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THE
TEENY WEENIE PUPPET SHOW
SPRING/SUMMER 2007- ISSUE NO. 21
Contents • Selections
| EDITOR'S NOTE: |
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by Andrew C. Periale
"It's humongous!" says Nina Totenberg, describing the
scene at the opening of the trial of Neo-con bad boy
"Scooter " Libby, and specifically how much Libby's
legal defense would cost: "Eleven lawyers from three
top Washington law firms, and for every lawyer
in the courtroom there's three or four more back in
the office."
"I'm trying to do the math," says host
Scott Simon. "
It's humongous!"*
I took note of this not merely because the amount of
money in question would be sufficient to completely fund
Puppetry Inter- national for 150 years (it actually would),
but because, in reading through the submissions for this
issue, several authors used that word: humongous.
As our issue focuses on examples of the world's smallest
puppetry, it is useful to have a word—even a made up
word like "kajillion" or "gazillion"—to confer standing
in the world of the itsy-bitsy-teeny-weeny by juxtaposing
the flyspeck with the elephantine, the lilliputian with
the humongous.
In the early 1980s, John and Carol Farrell (Figures
of Speech Theater), newly returned from a summer course
at the International Puppetry Institute in Charleville-Mézières,
France, described a performance by one of their fellow
students. The puppet booth was a washing machine. Tiny
figures would rise out of a ground of styrofoam beads,
manipulated by rods from underneath. Spectators (of
which there could only be two or three) would look into
the machine as if Gods peering down on mortals through
some
Olympian camera obscura. They must have felt humongous.
One can imagine the difficulty of gaining exposure (never
mind earning a living) playing to such small groups.
Artists working in the micro scale have employed a variety
of techniques for expanding their audience base. Their
strategies include providing spectators with opera glasses,
committing the work to film or video, using actors or
dancers to mirror the actions of very small puppets,
and using live-feed video projection of the action, projected
simultaneously. As impressive and appropriate as the
technology can be, it is also thrilling to see the work
of practitioners such as Ken Feit, whose too-brief career
was filled with memorable performances for one or two
persons: "using only a toothpick, a wad of chewing gum
and his two index fingers."
This issue is full of such ingenious, original and,
yes, very, very small work. We hope it brings you humongous
pleasure.
George Latshaw was a giant in the puppet world.
His influence is incalculable. His passing in late December
was sad news to the generations of puppeteers who knew
and loved the man. Manuel Moran shares with us Latshaw's
impact on puppetry in Puerto Rico. For all
his accomplishments—in film, live performance, writing,
editing, directing, teaching—a lasting part of his legacy
will surely reside in the tiny messages he sent out on
postcards. There must be thousands of them magneted to
refrigerator doors all over the world. The last we received,
just a few weeks before his death, was characteristically
joyous and oddly prescient:
I’ve been captive too long, but they say I may be sprung
Nov. 14 or 15. I hope that is true. I have met you
in my dreams and the wine was A-1.
Love, Geo
*Ms. Totenberg's words
were transcribed on a napkin while driving. We apologize
for any slight deviation from the original wording.
From NPR's Weekend Edition® Saturday, February 2007.
Weekend Edition® Saturday, February 2007. |
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