Puppets and Presidents

The visiting puppet artists and Colectivo Katari, pausing for lunch between
performances.  The three fingers aren't a Latin American version of the peace sign.
Those are the fingers that power puppets.

Colectivo Katari recently completed an eight-day International Puppet Festival.  Fourteen performances, artists from four different countries, a Puppet Fair offering basic puppet skills and puppet construction among other activities and resources.  On Saturday evening of the festival the performance was delayed because the President--yes, you heard me right--the President was in the building where we were presenting.  Children and families began lining the street in anticipation of the doors opening, adding to the crowd of press and media cameras already present.  

Katari uses a handheld loudspeaker to publicize on the street before performances.  (Days before we used the same loudspeaker in the Plaza Principal during the busy lunch hour to advertise the Festival.  Chelo advertised on the loudspeaker, I assisted by passing out flyers, and a large green frog puppet comically befriended--or harassed--every passerby...puppets can get away with so much more than actual people.)  Before every performance, collective member Grober stands on the street corner announcing the immenent curtain fall.  And it works.  People from the street walk in.  

That Saturday of the delayed performance, Grober was prepared for any circumstances warrenting the use of a handheld loudspeaker. The group of international puppeteers naturally jumped to the occasion:  puppets were on hands.  Bolivian President Evo Morales exited the building and his first greeting was not by the press or other politicians but:  "Hola, Presidente!  Titeres Elwaky and the Fesititeres International Puppet Festival greet you!"   A row of puppets waved and saluted.

Do you know what confuses presidents?  Being greeted by a crowd of puppets.

Of course this was the performance that I skipped, staying behind to help facilitate a workshop at Katari's homespace.  The day the puppets meets the president.  

Puppet Workshops with los niños

This story is all hearsay from my housemate, but I couldn't help but regurgitate it for you all.  Even if she made it all up, it's worth sharing.  Though puppet-president stories are hard to fabricate it, so I doubt it.

Tonight I returned to the show by an Argentinan and Peruvian, titled Principes.  The puppet show is based on a dutch childrens book, and follows a familiar journey:  a prince who must find a spouse so as to become king.  To please his beloved mother he hosts a line of potential matches, each with comic "defects":  one is narcoleptic, the other the height of a young child, the other outrageously tall and able to completely bend in half backwards (which is why one uses a puppet instead of an actor) with a propesity for breaking...well, everything.  The final princess arrives escorted by her brother, Pablo.  While the princess runs offstage to bring a gift for the prince, Pablo and the bride-hunting prince begin to talk, to play with his motorized throne (think motorcyle meets jeweled chair), innocently laughing and delighting in each other's company.  Later, as the prince considers all the potential brides, the image of Pablo interrupts each consideration.  Suprisingly, he listens to this instinct and tells his mother has chosen Pablo as a spouse.   The puppet mom laughs outrageously, as do certain members of the audience.  But the puppet isn't joking.  The prince's mother gently--impressively--comes around and Pablo and the Prince marry.  Now, I've lived in San Francisco, and even in Minneapolis this play is no shocker--likely there's at least a couple children of same-gender parents in the audience.  In Bolivia, the tension and energy in the audience after two puppets share a matrimonial kiss is incredibly intense.  In all my years of theatre, I'm not sure I've ever felt such an energy from the audience.  (Ten Thousand Things prison shows come close).  It took a children's puppet show.

Friend and brilliant theatre artist Polly Carl recently described the experience of seeing herself on stage in her article A Boy in a Man's Theatre.  The anomoly of seeing her story had her memorizing every song from the show, weeping in rehearsals, and left her with an appetite to see the production 100 times.  She writes: 

"I've always said that the American musical hasn't meant much to me. I don't really connect to most of those stories told through singing and dancing. Then I saw a workshop performance of the Lisa Kron/Jeanine Tesori musical Fun Home...and though it wasn't my exact story, it was my story.  And well, it happened.  I understood the power of the musical."

Los Principes

A few Bolivians approached Katari afterward the Principes performance, thanking us.  (A few others stormed out or demanded we close the festival): "My child's uncle--or father, or godmother--is gay and we're trying to figure out how to discuss this with our child.  Thank you so much for helping us talk about this as a family.  Thank you for helping us feel less silenced."  

In a society of silence I cannot imagine the gift this play was to families and children for whom this was their story.  For those who had absolutely no connection to this story except by social silencing, I imagine it was equally important -- to see through the eyes of others.  To understand--a little bit, a little more--the perspective of another and to feel it for a moment with them.  To root for them, as the audience of children rooted for the happiness of the principe.  Empathy is one of the great gifts the arts give to a society--a society torn by polarization and demonization of "other."  What beauty can we make by asking "I wonder what it's like to be her? to be them?  I wonder what brings them joy.  I wonder what brings them trouble or sorrow.  I wonder what would happen to my heart if I tried to imagine life from their perspective."