Puppet masters

In an age when the faces of many human actors are made obdurate and expressionless by over-liberal injections of botox, Gregory Doran’s puppet version of Shakespeare’s little known tragic poem is a refreshingly natural change.

The hour-long collaboration between the Little Angel Theatre and the Royal Shakespeare Company is a fusion of Elizabethan myth and Japanese bunraku puppet theatre, its seamless realisation a testament both to the production team’s hard graft and the seemingly infinite adaptability of the Bard’s work.

The tale of the goddess Venus’ unrequited and obsessive love for the beautiful yet callow Adonis captivates the audience from the moment Venus first appears riding in her golden conch chariot, deftly manipulated from above by an array of strings.

Narrator Harriet Walter masterfully invigorates the marionettes, her command of the language ensuring you soon lose any sense of reality and start looking into the puppets’ huge eyes, searching for signs of life.

A guitarist sits opposite her to the left of the proscenium stage, providing unobtrusive accompaniment to the action as five black-clad puppeteers do their work, three of them working a puppet at one time to ensure the movement flows naturally.

Adonis’ stubborn refusal to engage with Venus’ amorous play is comically rendered, the puppets flirting like modern lovers: Adonis stamps his foot in righteous indignation at Venus’ unceasing advances, she steals a kiss or an inappropriate touch whenever his guard is down.
Director of Puppetry, Steve Tiplady, has paid attention to the language - Venus’ hand movements leaving little to the imagination as Walter intones: “Graze on my lips; and if those hills be dry, stray lower, where the pleasant fountains lie.”
The two leads are supported by a cast of animal puppets that cavort around in front of the stage, as well as through the intimate theatre’s aisles, the half life- size horses’ lovemaking intent an ironic counterpoint to Adonis’ frigidity.

These bestial interruptions ensure the production retains a decent pace as the action takes a more melancholy turn, Adonis refusing to heed Venus’ prophecy of his impending death should he hunt the bristling boar.

Rob Jones’ stage proves as adaptable as the puppets themselves as, in an astonishing climax, death rears his rictal face from atop the golden arch above the stage and casts out his skeletal arms to transport Venus high above the boards.

Although the, mostly elderly, audience really enjoyed the show, you cannot help but think it a shame the sex scenes were deemed too risqué to show to under fourteens – they would have loved it.