Bones, Masks and the Puppet
I knew that the journey was finally beginning in earnest as I talked to a French man, Baptiste, on the Chunnel train from Paris to London. It was one of those conversations you can only have while traveling. I was beginning to leave the stomach bug behind, though the queasiness and muscular soreness did not disappear instantly. Nevertheless I was in London to see the Quay brothers and I’d moved into the next square of the chess game.
Not that this square was simply thrilling. I was in London. Over the years London has become less and less interesting to me, Quays not withstanding. Paris always retains its fascination, likewise Prague, Krakow, Lyon. But London seems expensive and overrated. And all of the new South Bank features; the Walk, the London Eye, the new architecture, the Millennium Bridge seem more designed for tourists and the business world than for my own human interests. That isn’t to say London doesn’t have its charms. Its just that they’ve more or less worn off of me. And I really liked London when I first visited in 1978. It still seemed like London then. There were still gents in bowler hats and original 77 era punks on the streets. But now, the population seems too predictable to me. The Starbucks, Burger Kings and American movies not worth the comment. And it seems like I paid close to $40 US for about 7 Underground trips in Zone 1 in three days. London is far too expensive considering the return on investment.
All off which isn’t to say that I didn’t enjoy myself. And a great chunk of that enjoyment came from spending a couple of days with the exquisitely eccentric Brothers Quay. I had come to meet them before on my 2012 trek, where I manage to convince them that I was indeed serious about this Gravity From Above project. (You can read that meeting here.) This time I felt like I was meeting old friends. On the first afternoon conversation ranged from shared Slavic roots, to the foibles of travel, Georgian culture, the glory of Gewurtztraminer wine, Jiří Trnka’s unreleased films and to Jan Švankmajer’s being stopped at the Czech border hoping to bring a shrunken head into the country. The second day was the serious interview, which I recorded, and I focused more on their connection to puppetry than in the hows and whys of their films. I had seen several decent interviews covering many subjects but none had got at the kinds of issues I had been wondering about. So for two hours I had a chance to pretty much ask what I really wanted to know personally. And so I have captured a fairly in-depth discussion from the Quays’ on the puppet, its meaning within their work and in their influences.
(Unfortunately I was so involved in the filming process that I forgot to get the stills of the Quays studio, a warren of strange figures and odds and ends. Well that would be a good ‘excuse’ to return if I needed one, but I don’t.)
Meanwhile… my bowels had recovered enough, with the help of a Chinese herbal remedy picked up in the rather compact London Chinatown, to eat normally and to gain my strength for the next phase of my journey to visit my friends Carsten and Rebecca and their new baby Zella up in Edinburgh. The train ride north was enjoyable and uneventful. Carsten greeted for me at the Waverley Station while proceeding to introduce me to the Scottish capital.
Now this wasn’t to be a puppetry stop. Rather simply a friendly visit. Edinburgh isn’t really a serious puppetry city as far as my research indicates, though occasionally homunculi will appear during the summer Fringe Festival. Nevertheless it was a fascinating city swirling around the old dark castle of the rock that makes up central Edinburgh. Carsten, if you remember from my 2012 trip, was working on his doctorate in Divinity (to use the British term). Rebecca was now an English teacher in the Scottish school system. And Zella bubbled and gurgled gleefully most of the time.
One day Carsten walked me across vast chunks of the old city allowing me to peak into nooks and crannies of the wet brooding streets. I happened upon an excellent bookshop, The Edinburgh Bookstore, a dangerous place, especially for a George MacDonald reader. I limited my shopping to a classic 1925 Oxford University Press two volume set entitled ‘The Medieval Stage’ by E.K. Chambers, and excellent history of the British theater, with fascinating information about puppetry, the origins of Christmas (not the solstice), and the Feast of Fools, among other subjects.
We ended up at the National Museum of Scotland, which led to some curious discoveries; including the 1500 year old Orkney Hood, the strange expression on a bronze bird podium and most intriguingly the scarily textured mask worn by Covenanter rebel preacher Alexander Peden in the late 17th Century. An idea I have a use for…
On another outing we visited the University of Edinburgh’s rarely open Museum of Anatomy, which unfortunately didn’t allow photographs except for the elephant skeletons at the entrance. But the display was everything you could ask for; gorilla bones, a complete bat skeleton , antique anatomical learning aids, fetal remains, enough sliced brains in glass to make Damien Hirst salivate and the entire bony corpse of the last murderer in Scotland hanged by the neck until dead.
Alas, it was time to leave the British Isles and to get back to what was now looming ahead of me as a rather busy two weeks on the Francophone section of the puppet trail. I had enjoyed a venison burger, haggis balls, 18 year old Scotch, homemade bread and good company. Now it was time to confront what Henryk Jurkowski called our mirrors, the puppets. Time to get back to France.