The death-defying power of puppetry.
Dodo skeletons, talking foxes, and artistic immortality.
Hello, my stars.
The Fox steps into the spotlight, glances down at the small red coffin containing the body of his puppet daughter, and poses a question: how can we live in the now when, as soon as you think it, now, it’s already gone, whoosh. Now! Whoosh! Now! Whoosh! He zips and swishes his red-gloved hand, miming an attempt to capture the fleeting moment as the audience watches, entranced.
But for now, let’s leave the Fox behind with his existential thoughts. We’ll return to him in a bit.
It’s no secret that time flies. Flowers hurtle towards wilting just as they begin to bloom. Wine starts to die the moment you open the bottle. And, in performance art, each second represents a death of sorts. I was recently reading Lauren Elkin’s dazzling and revelatory book, Art Monsters, and came across this passage describing the rise of performance art in the 1970s:
To work in performance was to stick two fingers up to the art establishment: it can’t be preserved on a canvas - only on film, but that’s not the same thing. It is art that eats away at the idea of Art; art that decreates as it creates.
No other medium embraces the fleeting nature of time quite so deftly, with most forms of capital-a-art choosing instead to struggle against the inevitable and strive toward “immortality”. Painters tuck memento mori skulls into the shadows, poets pen striking metaphors to explore grief and death. UV-resistant varnish and archival paper and acid-free ink, all futile in the end. No physical medium, no matter how well protected, can be preserved forever.
Free from this false temptation, performance art can sometimes carve out its own sliver of immortality by tapping into the imaginations of audience members. The more imaginative labor the audience is asked to do, the more we share in the creative act - not only the consumption and destruction of the artwork but the making of it too. That is where true immortality lies, and, in my experience, puppet shows are one of the fastest paths to it.
I never know how people will react when I profess my love for puppetry, but it’s a hill I am willing to die on. A future essay is coming where I explore the origins of my love for this (admittedly strange) medium, but today we are going to stay focused on the subject at hand: puppets and death/immortality. You know how all-ages animated movies can crack your heart right open (*cough* Disney Pixar’s Up *cough*)? High-quality live puppet performances are that on steroids.
Allow me to illustrate by taking us back to the Fox. The Fox is a central character in visual theatre company Wakka Wakka’s ANIMALIA trilogy. He breaks the fourth wall, answers ringing lobster phones, and delivers prophesies. He is disarming and flawed, frequently contributing to conflicts rather than resolving them. He asks the audience to do more than suspend our disbelief; he asks us to imbue his daughter with life…now. Quick, before this moment passes. Whoosh.
Last month, I had the privilege of seeing Dead as a Dodo, the final installment of ANIMALIA. I’ll let Wakka Wakka introduce the concept behind this sweeping epic narrative:
Deep within the underworld, two skeleton friends, a Dodo and a boy, tirelessly dig for fresh bones. Their ancient skeletal forms are deteriorating and without them they will disappear completely. One day something peculiar happens: The Dodo miraculously sprouts feathers! A wave of transformation begins, shattering the established order of the dead.
As the Dodo continues to grow flesh, fear and chaos erupt. The two friends must flee, fighting to stay together as they are drawn into the heart of an epic battle between life and death. Infused with puppetry, humor, and stunning visual effects, Dead as a Dodo is a mesmerizing musical odyssey about survival, transformation, and the power of true friendship.
(Spoilers ahead!)
In this play, the puppets are immersed in the realm of death. Two friends believing wholly in each other, clinging to one another even as the tides of time pull them in different directions. Meanwhile, the greedy underworld king hoards all of the bones, sending his witchy daughter to hunt the boy and the dodo. The life bursting forth from dodo’s new feathers threatens his kingdom and must be stopped at all costs.
Looney-Tunes inspired slapstick humor and delightfully catchy musical numbers offset the heartbreaking tragedy of watching the boy vanish, piece by piece, while the dodo comes back to life. It is as tragic as watching the body of any loved one fail while one’s own body thrives. His once sturdy and solid bones shift into shimmering black fabric, seamlessly swallowed by the cavernous set design. “I don’t want to disappear,” he pleads with anyone who will listen. Perhaps the boy was once an artist.
When he finally succumbs, his once lively dancing form falling limp on the stage, the puppet-death is as powerful as any portrayal of mortality in films, poems, artwork. The audience falls silent, mourning the small lump of fabric that - just moments ago - was telling his friend to go live her life, that she was going to do great things. His loss is palpable, because we believed he was alive.
The story doesn’t end there though. We see his lifeless form nudged into the afterlife by a shadowy wooly mammoth, clad in the same glittering black fabric. Riding his newfound companion, the boy ventures to the land of the living. He peeks into the dodo’s new home, watching awestruck as her first chick(!) hatches. Then, having said his silent goodbye, the boy moves on to the next chapter of his story. “There’s so much to be done,” he murmurs to the mammoth as they ride off into the darkness together.
I’ve written about magic here before. Take it from me, puppeteers are magicians. If you have the opportunity to see an original puppet performance, seize it. Get your body into that seat and breathe life into the story while you still can.
Next week I’ll either write about the origins of my puppet passion (including a highlight reel of my favorite performances) or something else entirely. We’ll have to wait and see what new constellations form in this wild artist brain of mine. As always, thank you for reading.
XOXO,
Sam ✨