Threads (Irina Glinski)

Ach, I don’t know.

 

On the one hand I know that Threads, a UK premiere from Quebecois company Theatre Incline, is a reworking of a folk story of female empowerment, a self-described ‘mythological tale that is on the side of life’.

 

And that’s great. I’m on board. I love me some female empowerment.

 

But Threads an engaging and well-performed piece that is frustratingly blemished by a few annoying flaws.

 

A mountain woman – or spirit? – is ravished by an ogre and condemned to live an entrapped, lonely life amidst the sandy fallout of war. The offspring of this violence is an initially irritating but eventually quite sweet daughter, born with a gammy foot and a mane of red hair.

 

The production is visually striking – the heap of sand centre stage continually offers up creative opportunities for buried prop treasure  – but it is marred by some intrusive and sentimental narration. A wise female voice over-elucidates the threads of love binding a mother and child, oddly reminiscent of Vanessa Redgrave endlessly compounding the virtues of love in Call the Midwife. After a while this begins to grate: perhaps if the narration hadn’t been so focused on constant exposition, the narrative weight could have been picked up by the two very gifted performers and puppet-masters, Jose Babin and Nadine Walsh.

For a piece so concerned with exploring the most essential of human relationships, I would have preferred to have had a stronger one with those on stage, rather than having Redgrave 2 chiming in with flowery maxims on all-healing strength of a mother’s love. This type of language sits at odds to the brutal and bloody signifiers of rape on stage, and not in a way that leads to any greater understanding of either.

Threads gives us some beautiful effects, an interesting take on mythology and the puppetry is first rate. Unfortunately, its impact is undermined by the simplistic philosophy of redemption and the narration that over-elucidates the story.

Bird (Irina Glinski)

Sita Piaraccini is a wild-haired, wide-eyed, intoxicating creature of innocence who has somehow found herself the sole human survivor in a post-apocalyptic world. She constantly fusses over a mound of earth, scrabbling to bring order in to a disordered landscape. She is desperately hungry; taunted by the rude interjections of her own stomach, she forages for scraps inside tin cans and reluctantly gnaws on a piece of wood. She’s the sort of post-apocalyptic survivor that we would all hope to be, but deep down we know we are not: pragmatic, hopeful and kind.

The performance is supported by Foley artist and musician David Pollock, who creates the sort of organic, wholesome sounds that I haven’t heard since childhood, and that would not be out of place alongside the best of Oliver Postgate. From the gentle pad-pad-padding of bare feet on dry grass, to the feathery flutterings of wings that suggest she is not totally alone in this world – every sound is a fulfilling joy, giving great depth to this piece.

What is so brilliant about Bird is that everything on stage is relatable on a most primitive level. Piaraccini’s performance is nuanced and clever. There are no words uttered – for what good are words when there is no-one to talk to – but we are still acutely aware of her pains and her loneliness, thanks to her ability to express emotion even with the flicker of a finger or the turn of her head. Ultimately it is a simple little tale, but one that shows that Piaraccini really gets what it is to be human.

 

Birdheart Review (Georgia Nelson)

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?

Knock Knock (Katie Shannon Williams)

Knock Knock showcases the working progress from Emma King and Catherine Elliot, with the support from Puppet Animation Scotland and the assistance of Physical Theatre Scotland. They share 4 short pieces which experiment with various puppetry styles and movement.

Opening with an audio of children laughing, an uneasy atmosphere is instantly created.  A young shadow puppet cries in fear as something scuttles behind the door until the performers contort their bodies. They rip the door away from the set which leads to the next piece.

This includes a baby that is dismantled in front of our eyes and as this innocent infant screams, the atmosphere becomes creepy and uncomfortable. This is lightened by two paper puppets. They were given comical personalities by the performers. By not using real words, just sounds, the audience was transported to this new little world.

The feature of the door allows the audience to question “what is behind the door?” It is the unknown that can scare us and it was apparent that this was one of the themes the company held strongly to.

Knock Knock concludes with a talk from King and Elliot. It was revealed that they want to develop it into a show for children. Yet they emphasise a thriller aspect in the project. This raises the question, is the production asking to go in another direction-possibly something too dark for children?

As a working progress, each piece looks promising. The enthusiasm that King and Elliot show proposes that it is going to be a promising time ahead.

Power and Puppets: Small Stories in a Big World – Films and Talk with Claire Lamond (Eric

 

With animator Iain Gardner leading the discussion,  2012 Edinburgh College of Art graduate Claire Lamond presents a collection of short animated films. These include three of Lamond’s own creations and a selection of shorts by other animators. The other shorts deal with various social/mental health issues, such as dealing with grief after losing a loved one and fear of the world.

The presentation begins with Lamond’s debut film All that Glisters (2012, 8’), which follows a girl whose father is suffering from asbestos poisoning. While the dialogue itself is quite subtle, the moments of silent action – for example when the main character decides to smear her clothing with glitter pens to attend a funeral – become incredibly powerful.

Furthermore, the rough texture of the puppets Lamond uses seems fitting, and seems to make them more human, although it’s quite easy to see they are not. This persists across the other two films she brings to manipulate: Seams and Embers (2012, 7’) that sheds light on the UK miners and their lifestyle, and hope-restoring war film Sea Front(2014, 8’).

On the other side of the war-film genre sits Danish Seven Minutes in the Warsaw Ghetto (2012, 7’). Using puppets with human eyes and black-and-white instead of colour, Johan Oettinger sets the scene for the sorry tale of a little boy who goes for a wander in the Warsaw ghetto before dinner.

Meanwhile, Suzie Templeton’s BAFTA-winning Dog (2001, 6’) provides a completely different take on familial grief. A young boy and his father struggle to deal with the death of his mother while the family dog looks like it might follow in her footsteps. Morbid, yes, yet also awkwardly funny as each character deals with the grief differently.

Daisy Jacobs’ The Bigger Picture (2014, 8’) continues the theme of films about a family member dying. Two brothers at constant odds with each other have to negotiate around each other while caring for their aging, dying mother. Funny at times, and at others surprisingly accurate about life and the effect stress and grief can have on the psyche, it’s not hard to relate to the anecdotes, in spite of the elaborate,yet elegant surreal drawn animation. Perhaps that’s why The Bigger Picture received an Oscar nomination for Best Animated Short Film.

The shortest film on the programme is Jerry Hibert’s Unison Bear (1995, 1’), a public ad from the nineties recruiting members for Unison, the public service union. Short, funny, yet effective, it reflects the power of the medium of animation.

 

French animated film Apeuree (Scared, 2012, 5’) by Patricia Sourdes explores the anxious, tentative existence of a girl who is scared of everything. It’s hard to decide if Scared is outright hilarious or tragic, as it seems like a very entertaining situation from the outside, but most likely isn’t for the anxiety-ridden character.

Humorous Argentinian film El Empleo (2008, 7’) by Santiago Bou Grasso presents a universe where the meaning of ‘work’ is driven to a whole new definition. People take the place of ordinary objects to make a living – such as a lamp – and seem to be taken for granted, like cogs of a well-oiled machine. If one part doesn’t function, it would simply be replaced, which seems like a broader commentary on the way work takes over people’s lives due to the fear of losing a job.

With this rich programme, Lamond’s theme of power and puppets seems to be explored quite widely, although at times it seems to lead to more questions than answers.

 

(Eric Karoulla)

Autumn Portraits by Sandglass Theater (Review by Elliot Roberts)

A dialogue on the Autumn Portraits taking place upon a theatre stage on which sits a smaller puppet stage: a puppet, a musical hall showman, and a dramaturg have met some time after the show has finished and the audience have long since returned to their homes.

Music Hall Showman: What a show! He had the audience in the palm of his hand-

Dramaturg: You mean puppeteer Eric Bass?

Music Hall Showman: Yeah, that’s him.

Dramaturg: Well, technically he had the audience in the palm of the puppets hands.

Puppet: Yes, enough about the puppeteer, it’s the puppets that get the whole thing going.

Dramaturg: Quite. In each of the five vignettes, the puppets themselves take on the role of storyteller, from the master of the masks to the old Jewish shoemaker bargaining with his maker.

Music Hall Showman: Don’t forget about O’Neil, the showman from the old music hall tradition

Puppet: Ha, him again. Those comedians always get the best lines.

Music Hall Showman: A real song and dance man, the whole shebang! He had songs, he had patter, he had jokes.

Dramaturg: True, by getting the audience involved-

Music Hall Showman: With some brave and handsome audience volunteers!

Dramaturg: He forged a living link between the ancient traditions of puppetry and the ‘here and now’ central to stand-up comedy culture with which we are so familiar.

Puppet: Well of course he did. If it weren’t for that then I doubt some of you people would care. If we aren’t being heart wrenchingly realistic horses or spinster-esque old ladies then very few would take an interest in the culture of us puppets.

Music Hall Showman: They’re not just for kids anymore!

Puppet: Who said that we were?

Dramaturg: Let’s not come to blows, after all, Bass showed us puppets both of ancient and irreverent strains, from the unwitting victims of their own ritual machinations to the helpless hand-tied thespian.

Puppet: This must be pretty funny for you

Dramaturg: How so?

Puppet: You have a seat and watch the interplay between a puppet and his creator as you would an end of the pier amusement. Something of such huge scope that you dare not shoot your gaze further than the lighting rig.

Dramaturg: Actually I’m an existentialist, but I take your point.

Music Hall Showman: Nothing gets and audience on-side quicker than a magic trick, Bass understands that. Of course the only thing more satisfying than a trick done well, like the puppeteer untying his own hands, is a magic trick gone bad!

Puppet: You mean like that Monk-like figure cursed by the very spirits that they summoned moments earlier?

Music Hall Showman: Gee man, that was dark. I meant the little king guy who couldn’t untie his hands…

Dramaturg: Either way we see the puppets struggling within worlds in which they do not have control and yet attempt to exert control in spite of this. Is there not something Brechtian in that?

Music Hall Showman: Now he was a song and dance man!

Puppet: Maybe not ‘The Parting Glass’ in Brecht’s case, but when sung in the key of ‘meh’ it was nothing short of heart-warming.

Dramaturg: Perhaps I’m just being struck by the intricacy of the mechanics involved, of the puppeteer visibly working away behind the scenes and in setting the miniature stage for each vignette.

Puppet: Might I suggest though that the bright lights and polish of a black box studio piece may not really be the place to best experience all our puppet cultures have to offer. The tension placed on the puppeteer makes them an extension of the theatre’s machinery, as just another piece of specialist machinery as opposed to a storytelling revelling in a turn. Much as I am proud to see our craft as puppets taking its place amongst the plethora of theatrical devices, part of me yearns to see the Autumn Portraits amongst a bustling market, or an autumn’s night in a tavern. For such storytelling brings its own essence of theatre even without the trappings of a formal theatre building.

Dramaturg: That I’d like to share with you, but not without having a notebook to hand! Of course, that is not to say that seeing the piece is a theatre space is any less of a delight, just that it might not need such a space to be maximally expressive in a dramaturgical sense.

Music Hall Showman: But fellas, think of the seating, think of the crowded room of punters waiting to be entertained!

Puppet: I guess that puppet showman O’Neill is with you on that one, and I too am with him on his parting words to us, a reminder that: “The next time that you see a little puppet in the street, why take him out for dinner?”, and speaking of which…

Dramaturg: On a dramaturg’s wages…really?

Music Hall Showman: Well, after a show like that I feel a celebration is in order!

Dramaturg: Fine…somewhere bread based?

Puppet: I’m not following…

Dramaturg: Bread and Puppet Theatre…Stefan Brecht?        

Music Hall Showman: Just get your coat

They Leave

Voice of the Creator: Man you know how to pull each other’s strings!

Amber Botteley on Autumn Portraits

Eric Bass’ wonderfully crafted puppets take on unique human personas and lives of their own as you steadily fall in love with each and every one of them… yes, yes, even the annoyingly loveable meh, meh Music Man! Five beautiful tales told through an exquisite understanding of movement and storytelling bring each and every world to life capturing the audiences hearts, and perhaps gradually bring our beloved puppet master to life in our eyes as he so lovingly does to his muses.

 

It was wonderful to appreciate the care and love that has been laboured into this routine (from crafting the puppets to mastering the intricacies of this production) and to see the backstage preparations which can so often and easily be forgotten. To have everything which was to be used for the piece to be in front of your eyes, yet it needed our beloved puppet master to bring it to life. And bring it to life he did.

Each of the ‘vignettes’ has its own puppet master, or at least the puppet is its own puppet master controlled by our puppet master… if you see what I mean…

A Medieval King has a trick played upon him by his Giant Jester, unable to defeat it, he sighs in acceptance as his Jester proves his superiority by effortlessly releasing his majesty from the clutches of the trick.

We move to our meh, Music Man, with a tale of two lovers which is ‘very sad and he insists he didn’t write it’ while he performs to his puppet masters – us.

Next to our Spirit Lady, herself a mistress of stories as she becomes her puppet master (puppet mistress…?), she tells us of a sad tale of a disbelieving and suspicious husband trying to protect his family to tragic ends.

With intrigue we are confronted with a Monk, trying to summon a spirit, only for him to command it from himself. This ‘spirit’ becomes his puppeteer with tragic consequences – there seems to be a theme emerging…?

We come to a very sleepy Shoemaker who is awoken by what he assumes to be the Angel of Death. He tries to convince the Angel to let him finish “ze boots for little Rachael” while tugging on the audience’s heart strings and being one of the most adorable yet tragic characters.

And back we are once more to our Music Man who becomes our orchestra conductor (and a puppeteer of his new found, very surprised musical volunteers).

The puppet master, perhaps becomes a puppet? Do we, the audience become the puppets? Or are we the puppeteers? Whatever way round this may be, you will go home pulling at your strings for more.

This uniquely crafted piece has a few clumsy moments – and perhaps putting the fear of god into your audience whilst scanning for musically gifted (or not as the case may be) volunteers isn’t necessarily the ideal – but taking charge of all those puppets on your own cannot be an easy task! Especially when that pesky Music Man must be causing havoc with the others…

Butterfly (Ramesh Meyyappan) Review by Eric Karoulla

Based on John Luther Long’s short story, Ramesh Meyyappan’s Butterfly brings to life a tale of love, loss, and grief.

Butterfly (Ashley Smith) is a kite maker who meets Nabokov (Ramesh Meyyappan) – author and notorious butterfly collector. He is a man who likes to collect pretty things and display them. They become lovers, and all seems to be going well. Unfortunately, one of Butterfly’s regular customers (Martin McCormick) has been showering her with lavish gifts in return for her kites decides to take his flirtation and interest in her one step further. Nabokov’s jealousy is thrown into the mix, and Butterfly is left all alone.

Set to a musical score by David Paul Jones, Meyyappan’s simple yet elegant physical gestures tell the story clearly. Straddling the line between physical theatre and dance, interactions between performers are very precise, while the elements of puppetry seem to be slightly clunkier. Nonetheless, the puppets are still effective where they have been used, and add to the horror of the delusions that Butterfly sinks into as a response to her grief.

Meanwhile, the set design recalls the style Dominic Hill has developed at the Citizens – the performers are never entirely off stage, and all the props and puppets they need are incorporated into their surroundings. For those who are familiar with the luxurious intensity of Puccini’s opera, Butterfly here might seem slightly pared back and stripped, but it is nonetheless powerful.

Theatre Jinks

Emma King, one of the team behind Theatre Jinks, has been a regular presence at recent manipulate festivals, but this is her first time on the programme. With Knock Knock, along with Cat Elliot, she is using the puppet as a tool for an inquiry into identity – and horror. And bucking the trend for puppeteers who remind audiences that puppetry is not just for children, they are interested in how horror can add to a children’s show.

‘Horror is a very rich theme, it can be very subtle and menacing or extreme blood, guts and gore,’ she explains ‘When we started  developing our ideas for Knock Knock... we decided we wanted to create a performance in the style of a horror for young people. For younger audiences I sometimes feel performances can be a little too safe, and having horror as an element really pushes you to see how far you can go and still ensure it is suitable for your audience.’

Having spent time studying puppetry, the choice of medium was automatic: ‘Puppetry and visual theatre was the natural choice; horror is mystery, magic, suspense and fear and I really feel that these mediums represent those in different and interesting ways.’

For King, ‘horror is an element of most stories,’ and rather than chasing after the shock and awe, she is using it as a way into a study of identity. ‘Identity is related to our exploration of horror, but actually I would say it is maybe the other way round.’ The particular nature of puppets has influenced the process of making, opening up new possibilities.

‘Puppets are really good at exploring identity, because they can be representative of so many things. We have been exploring twins as part of our development, and puppets have been very useful for this because you can really present two characters who are actual replicas of each other, but are completely different.’

Akhe’s Mr Carmen