Opera
Julie Taymor has often introduced puppets into opera, but I am sure this is primarily about a theatrically interesting way to tell a story. In the New York Times (20 November 2006) she says, ‘Only when a human being in its simplest form cannot do what is suggested in the libretto should you use a mask or puppet. Unless a piece requires it, why bother?’ Her production of
Magic Flute had visible puppeteers operating the animals. A recent London production by the fi lm director Anthony Minghella introduced puppets into a Kabuki-infl uenced Madama Butterfl y, and in that context, a puppet for Cio Cio San’s son seems appropriate, although in the same article he says ‘The puppets in “Madama Butterfl y” emerged from my resistance to seeing young children onstage, moving under direction and incapable of course of conveying an inner life; treated, actually, like puppets. Whereas it seemed to us that a real puppet can appear to listen, refl ect and engage with complete focus and innocence’. That
puppets can be more expressive than human actors is certainly true, but young boys in the role in Butterfl y can perform amazingly. Serious productions such as
Oedipus Rex, Hansel and Gretel and A Midsummer Marriage have all used puppets. A Midsummer Night’s Dream has seen the fairies as puppets operated by Oberon and Titania, which has some theatrical logic to it. This year all of the major theatrical companies are building productions around puppets. I hope that it won’t be long
before a more creative union happens between the other arts and stop motion. That this does not happen is probably a lack of awareness of our potential and that we have the same skills, although we apply them diff erently. I am pleased to see Suzie Templeton’s Peter and the Wolf
often being screened accompanied by a live orchestra.
Ballet
Ballet somehow manages to capture the essence of characters in a way that other mediums cannot. It is so fake and unrealistic, but manages to speak with directness. It is this distillation that stop motion, also, does best.
All the great classics of children’s literature, such as Beatrix Potter, TheWind in theWillows, Alice in Wonderland and Peter Pan, have all been animated, some drawn, some stop motion, but the closest to the spirit of the books have, for me, all been ballet productions. This is particularly true for the Beatrix Potter characters. There have been some splendidly realised drawn versions, but surprisingly no stop motion treatments. The characters are perfectly drawn, in every sense, and so rounded with proportions that would make great puppets. Maybe it’s a copyright issue, or the stories are too slight for the big screen, or the drawings are so delicate that a solid puppet might be too substantial; or perhaps a complex expensive puppet could not justify a short screen appearance. I have long since wanted to fi lm these stories, particularly Jeremy Fisher, who is so resilient, charging on regardless of what life throws at him. (With him and Toad, what is it about amphibians that strike such a chord with me?). However, nothing brought these characters to life better than the 1971 Royal Ballet fi lm. Christine Edzard designed the costumes, and although they are all built around human proportions they capture the animal quality perfectly. All the character comes from Sir Frederic Ashton’s glorious and inventive choreography, rather than from any voices or facial expressions. The spirited dance for Jeremy Fisher catches his energetic optimism suggested by the book better than words could. The luxury of the Royal Ballet workshops and great dancers helps, but what an inspired yet strange idea. A wordless ballet on fi lm of delicately illustrated stories should not work, but it does. It freed the characters, fi nding the essence rather than the literal interpretation. That notion is true for stop motion.
The Wind in the Willows has always been a tricky one to adapt. Shepherd’s illustrations for Grahame’s book do not help, as the characters change scale from one drawing to another (as Kong changed scale when his environment needed him to). They work magnifi cently as drawings, but when stuck with an infl exible scale, things can be tricky. One minute Toad is proportioned as an infant, the next he is happily driving a car. Cosgrove Hall was successful in fi nding the right balance between animal and Edwardian gents. The worst realisation of these characters was with real actors given solid unmoving masks, but behaving
naturalistically as real humans without the ballet to give a convention. The production failed on all accounts. The most successful versions have blurred this line between animal and human to create something new. Most actors wear large green goggles as Toad: these suggest not only his passion for driving, but also a toad’s characteristically large eyes. Similarly, his Edwardian suit and plus-fours are often tailored to emphasise a puff ed out chest and chunkier upper legs, satisfyingly suggesting the essence of the two worlds without being explicit. Productions where the characters were performed by actors with no hint of make-up and straight clothing left me feeling cheated unless the body language suggested the animal.
A recent dance production, designed by the Brothers Quay, came closest to the spirit. The performers were clearly Edwardian gentlemen, but their dance and costume provided the animal characteristics that make-up would have made redundant. The set suggested a distorted nursery, with an old wardrobe quickly becoming the caravan, and then spilling out metres of blue silk for Ratty’s river. Tea chests became the tunnel under Toad Hall. Cars and boats were represented by large tin toys worn by the characters, echoing perfectly Toad’s state of mind. As Mole and Ratty sat having their picnic, other members of the cast hovered with their fi sts tight shut in long black gloves. Opening their hands revealed a dazzling fl ash of colour suggesting a butterfl y or a dragonfl y. All so inventive and more satisfying than a straightforward approach, and in keeping with Grahame’s imaginative storytelling.
Peter Pan has yet to fl y in stop motion. The practicalities make drawing Peter fl ying much easier. Although I fi nd the Pirates and Indians tedious, the relationship between Peter and Wendy never fails to move me, but it is the relationship between Peter and his shadow that intrigues me. This echoes the relationship between the creator and the puppet, both wanting independence but actually dependent on each other. I have seen the shadow successfully performed with a silk cut out, and by a dancer in black, and by puppets.
I have yet to see a ballet involve any puppetry, although probably the exercise is generally pointless, as the success of dance lies in pushing the body into doing things we thought were impossible. To disguise the body or distract with puppets defeats the object. We need to see the body clearly to appreciate the extremes of movement and the transformations. The tradition of dressing male ballet dancers in tight period jackets, but with acres of thigh and much more showing can look ridiculous in harsh daylight, but it’s not about costumes, but the legs. There is little point in hiding such tools of storytelling. Tutus may look slightly absurd, but they do not get in the way of the body’s lines. Choreographers such as Busby Berkeley and Flo Ziegfeld used their performers not so much as dancers but as moving puppets, transforming the body into huge pianos, harps and other objects, or just massed ranks of fl esh. So often, as in Disney’s
Beauty and the Beast musical, humans are turned into objects, and objects into humans.
A script arrived for me from Hollywood in which a strolling puppeteer in eighteenth century France (Dangerous Liaisons was big at the time) was able to pass on the truth about the corrupt courts he performed in, stirring the lower classes into action, while the courts were none the wiser. It was never made, but it had everything: a good plot, great costumes, heaving breasts, lashings of decadence … and puppets! A glorious combination, but above all, it took puppets seriously and acknowledged their power for conveying the unspeakable. This so excites me. Confusingly, the idea was to perform the marionette puppets as stop motion.