Category: Puppetry

REVIEW: This Is Not About Me

Published on by Ke MengLeave a comment

Rating: 5 out of 5.

A strikingly inventive exploration of intimacy

What is intimacy? Is it awkward? Is it exhilarating? Is it something that will inevitably hurt? Is it negotiation over micro-powerdynamics, or a zero-sum game? Written and designed by Hannah Caplan, and directed and dramaturged by Douglas Clarke-Wood, This Is Not About Me acutely explores the shifting meanings of intimacy through Grace and Eli, a pair entangled in an intricate, long-standing relationship.

The design situates the show within multiple spider-like nets, with a trolley-bed at the central stage, and a projection screen behind. A pillow on the bed reads “Things we hate about each other”, followed by another declaring “Things we love about each other”. The pair meets after a long while to unwind their past. 

The first 20 minutes may feel a bit chopped up. There are witty exchanges and word-plays, but they are often lost amid overly frequent scene transitions, awkward puppetry, and indistinct video projections. Nonetheless, the play precisely captures and transfixes the awkward atmosphere of the pair whose history spans over intimacy, friendship and almost destruction. Interestingly, there is a kind of inverted parallel at work: while the narrative unfolds in reverse chronological order, its emotional intensity grows progressively deeper, barer, and much more unfiltered.

The use of subtitles is one of the best, if not the best, I have ever seen, perfectly reflecting what Grace indulges in as “contradiction and pretence as flirting”, while sitting in tension with the stark bareness of her “I love sex” speech. Their puppetry-based sex scene, in that sense, becomes a curious synthesis of both – something at once ultimately raw and predominantly pretentious. 

The show finds its strongest footing in the latter half, where it turns more metatheatrical, becoming a play about Grace writing a play about Grace and Eli, where their power-dynamic parallels the power-dynamic between those who have pen and those who have not, about the authenticity of self and how that self is (re)presented in other’s stories, as well as about physical theatrical presence and their visualised counterpart. 

One scene is particularly convincing. Eli (Francis Nunnery), in physical presence, interacts with a projected image of Grace (video designer Inigo Woodham-Smith), appearing almost like lying together. In the meantime, the physical presence of Amaia Naima Aguinaga, the actor of Grace, “puppeteering” Nunnery through those nets of ropes, thus embodying her fantasised imagery of Eli. Repulsed, Eli avenges by counter-writing a screenplay that polishes his own phallocentric fantasies.

The show ends up with the pair becoming absolutely bare about how they feel (including a fart joke), and the projection features their first meeting years ago. This dramaturgical and directorial decision somehow loses its momentum and feels a bit inadequate and undernourished. However, this does little to diminish its overall achievement, which offers probing perspectives, refreshing theatrical explorations and an exposed intimacy not just between Grace and Eli, but between the show and the audience.

This show runs from 25th March until 18th April. Tickets here.

REVIEW: Manipulate Festival: Animated Documentary Shorts

Published on by Tamsin DunlopLeave a comment

Rating: 4 out of 5.

“A joyful, serious, and skilful showcase of international animators“

Manipulate Festival takes to the Edinburgh Filmhouse for the very first time at tonight’s screening of eight animated documentary shorts. Animation and documentary don’t immediately overlap in any mental Venn diagrams; lazy assumptions take animation to be whimsical and creative, documentary always serious and formulaic. 

But ahead of the screening, Artistic Director and CEO Dawn Taylor explains to the audience why these art forms are so integral to one another: animation allows for the representation of things too unsafe or even impossible to film. It can recreate moments otherwise lost to memory, it can take the viewer into places never thought possible, and – above all, really – it can make the complex and overwhelming accessible and understandable. 

The eight films curated for tonight’s showcase are all highly varied in tone and content: we begin with ‘My Dead Dad’s Porno Tapes’ which is about, well, director Charlie Tyrell’s dead dad’s porno tapes. But not really: it’s about grief and taboo and intergenerational trauma and reticence and anger. It is exceptionally moving and exceptionally funny – as will emerge as a theme of tonight’s documentaries, it takes the insurmountable (death and everything in its wake) and focuses on the seemingly irrelevant mundane (a 2008 Radiohead concert, Hot n Horny Harlots on VHS).

It’s also true of the screening’s most overtly political films, such as ‘Our Uniform’ (a beautiful and textured exploration of being a girl in Iran – but mostly their school uniforms) and ‘I Died in Irpin’ (the horrendous story of fleeing Ukraine from Russian bombs – but mostly about regretting your ex-boyfriend). There’s something almost deceptively soothing about the animated mode; it’s misleadingly easy to watch, distractingly gorgeous to look at. It draws you in and sucks up your attention, until you’re left astounded by the weightiness of what you’ve just learned – educational entertainment, at its very best.

Animals and their tendency to get tied up in culture are another theme. ‘Percebes’ follows the journey of shellfish in Portugal’s Algarve, which seemingly has the same tourism complex as Edinburgh: they need them, they hate them (‘We can’t enjoy when the city is alive, because we’re working’, says a fishmonger). ‘Veni Vidi Non Vici’ is another Portuguese offering, focussing on the tradition of bullfighting and the tricky ethics of balancing tradition with modern morality. ‘The Harbourmaster’ is perhaps the emotionally lightest of the night, animating the life and forcible death of a chain-smoking, troublemaking Norwegian swan – like a Scandi Bojack Horseman. 

The most affecting film of the lot is indisputably ‘Inside, the Valley Sings’ (Natasza Cetner and Nathan Fagan), an almost unbearably vivid insight into the interior lives of American prisoners held in solitary confinement. Banging their heads against the wall, directing movies on a brick wall, fantasising of their children’s voices. It is a gut punch and it is a masterful piece of animation; the hand drawn faces of the incarcerated contrasted become imprinted in your mind. One particularly powerful moment comes from Frank de Palma, a man who spent 22 years in solitary confinement. There were no mirrors in his cell, and he tells of seeing his 58 year old face for the first time since he was in his 30s, ‘I cried – I had gotten old.’

Manipulate Festival’s Animated Documentary Shorts screening was a wonderful display of international talent, highlighting the very best of how animation can educate, move, and firmly press itself into the deepest corners of an audiences’ brain (much like fingers in stop motion clay).

This screening was a one-time event shown at the Edinburgh Filmhouse on the 7th of February as part of the Manipulate Festival which is running in venues across Scotland from the 4th to the 10th of February.

IN CONVERSATION WITH: Inês Santos Belmonte and Lillith Freeman

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We sat down with Inês Santos Belmonte and Lillith Freeman from Foreign Object, an emerging company that aims to investigate heritage, generations, and migration utilising object theatre and puppetry. Their debut show ‘Where Judas Lost His Boots…And Other Words’ plays at The Space 9th – 16th November. Tickets are available here.

What made you want to revisit your own immigration story on stage — and why now, in this political climate?

ISB: Now more than ever before, as we sink deep into a post-Brexit dark moment of mandatory digital ID’s and red spray paint that stains our zebra crossings, it is important to make theatre that reflects on the necessity of immigration, and the many who make that weighty decision in an attempt to better their lives. My story is not singular – although I may be white and European, and there are certain privileges that come with that, the many experiences the character endures in “Where Judas Lost His Boots… And Other Words” are universal: the resentment for being failed by the educational system, the struggle to adapt to a new language, the feeling of longing for a place where you can no longer be – all immigrants have experienced just that. This is a love letter to them, and to my younger self, who very much needed to see this on stage.

Your show blends puppetry, philosophy, and comedy — three things rarely seen together. How did you find that balance between playfulness and poignancy?

ISB: The narrative of the show is told from the perspective of an 11 year old girl as she navigates the highs and lows of a new culture, in a country foreign to hers. These are complex emotions – and 11 year olds have the capacity to feel them. The puppetry comes naturally as a child-like storytelling device since every character she encounters is constructed with objects and becomes an honest caricature – as this is how she would have perceived grownups at that moment in time. The philosophical side of the play, which is more mature in its content, intervenes the story every now and again to contextualise things such as linguicide (the murder of language), words in languages that don’t directly translate to English, and how words can gather community. Simultaneous playfulness and poignancy are drawn out of both these devices naturally, whether it be in the dialogue between puppet and performer, or explanations of Portuguese expressions that are silly in their nature.

The piece uses untranslatable words as a central device. Was there one particular word that captured your own experience of migration better than any English equivalent ever could?

ISB: The untranslatable word ‘Saudade’, from Portuguese, planted the seed for this project. It’s a word for longing, a sorrowful nostalgia for something that once was and can no longer be. It brings me back to my childhood and growing up in my grandmother’s house in Lisbon. That word is deeply ingrained in my family history, since most of my extended family has decided, at many points of their lives, to pick up their bags and go looking for a better life away from the home country. However, as we devised ‘Judas’, Lillith and I came across the word ‘Aduantas’ in Gaelic – an uneasiness that comes from being in an unfamiliar place, amongst unfamiliar people – which also perfectly captures my experience of migration.

Foreign Object explores heritage, generational knowledge, and trauma through everyday objects. How did that idea of “objects as witnesses” first take shape for you?

LF: Objects have always represented heritage and held generational significance. As the ancestor of both Czech-Jewish Holocaust victims, and East-Enders Blitzed out of the East End, cycles of losing objects and then hoarding objects in response have existed across generations in my family. The few heirlooms we have left from before the Holocaust have been the “witnesses” to all of our generational trauma. Therefore, after discovering object theatre during my theatre-making training it has attached itself as a reliable tool in my practice. Within our current show, it also organically grew from the childlike ability to find play in everyday objects, and more practically help build a lively world around our solo performer. 

The company’s work is both political and deeply human. How do you avoid preaching while still provoking thought about immigration and belonging?

LF: It’s definitely a careful balancing act, but I think it’s found by always building from a truthful place. Our projects don’t actually grow from ‘we should make this show because it’s politically relevant’, they grow from the urgency to tell stories that are honest in some way, inspired by memories, verbatim, history, and folklore. And I think that is inherently radical in itself. 

Where Judas Lost His Boots…And Other Words was born from conversations between myself and Inês about learning language and the things our grandmothers have lived through. And then expanded outwards as we spoke with other non-English mother-tongue speakers about their honest experiences and the words that they miss when speaking English. 

For a young company like Foreign Object, Where Judas Lost His Boots… marks a bold debut. What do you hope audiences remember most — the politics, the puppets, or the poetry at its core?

LF: The most valuable part of the show is the poetry that Inês has written from her own experiences, this is what I hope the audience remember. However, as a director my goal is to create striking images that strongly imprint themselves in the audience’s mind, as vessels for that very poetry. Strong images of objects- like a talking sardine tin, cigarette box, lucozade bottle- become a means of remembering the simultaneously poetic and political feelings of longing and belonging that Inês aims to capture in her writing. In this synergy, of Inês’ words and my tableaus, we leave a lasting impression as Foreign Object’s debut. 

IN CONVERSATION WITH: Ben Kidd, Bush Moukarzel, and Zoë McWhinney

Published on by Ke MengLeave a comment

World-renowned theatre company Dead Centre make their Royal Court debut, collaborating with Sign Language poet Zoë McWhinney. Told through a mix of spoken English, British Sign Language (BSL), creative captioning and silence, Deaf Republic brings together an ensemble of deaf and hearing actors, aerial performers, puppetry, live cinema and poetry. We sat down with Ben Kidd, Bush Moukarzel, and Zoë McWhinney to discuss their upcoming performance.

Deaf Republic is adapted from a poetry book of the same name, how did you go about the adaptation process? 

Ben: Well, step one was to read it! 

Bush: Well, I was going to say step one was to think about the team and who would make this show. Dead Centre as an independent company is just us three [Ben and Bush, and Tilly, the producer on the show] of us. So we had to think outside of that to pick which kind of team we want to build the story and it became very clear that, because of the nature of the story, we want deaf artists and hearing artists working together. On top of that, we wanted to reflect some of the strategies of storytelling in the poem. We wanted to engage aerialists, puppeteers, filmmakers, and different ways in which we can capture and reflect the world of Ilya’s poem. 

So step one was to build the right team, try to understand how to create a show where the signing will be in British Sign Language while we’re playing the UK and Irish Sign Language in Ireland. And learn before we do anything with the content. How do we have an accessible room, how to make sure that we have an accessible structure so we can work well and communicate well with each other. 

Ben: Yeah, and then you just try and think of all the best ideas, I suppose. The poems are really fantastic and the book is vibrant and rich and really really compelling. But a lot of where a book lives is in the reader’s imagination and in the theatre you don’t quite have the same luxury of that: everything you do in a theatre is literally happening in front of people’s eyes, on a particular night of their life in which they’re going through all sorts of other things. 

So the adaptation process is about trying to figure out how we translate this text into something, and not do a poetry reading, basically. How can you create something that has its own life and its own reason to exist in its own right? So it was kind of about trying to find a theatricality to a theatrical reason to tell the story. A reason why this might be happening in a theatre. A reason why people might be sitting in a room watching it. And to try and unlock a way in which the story can be told specifically in a theatrical form. 

What methods do you use to bring out the poetic to the form of theatre? 

Zoë: We wanted to honour Ilya’s poetry, so the focus for me was to look at how I could preserve his imagery and the spirit of the story through the translation process into sign language. My aim was to also look at the relationships in the scenes and how they are 

conveyed through sign lanaguge. As well as the translation, we have used projection and subtitles to directly bring his poems into the theatre.

Ben: Illya creates so many rich images and it’s great to use him as inspiration to try and find a visual form for those images. It is also a nice collaboration with him, even though he’s not directly in the room with us. The audience would feel short-changed if they came away and hadn’t heard or read or seen signed some of his extraordinary words. 

Bush: We use the poems as provocations and as inspiration to find the theatrical equivalent, but sometimes it’s also important to let the language in. We don’t want the audience to come and go and not hear or read some straight-up poems by Ilya Kaminsky. So we wanted to find a context that they can enter the evening and exist as intended, as written by him. So that’s another ambition: to let the poetry in as well, and not just as if we’ve translated it. 

Zoë: Inspired by the Ukrainian alphabet we created sign names for characters and places. By blending these two sign languages, Ukrainian and British, we wanted to show the power of resistance in the occupied town of Vasenka. To confuse the aggressor, it’s especially poignant as the word “Boycott” derives from the Irish resisting against the British occupation. My father is Northern Irish so it’s lovely for me to be back in Ireland, especially working with a company based in Dublin. 

You only have to read the history of Ireland to see what is happening now in Ukraine and Palestine. The play bears witness to this struggle, as does Ilya’s poetry. Even though the violent occupation in Ireland was years prior to what we’re seeing now in the world, it echoes like astute poetry would. 

Do you feel like that’s the main relationship between poetry and the theatre, the fact that theatre can expand the poetry? 

Zoë: It’s interesting because the sign for ‘Puppet’ is quite similar to the sign for ‘Politics’ in BSL, it’s just a slight turn of hand. Ilya Kaminsky cleverly creates characters who, in their own right are a troupe of professional puppeteers. Especially in British and Irish sign languages, the sign for “politics” is signed like pulling the strings. 

The gauze used within the play, expresses poetic elements of the script; the eye becomes a pin-camera and the images that are projected onto the gauze allow the audience to become a deaf ‘listener’. Even though the puppet theatre on the stage is small, the gauze and the projection enlarge the visual world. Dead Centre is trying to capture the same lived experience of a native signer when they watch BSL story telling and Visual Vernacular. The hearing audience are given the opportunity to experience life through the deaf lens, whether they realise it or not. It’s an amazing experience to capture the deaf brain 

Visual Vernacular (VV) is a form of storytelling in sign language. It is based on the classifiers in sign language with added elements of personification, visual metaphors, and with similar effect as the use of onomatopoeia in spoken language. For example, the word Engine; we could express this by, [Zoe shows the engine loudly vibrating through movement and facial expressions] which gives it a tone, which becomes poetry within itself. 

VV has the ability to zoom in and out of what’s being seen. You see the full picture with the movements that represent the larger things – let’s say for example a dark broiling cloud floating overhead. But in the same VV poetry recital, you might also see every minute detail amplified, like a condensed raindrop falling from the sky. This is mirrored on stage through the live camera feed. 

Could you tell us a bit more about the decision for characters in the show to become Deaf overnight? 

Ben: Ilya writes a book about, and this isn’t a spoiler cause it was published years ago, a community of people who, when a soldier kills a young deaf boy in their town, they all become deaf. And he explores the idea that deafness is not a disability but it is a unifier, it creates community. The deafness creates solidarity and creates community and it is an act of resistance because it allows the people of the time to no longer hear the orders of the army who are oppressing them. And this is not Ilya’s idea, he explores it very beautifully, but it’s a well-known idea that what mainstream society will sometimes consider a disability can also be thought of as the unifying and important and empowering characteristic that a community shares. 

Zoë: Being deaf isn’t seen by the townsfolk as a particularly political identity at the start of the narrative. Then when the deaf boy, Petya, is killed, deafness is one of the ways they form solidarity as townsfolk, under the occupation that harms and kills. Stepping into the world of Deafness and sign language becomes a form of resistance against the occupation. 

This extended -and embodied – metaphor is a radical rejection that being deaf is a disadvantage. All the characters becoming Deaf is them reclaiming peace, agency and empowerment back. I think it is also a metaphor for an overwhelming desire to be free from occupation, with an undercurrrent of anger and grief; as a means to immediately start living in a world without occupation. To say “I’m refusing your occupation, I’m deaf, fuck your orders, fuck your occupation”. I think that’s the essence of Deaf Republic. The last tools at the disposal of the disenfranchised; our bodies and the stories we tell through our language that lives on.

Handspring Puppet Company performing Faustus in Africa at the Royal Lyceum for Edinburgh INternational Festival

REVIEW: FAUSTUS IN AFRICA!

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Rating: 4 out of 5.

“An ambitious exploration of the psychological confusion, chaos, and bile that take root in colonialism’s heart of darkness.”

After its premiere nearly thirty years ago, Handspring Puppet Company (War Horse, Little Amal) teams up with renowned artist and animator William Kentridge to remount a visually stunning reboot of Doctor Faustus.

In another triumph of form meeting function, one walks away from Faustus in Africa! wondering what else but puppetry and a restrung Elizabethan tragedy could have told this harrowing tale of colonialism, empire, and slavery. In this version, Faustus is a white South African (and a puppet) whose desire to live his life to the fullest leads him down a dark and winding safari of greed, corruption, and violence. The devil Mephistopheles, to whom Faustus has sold his soul in exchange for knowledge and power, is portrayed in human form by Wessel Pretorius – an ominous storytelling choice, given that all the other characters are puppets. The imagination does not have to go far in drawing a line between a human and the Devil himself. 

Combined with Handspring’s puppetry excellence and music by James Phillips & Warrick Sony, Kentridge’s animations simultaneously offer an aesthetically extraordinary treat and a horrifying creative representation of colonial violence. His erased charcoal animations effectively drive the story across the African continent. Images that often seem non-linear, random, and dreamlike lend this ambitious production the psychological underpinnings of confusion, chaos, and bile that take root in colonialism’s heart of darkness. In one animation, the typebar of a typewriter annihilates an elephant. In another, lines become bodies crammed in a slave ship. In a testament to the power of art to tell stories as dark as this one, Kentridge’s violent smudges subconsciously prime the audience to imagine a project as sickly as colonialism.

In retrospect, the scene that has stuck with me is oddly one of the first – when Faustus almost commits suicide. He believes that he has already achieved all there is to achieve, learned all there is to learn from his small human existence. He has somehow wound himself up to believe that there is nothing more for him to do on earth, no meaning left for him to discover. His solution to this problem is a colonial rampage through the African continent and a rape of the earth so brutal, it is almost too difficult to watch in the form of stylized, black and white animations. Viewed from this angle, it is not difficult to make the narrative leap from the 16th century German tale of a doctor who sells his soul for power to our society’s ongoing deal with the devil of colonialism.  Faustus in Africa! raises deeply disturbing questions about human nature, capitalism, and the lengths to which we’ve gone (and continue to go) to quench a thirst for meaning

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Faustus in Africa was a part of the 2025 Edinburgh International Festival and played until 23 August. Get tickets here: http://www.eif.co.uk/events/faustus-in-africa

REVIEW: The Lion, The Witch and The Wardrobe

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Rating: 5 out of 5.

An unmissable feat of stagecraft magic

The classic series by C.S. Lewis has recently had a cultural resurgence, with Greta Gerwig’s star-studded new film famously in the works. The Sadler’s Wells production of The Lion, The Witch and The Wardrobe celebrates the 75th anniversary of the legendary novel with a ‘larger-than-life production’ for all ages. Having already toured extensively, the London season comes about halfway through the 2025 UK and Ireland tour, leaving a trail of 5-star reviews in its wake. 

A re-worked version of Sally Cookson’s original 2017 production, director Michael Fentiman leads this staging to an opening night standing ovation at Sadler’s Wells. A mesmerising production, this version races along whilst managing to not sacrifice story for the sake of pace. 

Brought to life by a merry band of multi-talented performers, we watch as woodland creatures strum instruments, Father Christmas has a solo number and a gang of evil ‘cruels’ present a seamless dance routine. Tom Paris has created an exceptionally versatile set, allowing for transformation from railway station, to spare room to various locations in the magical landscape of Narnia. Costumes by Paris are also exceptional, mirroring the real-world outfits of soldiers during WW2, representing good and evil under the White Queen’s icy rule.

Lighting by Jack Knowles and sound by Tom Marshall work seamlessly together, creating an immersive world that practically envelopes the audience. The songs by Barnaby Race and Benji Bower slot easily into each scene, adding heart and showcasing the incredible vocals of many performers, notably Anya De Villiers as a steadfast Mrs Beaver. 

Whilst this is undoubtedly an ensemble piece, a few performers manage to stand out from the talented chorus. Kudzai Mangombe is a sensational Lucy, effectively portraying a little girl who is both ‘the bringer of light’ and wise beyond her years. Bunmi Osadolor is equally adept at playing a petulant schoolboy, embodying the iconic role of Edmund beautifully.

The decision to portray Aslan with both a puppet and an actor is unusual, but works perfectly, humanising the dramatic moments of his ultimate self-sacrifice. Katy Stephens is a formidable White Witch, with Shane Anthony Whiteley playing unexpectedly terrifying Maugrim. 

Making use of all the potential of true theatrical magic, every element of stagecraft in this production is polished to perfection, creating an unforgettable night at the theatre for all ages.

REVIEW: War Horse

Published on by abigailpendleburyLeave a comment

Rating: 5 out of 5.

A tragically beautiful tale of love, loss and never giving up

War Horse has returned to the Liverpool Empire Theatre, and it’s every bit as moving and powerful as ever. Not to mention visually enchanting. Based on Michael Morpurgo’s much-loved novel, this production tells the emotional story of a young boy, Albert, and his deep bond with his horse, Joey, during the outbreak of World War I.

From the moment the curtain rises and the music starts, its clear War Horse is something special. The star of the show is the incredible puppetry by the Handspring Puppet Company. The life-sized horse puppets, especially Joey and another horse named Topthorn, are astonishing. Then you have the other horses that are used to bring the horrors of war to life.  The puppets are brought to life by a team of puppeteers who control every subtle twitch, breath, and gallop, creating a precision that is unmatched and make the animals feel alive. Their movement and expressions are so lifelike, it’s hard not to be emotionally drawn in.

Tom Sturgess, who plays Albert, gives a touching performance. From the start, he perfectly captures Albert’s determination, hope, and heartbreak as he tries to reunite with Joey after the horse is sold to the army and sent to the front lines of the war. Sturgess beautifully captures the innocence, determination and bravery of a young man who refuses to give up on his best friend. The chemistry between Albert and Joey forms the emotional heart of the show that is inspiring and heartfelt, and keeps the audience invested from start to finish.

The stage design is simple but clever. Using lighting, sound, and creative props, Rae Smith’s creative designs allow the production to move effortlessly from the peaceful fields of Devon to the terrifying chaos and dangers of the trenches. War scenes are handled with care—there’s no sugar-coating, but it never feels overdone or too graphic. It strikes a balance that respects the audience’s emotions while staying true to the story’s seriousness. They are powerful but also sensitive to the story. The video technology used in the backdrop creates a subtle, yet effective graphic of what is happening that helps to heighten the emotional stakes.

Live folk music is another beautiful part of the show that adds lots of emotion and weight to the scenes. Performed by the company and featuring Sally Swanson as ‘the singer’  the songs are authentic to the time period and add a powerful emotional layer that reflects the underlying emotional highs and lows of the show. They’re sad, stirring, and sometimes haunting—perfectly capturing the mood of the scenes they accompany whilst also bringing a touch of humanity.

What makes War Horse stand out is how well it blends a deeply personal story with a broader message. At its core, it’s about the connection between a boy and his horse, but it also offers a powerful reflection on the horrors of war, the cost of innocence lost, and the resilience of love and hope in the face of unimaginable odds.

This production is not only visually impressive but emotionally rich. Whether you’re familiar with the book, the film, or coming to the story for the first time, War Horse is an unforgettable experience. It’s a rare show that can move audiences of all ages, and at the Liverpool Empire, it’s clear from the standing ovation that this version does exactly that.

Overall, War Horse at the Liverpool Empire is a stunning piece of theatre. With jaw-dropping puppetry, heartfelt performances, and powerful storytelling, it’s a show that stays with you long after the curtain falls.

IN CONVERSATION WITH: Toby Olie

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The world premiere of There’s A Bear On My Chair at Southbank Centre’s Queen Elizabeth Hall is on Wednesday 19 February. Adapted from Ross Collins’ beloved books and directed by Toby Olié (Spirited Away, Animal Farm, War Horse), this playful production brings Bear and Mouse to life through captivating puppetry. A Youngish Perspective holds the dialogue with Toby Olie, the director.

Could you tell us about your journey into the world of puppetry?

I made my first puppet at the age of six, inspired by am arts and crafts book I found in my school’s library. It was a made from an egg box and a woollen sleeve and while I’d set out to make a dinosaur, it ended up being a hippo.in the end. This led to a childhood making things from leftover cardboard, cartons and toilet tubes, and putting on shows at home for my (very supportive and patient) family. Puppetry felt like a combination of the two subjects I enjoyed most at school, art and drama, and I continued to integrate it into my school work and youth theatre group growing up.

When it came to choosing a course for university I discovered a BA in puppetry at the Royal Central School of Speech and Drama (now sadly discontinued) and was fortunate enough to get a place. I had an amazing three years not only training as a puppeteer and performer, but also collaborating with other disciplines in the production making process.

Just before graduating I received an invite to audition for a development workshop at the National Theatre based on a book called War Horse, what followed was an amazing six years with the show as a puppeteer and eventually one of its puppetry directors. War Horse not only taught be that puppetry could take centre stage in a mainstream show, but it also challenged and broadened audience’s expectations of puppetry worldwide.

How does it feel to be bringing such a beloved children’s book to the stage for the very first time?

I am such a huge fan of Ross Collins’s work, his illustrations are so witty and expressive, with a strong sense of emotion and physicality, it’s no wonder I keep turning them into puppet shows! 

In 2013 I was lucky enough to co-direct and puppet design The Elephantom at the National Theatre, based on another of Ross’s books. There was something very exciting about filling out the story and its characters from the illustrations, thinking about what happens between the pages and devising that narrative and action.

For There’s a Bear on My Chair and There’s a Mouse in My House the premise is very simple, each page is a different tactic of one character trying to outwit the other one, so there is a lot of fun to be had with exploring and expanding the action of each moment, and linking them together in a theatrical and playful way. Combining the two books into one stage show has been an exciting challenge, as you want to find a way to make the story build and progress into a satisfying finale, without changing or taking away anything the readers love and expect about the stories.

How did your approach to puppetry differ when designing characters for a show aimed at younger audiences?

When I design puppets I very rarely aim to replicate reality, or indeed build the whole character, usually I use the audience’s imagination as part of my design to ‘fill in the gaps’ and complete the image, so that they are involved in seeing the character as a living being onstage. But because the source material of There’s a Bear on My Chair is a picture book, primarily aimed at young children, I didn’t want to stray away from the aesthetic and style of the characters, or indeed go to abstract or poetic in their appearance. It felt important to me that fans of the books should feel like the characters have stepped off the page into a 3D reality.

I had a lot of fun looking through all of Ross’s illustrations of Bear and Mouse and thinking about their anatomy and what kinds of movements they needed to undertake. The show has a cast of four puppeteers, so I knew that each character would primarily have two puppeteers, which for our very big Bear is a challenge! This meant that I had to think about joints and materials that would allow the limbs of the characters to still feel active and animated, even if there aren’t enough hands available to keep all of the character moving. The different scales of puppet in the show, combined with their different structures and materials really allow Bear and Mouse to feel like very opposing forces with their own physicality and vocabulary.

What do you hope children and families take away from experiencing There’s a Bear on My Chair in this unique, interactive theatrical form?

I want audiences have a huge amount of fun watching the exploits of Bear and Mouse, we have been laughing constantly throughout rehearsals and have tried to pack in as many visual jokes and silly comic timing as possible, so I hope there are plenty of laughs in the show for both children and adults. Puppetry has a unique ability to appeal to broad range of audiences, so I always strive to make shows that appeal to anyone willing to suspend their disbelief, no matter their age.

Hopefully those audience members who are already fans of the books will get to rediscover these beloved characters in a fresh, new way, all the while feeling like they’re watching some old friends that they know and love. Plus we have some excellent, very retro music choices for Mouse’s air guitar and party, so I hope there might be a bit of audiences dancing in their seats!

What advice would you give to those who might be interested in a similar career?

My main piece of advice is to simply give it a go, as there isn’t a rule book or a right or wrong method in puppetry. Anything can be a puppet, even an everyday object around your house, it’s purely about that act of belief and using your imagination to make something seem alive. Start simple and small and think about how your puppet shows its emotions and its intentions, this can be through things as simple as its breath and eye-line as well as its overall bigger movements and action.

Making puppets is a lot of fun, but can be a daunting thing to start, so I would say think about the most important or expressive parts of your puppet and what kinds of movement you want them to have. Then look for everyday items or recycled packaging that might have the right shape or texture for your puppet as these parts become the skeleton or body structure, and link them together using flexible materials like string or elastic as these will act like the puppets muscles and allow for movement. Always prioritise the movement of a puppet over what it looks like, as an audience can use their imagination to make even a scrunched piece of paper into a dog or bird or person, as long as you r are animating it with the energy and behaviour of that creature.

What’s been your favourite puppet ever to create?

Each puppet is so bespoke and unique I always find it hard to pick one! Here are three that were particularly challenging to create, and so very exciting to watch coming to life on stage:

– Ursula the sea witch from Disney’s The Little Mermaid is one of my favourite animated characters so getting to create a puppet version of her for the stage musical of Disney’s animated film was a dream come true. She was played by an actress from the waist up, but was a puppet from the waist down, with six large tentacles each operated by an individual puppeteer.

– The Elephantom is a loveable but annoying ghost elephant from another book by Ross Collins, and the main challenge was to create a huge elephant puppet that could also feel like a floating, lightweight presence. We settled on inflatables to create the Elephantom’s body, which gave him a  soft and delicate appearance, but also made him squishy and playful.

– Haku the dragon from Spirited Away was a very ambitious puppet to create as he had to do so many different things onstage, including transform from/into his human form, fly through the sky, fall down a hole, and eat a mysterious dumpling! We used three different sizes of puppet to allow us to show Haku flying at different heights, and the main life-size puppet was over six metres long and operated by four puppeteers.

Why should audiences come to see There’s a Bear On My Chair?

Because it combines the kind of comical, playful anarchy found in cartoons like Tom and Jerry with the kind of ridiculous rhymes and wit found in the works of Dr. Seuss, all the while feeling like a unique, hilarious and heartfelt story of two unlikely friends learning how to understand each other and get along.

The puppeteers are some of the best in the UK, puppets are adorable and funny, the music is catchy and inventive, and audiences will get to see some unique, new illustrations from the world of Bear and Mouse drawn by Ross Collins exclusively for this stage production.

Credit: Mihaela Bodlovic

REVIEW:Dimanche by Compagnie Focus & Chaliwaté

Published on by Ke MengLeave a comment

Rating: 5 out of 5.

a surreal yet gentle puppetry-storytelling that melds absurd humour and poignant tragedy

As part of MimeLondon, Compagnie Focus & Chaliwaté’s Dimanche is a surreal yet tender meditation on climate change and environmental protection. It is a tour de force of puppetry, where meticulously crafted, lifelike puppets, including polar bear, migratory bird, and an elderly lady, serve not only as characters but also as allegories for our warming world. With a “rule-of-three” comedy structure fused with Lecoqesque movements, the performance interweaves absurdity and tragedy with its alarming prophecy.

The opening scene features three journalists (or scientists) driving to the Arctic Circle to observe and shoot its ecosystem. You might never imagine that a physical mime can actually realise the cinematic sequence from a long shot, a medium and eventually a close-up. The puppeteer-performers transform their bodies into snow-capped mountains for model cars to navigate. Gradually, a larger-scale model enters the scene, and ultimately, the “camera” shifts to reveal the trio inside the vehicle, driving and eating. Equally breathtaking is the auditory precision and unrivalled delicacy of sound technology on display (Brice Cannavo). Together with the scene sequence, you may discern the slight volume differences of the background music (Paul Simon’s “50 Ways to Leave Your Lover.”)

As the story goes on, one journalist accidentally plummets through fissures in ice and unfortunately loses his life. A footage (Tristan Galand) seamlessly links this human tragedy with the animal world, where a polar bear cub forever separates from her mother by melting ice. The puppetry is so vivid that even with the puppeteer in view, you momentarily forget they are mere puppets, but view them as real.

Global warming affects humans as well. We then witness a family battling against heat, where a couple uses an array of electric fans to cool themselves, and an ice bucket offers their puppet-portrayed mother a refreshing reprieve. Under endless heatwaves, accompanied by an operatic soundscape, their furniture gradually and mysteriously melts in a surreal, almost magical manner, like a Dali painting. Suddenly, the old lady loses her life out of a shocking electrocution when operating on a floor lamp, which functions abnormally due to relentless and unstable weather condition. The rule of three applies again, only this time in a tragic way.

This darkly comic yet deeply tragic tableau sets the tone for what is to come. A tornado deprives another journalist’s life, and a migratory bird is forced to crash through the window of the bereaved family, who in turn absurdly roasts the bird for a feast. With nice dress, glasses of wine and an eternally-blown-out candle, the stupid couple fails to enjoy the bird as the hurricane blows everything away. A tsunami devours the last journalist as well as the family’s sleeping patriarch, who are now drifting in the water, absurdly co-existing alongside with sharks, jellyfishes and his kitchenware. An alarm endeavours to wake him up, but ultimately fails.

In the last scene, writers, directors and major performers Julie Tenret, Sicaire Durieux, and Sandrine Heyraud display some mercy, warm emotion and a glimmer of hope. Jellyfish, a symbol of earth’s emerging, thriving prosperity even without human species, is exquisitely performed through hand puppetry. This underwater scene, bathed in striking black with an eerie, almost mystical quality, showcases excellent precision from lighting (Guillaume Toussaint Fromentin), enabling the puppeteers to remain unseen.

Finishing with the last journalist surviving the tsunami in a lifeboat and clumsily fishing out the family’s water bottle, Dimanche delivers a gentle storytelling. In a world often bombarded by overt propaganda and self-important declarations, the performance opts for a quiet, reflective tone that speaks both to the heart and to the mind. The interplay between the animals’ domestic warmth and the stark, surreal imagery of numb and indifferent humanity compels us to ask: How much time do we have left? Just like the trio team’s camera, the battery is already low.

Image credits: Christophe Raynaudde Lage

REVIEW: Moby Dick

Published on by rachelarmitage77Leave a comment

Rating: 5 out of 5.

A mesmerising ode to the eerie, uncanny, and oceanic

‘There are three types of men: the dead, the living, and those who go to sea,’ declares Ishmael in the opening of Plexus Polaire’s mystical production of Moby Dick. Directed by Yngvild Aspeli and performed in one act by an ensemble of actors, musicians, puppeteers, and fifty puppets, Moby Dick captures this third category of being, presenting the experience of the sea as otherworldly, terrifying, monstrous, and intensely human. 

Puppetry, creating animate beings both human and not, controlled by people glimpsed in the shadows, who also move in a way that is both human and yet gracefully other, is the perfect medium for presenting an existence that is neither living nor dead. Moby Dick, in Plexus Polaire’s version, is less an epic narrative and more a fascinating, eerie exploration of what being at sea does to the body and psyche.

Whilst most of the whalers appear as puppets, it is the towering Captain Ahab who is the star of the show. Standing at about 8 feet tall, with a booming voice and surrounded by skull-masked puppeteers who evoke psychological torment, he has a mythical quality, uncanny and other than human. The puppetry of all the sailors is astonishingly skilful, particularly when the puppeteers were also agents in the action on stage. The human bodies became taunting phantoms to Ahab’s nonhuman body, with their skull faces alluding to a slippage between life and death. This confronted the audience with the human body as shadowy and other. What is so frightening about the sea, this production says, is that it presents shadows as our true essence. The sea disorientates the body and exposes the human’s obsessive cruelty. There is a core environmental message here, too, that it is dangerous to perceive ourselves as disconnected from nature. In failing to identify our own otherness with that of the sea, we destroy not just innocent animals, but ourselves, too.

Dazzling sequences came slightly at the expense of storytelling, which sometimes felt rushed or confusing. But I didn’t mind this as this Moby Dick was more an immersive, unsettling atmosphere than it was a narrative piece. Though the story was abridged, this production is not trying to replace the novel, rather it offers something compelling and provocative in its own right.

However, there were some striking moments in which non-verbal movement and sound took over from Ishmael’s narration. A moving whaling sequence was such an example, presenting the battle between small harpooning boats and a big, gentle whale. The whale’s gruesome dismemberment was depicted by a harrowing unravelling of the puppet, leaving its baby motherless.

The technical and design elements of the production worked brilliantly to enhance the effects of the puppetry. Elisabeth Holager Lund’s set, cleverly evoking both whale bones and a ship’s hull, gave the space a great depth and height, generally leaving its mechanisms bare for the audience to see. Keeping the puppeteers largely in shadow, Xavier Lescat and Vincent Loubière’s lighting was generally very dark, with high contrast focus on human subjects giving the impression of a dark expanse of the sea beyond. A highlight was a beautiful whale tail, illuminated incandescent blue, enhancing the undulating flow of the puppetry.

At times I felt there was a slight overreliance on videos of action, rather than presenting action onstage, but nevertheless David Lefard-Ruffet’s video projections did well to conjure a vivid, swirling sea. Moreau’s costume design was especially effective in enhancing the sense of being between living and dead, with flowing robes blurring the boundaries between humans, puppets, and waves. All combined, it was like watching both magic and its mechanisms. Seeing the ways the set, costumes, and puppets worked only served to enhance the effect of uncanny wonder, presenting both the supernatural and humanity of Moby Dick. 

A special mention should go to the trio of fantastic musicians who sang haunting whaling songs and scored the play with live percussion, bass, and guitar, combined with pre-recorded effects (the mixing was notably accomplished, too). At time they were like foley artists, creating shimmering sound effects, and at others they infused the play with electrifying rhythmic energy. Singing dominated the production more so than dialogue, so their ethereal voices were integral to the enchanting soundscape.

In all, Moby Dick is a stunning and contemplative spectacle, a sure triumph. 

Moby Dick is presented by the Barbican in association with Mime London.