The Daisy Theatre remains transfixing

    1 of 1 2 of 1

      By Ronnie Burkett. A Burkett Theatre of Marionettes production, presented by the Cultch. At the Cultch’s Historic Theatre on Tuesday, September 23. Continues until October 12

      The problem with creating a mind-blowing show is that, when you’re next show is really, really good, it’s a little disappointing by comparison. Last year, Ronnie Burkett’s The Daisy Theatre was off the charts. This year’s iteration of The Daisy Theatre still features a crazy level of skill and it contains transcendent moments. I recommend it. But on opening night, a lot of last year’s material repeated and not enough of the new stuff was of the highest calibre.

      The Daisy Theatre is a marionette cabaret. We see puppeteer Ronnie Burkett pulling the strings and his warmly giddy, often playfully sexual presence provides a large portion of the pleasure. Most of the numbers are cabaret acts—singers, a stripper, even a ventriloquist—and Burkett, who’s drawing on a cast of 38 stringed costars, changes up the show every night.

      We get to see one member of the ensemble, the innocent little clown fairy, Schnitzel, a handful of times. Full disclosure: I love Schnitzel. He is so credibly alive and endearing, with his sweet, sloped neck, his crinkled puppy ears, and the little daisy growing out of his forehead, that I want to adopt him. Schnitzel’s emotional arc, which is about the confidence that love can bring, is the same as it was last year, however. I was still transfixed by Schnitzel, but if you’ve seen The Daisy before, there’ll be less surprise in his story, which is the heart of the cabaret.

      I’m also a big fan of Esmé Massengill, the glamorous though desiccated temple dancer whose picture you can see in bus shelters all over town. The central device in Esmé’s act—she invites a hunky man up from the audience and has her way with him—is very funny. But it’s a long piece and, again, a familiar one. Very little of the material that relies on audience participation is fresh.

      Some of the writing that is new relies on naughtiness that isn’t as witty as one might hope. With her odd combination of zaniness and conservatism, Prairie widow Edna Rural is a wonderful creation, but this year her monologue keeps repeating a dildo joke that’s not funny in the first place. And “You Can’t Say Cunt in America”, a new song that’s sung by a faded royal, fails to extend the surprise of its title.

      Still, Burkett rescues Edna’s monologue. Leaving the stage, she pauses to remember her dead husband, Stanley. As she does so, she strokes the arm of the chair she’s just left, and the gesture is so perfect that suddenly the magic is back. Randee Rivers, who’s new, arches her back as she’s belting out a blues number, and the moment is pure grace.

      And then there’s the ancient ventriloquist Meyer Lemon and his dummy Little Woody Linden, who are by far the best of the characters who made their debuts on opening night. Woody’s eyes are fixed in an upward stare because Meyer can no longer move the finger that pulls the string that would activate them. Talk about an existential dilemma for Woody. And like all of Burkett’s marionettes, these two are gorgeous sculptures: Meyer with his big, old man’s ears and Woody with hair that looks like a cabbage leaf.

      Watching Woody, as with watching Schnitzel, I was transported. These moments surpass anything you get from most evenings at the theatre.

      Comments