announces a potted history of Peebles' wild years. One of the performers dressed as a ballerina spins out of control, showing off injuries of her own. Another howls into a microphone, while the sole male onstage dances in the same scarlet frock.
If this is all post-modern showbiz, only the bobbed figure of Peebles in a dressing-gown is for real. Led carefully out in heels once more, as she turns physical debilitation into a fiercely defiant work of art, the pleasure on Peebles' face as she gets to walk tall once more is an image to treasure.