Little Dickens: puppetmaster Ronnie Burkett lifts the spirits of Christmas
24 Nov 2022

by Drew Rowsome - photos courtesy of Canadian Stage

There is no way that I can think of to summarize the abundant Christmas joy that Little Dickens brings. Advertised as a re-imagining of A Christmas Carol, it is more a delirious explosion of bawdy comedy, musical acts and extraordinary puppetry. Yes, the great diva Esme Massengill plays a Scrooge-esque character complete with an employee named Cratchit, and there are three ghosts, but the narrative thread is just an excuse for Ronnie Burkett (Forget Me Not, The Daisy Theatre) to exercise his genius and to entertain. This is probably the first A Christmas Carol to open with a raucous burlesque number that set the tone and primed the audience, leaving them weak with laughter and awe. The first number. For reasons that will become clear, listing the amazing acts would ruin the surprise, though surprise is built into the foundation of the production.

Little Dickens should actually be titled The Daisy Theatre presents Little Dickens as, like The Daisy Theatre, there is a certain amount of improvisation and the show I got to enjoy may, probably will, be significantly different every night. Burkett has hundreds of puppet characters on hand and only a small fraction of them will get to appear each night. But the title distinction is also important as it is very clear that Esme Massengill, one of the superstars of The Daisy Theatre, is playing the role of Esme Scrooge and any inkling of a fourth wall has been obliterated. Esme talks to the audience, wanders in and out of character, warbles the pitch perfect songs by John Alcorn, and reluctantly yields the stage to other performers. Burkett does much the same. He conjures the puppet characters to life, then pulls back the curtain on how effects are achieved (though this is not a You'Tube tutorial, the man's puppetry skills are supernatural), commands audience participation (which is willingly given), harangues the technicians, and is a character in his own right. As well as just being Ronnie Burkett, the puppeteer who gleefully shouts at the beginning, "Let's put on a puppet show!"

The puppets have an uncanny ability to project across the footlights in a manner far beyond their diminutive stature. As does Burkett. He grimaces, flirts outrageously, laughs at his own jokes, and seems to be having a ball. The night I attended, the birthday boy Jesus cracked a joke that was simultaneously scatological, sacrilegious and sophomoric. The audience roared. And groaned,. Burkett himself cracked up before letting us know that this was still a work in progress and he might just have gone too far. I'm sure the joke will resurface and be just as shameless. The build-up to a hoary old joke is stretched to the point where the tension needs to be healed with laughter. Even though we all know the punchline, we roar with laughter. That the shaggy dog tale is delivered by one of the stock players from The Daisy Theatre, dressed in outrageous Christmas finery, only adds to the gag. I found myself torn between envying those who were just meeting this talented troupe of players, and deeply regretting not being more familiar with them having had, sadly, only one previous visit to The Daisy Theatre. Forget the MCU, I want to live in the DTU.

Any pretensions towards meta-theatre are merely a byproduct of Burkett's sense of humour, exploration and mischief. He doesn't want us to think about his themes or deeper meanings. He announces beforehand that, "Tonight is absolute ridiculousness. I hope that's what you need." It most definitely is. But the night is also about the power of theatre and community. Audience participation is mandatory and for once is glorious fun. Burkett is not only pulling the strings to animate the puppets, he also has a firm grip on the audience. Audience favourite Schnitzel returns in a role that earned an audible gasp of delight and anguish from the audience. When he returned as himself, Burkett revealed just what an insidious, in a horror film he'd be a nefarious villain twirling a moustache, puppetmaster he is. Schnitzel tugged at my heart, already had my funny bone firmly in hand, and somehow attached a thread to that part of my brain that can't protect itself from Christmas schmaltz. I teared up while simultaneously laughing heartily. Tears of joy, grief, and Christmas spirit all mingled into some indefinable overwhelmingly fabulous catharsis that Burkett was pulling the strings to create.