Penny Plain
At The Cultch until Dec. 17
604-251-1363/www.tickets.thecultch.com
Reviewed by Jo Ledingham
"You're not God, you're just a puppeteer," one of Ronnie Burkett's exquisitely crafted marionettes tells Geppetto, a puppeteer puppet in Penny Plain. But to Burkett's aficionados-and we are legion-he is godlike in his spellbinding mastery of this particular theatrical genre. And, when you think about it, there really is something godlike about puppeteers: out of wood and cloth they fashion their creatures, give them voices and stories and then pull the strings. And if you're Pinocchio and you live your life bravely, truthfully and unselfishly, you get to be a real boy. In Penny Plain it is Geoffrey, Miss Plain's faithful old hound, who wants to be a man or, more precisely, a gentleman.
Burkett, in full view on elevated metal scaffolding, manipulates more than a dozen puppets including three dogs. Some of the sweetest moments come when blind, 80-something Miss Plain converses with cultivated, articulate Geoffrey while they are both seated in tiny, upholstered armchairs.
Albeit charming, Penny Plain is an apocalyptic tale; the world is coming to an end. The voice-over newscasts tell us 100 million in China have died of an unstoppable pandemic; three million kangaroos are attacking humans in Australia; ATM and banks have closed; neighbours are killing neighbours for the last of the food. Inside the boarding house Miss Plain runs there are just a few biscuits left.
The boarding house setting provides fertile ground for Burkett to create colourful characters including an outrageous American refugee couple-an Elvis look-alike and his blonde, toothy wife Barbie; Mr. Dollop, a now unemployed bank teller; Jubilee and her potty-mouthed mother who rages at her daughter, "Wipe my ass. I can't even wipe my ass. My fingernails are too long." There's Evelyn French, a young, single woman who wants puppeteer Geppetto Jones, also a boarder, to make her a puppet baby, and a strange little boy of few words who wears a gas mask.
When Geoffrey, wanting to experience the world outside the boarding house before the world ends, takes his tear-jerking leave of Miss Plain, several dogs-a Chihuahua and a poodle-are interviewed to replace him. The job eventually goes to Tuppence, the dearest little girl, who claims to be a dog. She doesn't, however, fool old Miss Plain who goes along with the ruse.
Like the chaos outside the boarding house, Burkett's tale is more chaotic than most of his other plots. However, it's so masterfully, insightfully and gently told, who would complain? It's amazing, really, that over the course of an hour and a half, he has the story completely mapped out, knows exactly where each of the puppets is located (without searching) and speaks in a distinctive voice for each of them-baritone Geoffrey, screeching Jubilee, pleading Evelyn, small-voiced Tuppence, wise old Miss Plain. It's a beautiful solo song and dance he does up there in the scaffolding. But he's also quick to ad lib when something goes amiss. On opening night the Evelyn puppet's head was askew. "What's wrong with your head?" the other puppet asked her. "I don't know, it must be opening night," Evelyn/Burkett quipped.
While some people find puppets creepy-and there's an acknowledgement of that in the script-there is something so magical about all the puppets hanging, swaying slightly, in the shadows, waiting for Burkett to bring them to life.
It's a dark tale but Burkett faithfully reflects 21st-century angst in the dog-eat-dog world he envisions. Penny Plain is not for children or for those looking for light entertainment - although you will be entertained: Burkett has a droll sense of humour. But there is intelligence, creativity, poetry and artistry here of the highest caliber. Burkett is, quite plainly, a Canadian treasure.
