Puppetry is something I’m unsure of: I find it hard to empathise with an inanimate object. However, during this performance of Birdsong, I am certain that each audience member was hanging onto every little movement of the brown paper puppet all the way through the show. I was invested, and I cared.
The play begins as the brown paper creature emerges into the world, or a desert island version of it, and begins to discover its sense of self through movement. It plays, dances, and thrashes around flawlessly. The creature takes on different physical characteristics: a face, a foot, an arm, even breasts. All perfectly choreographed through the use of magnets and an unyielding concentration from the puppeteers.
What was most moving about this piece was how I was able to recognise the same character or spirit in the creature within its many forms. The creature is funny, charming, curious, and seemingly has an enthusiasm for just being. I am able to connect with it, because I recognise its curiosity in its physical form and the world it has emerged into.
A key turning point for the character is when it sees itself in a mirror and begins to become less inhibited and more self-aware. He soon recognises his solitude in this world. It sits down for a tea party for two, completely alone. It was striking to me how (audibly) moved the audience was by this representation of solitude that was created by two puppeteers in unison. A sort of melancholic irony, I suppose.
The puppeteers did something magical in bringing new life to the stage. They created heaven and earth, and took on the role of a higher being that controls how we discover and recognise ourselves. They showed us how we cannot control what forms we will take in our lives or how we will develop, but what we can do is find freedom within ourselves. The creature pulls a feather from within and becomes a bird and we are left asking what our feather is, and what will it transform us into?
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