This is not what I had planned on writing about today. However, this morning, I had a mortifying experience occur during a gig, and what better way to seal the deal than to write about it on the internet?
So, the train started down the track toward Disaster when we were asked to come to a summer reading program to perform with our life-sized alter-ego puppets. For this group, we were prepared to tell a handful of Louisiana folktales, and we rely heavily on audience participation. My partner built these puppets, and they are beautiful. We have used them many times, and although we initially had some issues with weight, we now have unobtrusive harnesses that make lengthy shows much easier. We, as puppeteers, are behind the puppets in puppet blacks, hooded - we manipulate one of the puppet's arm with our own arm in a sleeve/glove, and our other arm/hand is used to manipulate the head and mouth. The puppets share our feet, as my puppet's pant legs gradually wrap around my ankle.
Most of the students at this program had never seen a puppet show, and I would wager that not one of them had even fathomed this type of puppetry, based on their initial reactions. As we were entering the space, my partner checked me out, and remarked that my puppet's pants were sitting a little low. His comment was purely aesthetic - they are in period inspired tramp style clothes - and was not a comment based in logistical concern.
For this performance, we did not have to be mic'ed as the house was small, and both of our voices carry. What is particularly nice about this is that since we are hooded, we cannot read each other's facial expressions, but we can we whisper to one another, if neccessary. We have learned over the years when we have to be mic'ed to use secret words to let the other know if we are in trouble, a trick we immediately implemented after a dangerously hot outdoor venue. At any rate, about halfway through the show, my partner took a sec in between tales to let me know that my puppet's neck seemed truncated.
So, there we were, telling a story - volunteer performers with us in front of an audience of around 50, when, in an attempt to elongate my neck, I must have stretched the puppet's torso too much and I immediately felt the puppet get a whole lot lighter. Gasps from a handful of front row students let me know in nanoseconds that there was big trouble. As you may have guessed from the title, my puppet had lost her pants. Down around both of our ankles.
But, it gets worse. These types of puppets have no legs. They only have torsos, and brief thigh-beginnings, since we eventually share legs. So.....my puppet not only had her pants down around our ankles, but now looked like a very scary amputee. Not that amputees are scary, but this sight must have come as quite a shock. I know that it was to me.
I immediately grabbed the pants and held them to her waist, and let my partner know that I was going to leave and come right back. He had missed the whole fiasco (I think the whole thing was only a matter of moments) but knew that I must be having some serious technological issues.
As I cleared the view of the audience, I tore this now completely disloyal puppet from my body, and tried to regain my composure. I stood there for a full ten seconds, gathering my thoughts, and considering getting in the car and leaving. But, trooper that I have learned to be, I put her back together and calmly reentered the stage. I couldn't think of anything witty to say (not my strength, really) but I jumped back in and did my best to finish the show.
We always tape our performances. I have not yet gathered the courage to watch it, and I have little faith that I will in the near future, since I was definitely lookin' like a fool with my pants on the ground.
So, the train started down the track toward Disaster when we were asked to come to a summer reading program to perform with our life-sized alter-ego puppets. For this group, we were prepared to tell a handful of Louisiana folktales, and we rely heavily on audience participation. My partner built these puppets, and they are beautiful. We have used them many times, and although we initially had some issues with weight, we now have unobtrusive harnesses that make lengthy shows much easier. We, as puppeteers, are behind the puppets in puppet blacks, hooded - we manipulate one of the puppet's arm with our own arm in a sleeve/glove, and our other arm/hand is used to manipulate the head and mouth. The puppets share our feet, as my puppet's pant legs gradually wrap around my ankle.
Most of the students at this program had never seen a puppet show, and I would wager that not one of them had even fathomed this type of puppetry, based on their initial reactions. As we were entering the space, my partner checked me out, and remarked that my puppet's pants were sitting a little low. His comment was purely aesthetic - they are in period inspired tramp style clothes - and was not a comment based in logistical concern.
For this performance, we did not have to be mic'ed as the house was small, and both of our voices carry. What is particularly nice about this is that since we are hooded, we cannot read each other's facial expressions, but we can we whisper to one another, if neccessary. We have learned over the years when we have to be mic'ed to use secret words to let the other know if we are in trouble, a trick we immediately implemented after a dangerously hot outdoor venue. At any rate, about halfway through the show, my partner took a sec in between tales to let me know that my puppet's neck seemed truncated.
So, there we were, telling a story - volunteer performers with us in front of an audience of around 50, when, in an attempt to elongate my neck, I must have stretched the puppet's torso too much and I immediately felt the puppet get a whole lot lighter. Gasps from a handful of front row students let me know in nanoseconds that there was big trouble. As you may have guessed from the title, my puppet had lost her pants. Down around both of our ankles.
But, it gets worse. These types of puppets have no legs. They only have torsos, and brief thigh-beginnings, since we eventually share legs. So.....my puppet not only had her pants down around our ankles, but now looked like a very scary amputee. Not that amputees are scary, but this sight must have come as quite a shock. I know that it was to me.
I immediately grabbed the pants and held them to her waist, and let my partner know that I was going to leave and come right back. He had missed the whole fiasco (I think the whole thing was only a matter of moments) but knew that I must be having some serious technological issues.
As I cleared the view of the audience, I tore this now completely disloyal puppet from my body, and tried to regain my composure. I stood there for a full ten seconds, gathering my thoughts, and considering getting in the car and leaving. But, trooper that I have learned to be, I put her back together and calmly reentered the stage. I couldn't think of anything witty to say (not my strength, really) but I jumped back in and did my best to finish the show.
We always tape our performances. I have not yet gathered the courage to watch it, and I have little faith that I will in the near future, since I was definitely lookin' like a fool with my pants on the ground.
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