FILM ME IN

MUPPETS: A child’s gateway to the cinema.

I won’t lie, like a bored young princess of another century, the child commands constant entertainment from my wife and I which on paper would suggest that home life is akin to an eternal stage and its players (read: Jesters) must be prompt and primed to bring the house down at the drop of a hat. We’ve honed our skills with an arsenal of tricks and have filled the home with repetitive exaggerated vocal performances, accompanying interpretative dances, lyrical nursery rhymes and continuous gasps of bewilderment when she reacts as desired to our peek-a-boo-ing.

A tried and trusted repertoire of jingles need to be stored at the forefront of our minds, ready to be unleashed at a second’s notice, particularly when multi-tasking. For instance if you need to change clothes or make a bed, the songs and dances need to happen simultaneously and this must be perceived as all part of the show. Pressure can be immense to get practical things done quickly too before she becomes disinterested, indifferent or worse: cranky. Despite a lifetime of walking around with a song constantly stuck in my head I often draw a blank when denied adequate time to think of one. I resort to the first appropriate lyrics because of course your favourite popular songs of your glory days will never suffice as they either require hoarse angst or a vocal register that will scare the poor girl to tears. TV shows suddenly announce themselves as the next in line and are repeated until the child perhaps wonders if her personal theme song is the introduction (with the extended outro) to Mr. Ed, the opening number from Friends or, if I have both hands free, The Addams Family. My repertoire of musical numbers have dwindled so significantly that in the end I make up words to familiar tunes like the 1950s pre-movie-candy-endorsement-cartoon ‘let’s all go the lobby’ or the Temple Of Doom version of Anything Goes and beyond that just melody-less sounds before finally retreating back to the 80s and providing dads larynx is warm enough, wailing to Dio’s Holy Diver.

Starved for vocal ideas, it occurred to me like a jolt of lightening to start chanting that Manamana tune from The Muppet Show and in my most gravelly rendition I then switched to falsetto when those flamingo looking female creatures chime their response lines. It was a no-brainer since no actual words were required and I could continue singing this tune as long as she was prepared to listen. Although this tune served as the perfect piece of mindless rambling, my vague recollection of the original performance was far greater than any father could possibly replicate and that it wasn’t enough to simply impersonate Manamana, you needed the visuals, and so I accommodated my curiosity by consulting YouTube.

Memory had been kind, for the video’s still hilarious in all its absurdity, even the unperturbed production manager, Kermit The Frog gets a Guernsey. Before completely obstructing the child’s view of my iphone I returned to my obligation and held the Manamana video before her widening eyes. She was instantly overcome by The Muppets flapping her eager arms at the screen and waving her hands forward for a closer look.

Just as they say your life flashes before your eyes at some significant point (usually death) well my history with these huggable manifestations of Jim Henson’s imagination raced through my mind in rapid succession and I would take great satisfaction in turning my daughter onto not only Muppets but all the countless marvels of the cinema soon to be imparted. I pictured her telling her friends that her dad’s the coolest because he’s seen all the movies which although virtually impossible I would concur with burning conviction. As she developed an appetite for movies I pictured myself becoming stern, catching her red handed moseying off to watch a film with the latest phone device in her hand. ‘You know the rules, hand it over’. ‘Oh but Dad…’ she would reply relinquishing the device and be forced to watch the film of her choice uninterrupted by a pinging, illuminating distraction.

I was vindicated recently for such harsh tactics and strict film rules when I had the good fortune of seeing a Q & A with film director M. Night Shyamalan who admitted such governance applies to his own son. The story went that M’s son and his friends wanted to watch Pulp Fiction for the first time. I could appreciate his excitement for the unspoken spiritual awakening of a virgin to this modern day classic is a ritual to behold, but to his frustration, the kids wanted assurance in advance that this was in fact a good movie and M had to play the warden-like dad card and make them get in there stop talking and asking so many questions and just watch it! Furthermore he confiscated all their phones!

Aside from providing a gateway to cinema, soon these very Muppets would find another purpose, before long they would be teaching her how to read (sponsored by a different letter each day), count to twelve (via a disco-cartoon-pinball-machine), phonetically sound out words (via a two headed monster) and even grasp the reality of death (whilst mourning Mr Cooper), assuming the Sesame Street format has plateaued since I last saw it. The Muppets will transcend to both teacher and cult leader, Jim Henson as the glorified mastermind of the ilk and star power of L Ron Hubbard or a child-friendly Warren Jeff’s but with the retro fashion sense of Jim Jones and every afternoon she will drink the cookie cool-aid transporting her soul to this hallowed street. Fortunately for her, she scored the right dad to cater to her Muppet needs and desires. In fact I can’t wait to fill her head with false hope the way my mother did me, as I assure her that we will in fact get to Sesame Street and I can tell her exactly how to get there just not right now. In her pretty little head she can dream of a day when she will schmooze or hug the living daylights out of Grover, Ernie and Elmo. She can irritate Oscar, keep an annoyed Bert awake at night and should luck strike, catch a glimpse of that elusive Mr. Snuffleupagus when no one else (bar Big Bird) is watching.

From the Brooklyn-esque street comes the Broadway-esque Show where she will be playing music, lighting lights, putting on make-up and dressing up right. The natural progression from here will be features where she will experience Muppet Capers, trips to Hollywood, Manhattan, England at Christmas and even space! If that’s not enough she can follow their 2011 renaissance and by the time we reach Muppets Most Wanted we’ll practically follow it up with 30 Rock and The Office. Once the movies become digestible we thereby segue into the wide world of cinema! Yeah that’s right you’re about to see whatever Muppet escapade is currently playing on the most giant screen you’ve ever laid your eyes on in a dark room filled with others your age that have crossed similar paths, and providing those Muppets keep the duration under the ninety minute mark, it should be smooth sailing for adults and children alike.

If I sound a wee bit excited, well it’s because I am and justifiably so. I was that enamoured by Muppets that as a child I had a cheap hand puppet which I was a tad too well loved, I continued to persist emulating what I saw on TV long after its eye had fallen off. On an outing to the beach I saw Australian animals in puppet form at a market stall and I raided every coin jar in the house, trading the coins at the bank for paper money just so that if we ever returned to that market someday I could buy that platypus. I believe I required financial assistance for I’m guessing the coins didn’t equate to too much but after what felt like an eternity we did eventually return and the day finally came when I had the platypus securely wrapped around my hand finally replacing the eye-less wonder. This was technically my first purchase but would certainly not be my last, at least where puppets were concerned. Fittingly my only other first was my first true love which according to mum was a Miss Piggy doll that I was desperately attached to. Although I have little recollection of loving the doll, the reason everyone knew that I loved her was because I would apparently waste no time in telling anyone who would listen.

I’d also take pleasure in telling you that a love of Muppets translated to a career as a remarkably talented puppeteer, say in the vain of John Cusack’s character in Being John Malkovich, or to be more realistic writer / director Charlie Kauffman’s other projects, the pupetry-esque Synecdoche New York and in a literal sense Anomalisa but I remained a casual but faithful admirer and it seems, a nostalgic pest. Although I don’t recall ever being overtly vocal about needing to obtain puppets to fulfil some childhood fantasy, the notion may have surfaced. For instance at a night market a few years back, I caught sight of a stall that had very Muppet-like puppets for sale. I proceeded to gasp, immediately dragged my wife to the stall and practically threw my wallet at them. I was later informed that my wife was well aware of the stall as she had eye-balled it earlier and was purposely trying to steer me away from the general area for fear that we would leave the market with a carload full of giant toys which I didn’t find at all unreasonable.

A few years later when my wife and I brought a place of our own and when pressed as to what personal touches I could bring the house, Muppets were all I could think of. I had never had a place that was solely mine before and therefore had never considered decorating, but I figured even if I could take possession of at least one room it would consist of Muppets with little space for anything else. Despite how creepy, even terrifying this room may have sounded it was the only image I could conjure up. How I was actually going to acquire Muppets in bulk I hadn’t figured out yet and it didn’t matter too much as the idea was rationally shut down pretty quick, even when I compromised for just a couch-full of Muppets.

Things actually turned in my favour on our honeymoon in Manhattan. Before we left for a much deserved break my mother-in-law handed me a gift in advance as my birthday fell on the trip. I sense my wife had a hand in this because I opened a card to find a voucher inside allowing me to create my own Muppet at New York’s premier toy store, the sadly now defunct FAO Schwartz. There I could fulfil a second fantasy by playing a human size piano just like Tom Hanks. Muppets were dubbed What-Not’s, a name Jim Henson gave to the countless, nameless Muppets required as extras when needed if there was a big Muppet production or a Muppet crowd. The creators would need to produce several unique characters in a short space of time and thus when creating your own Muppet at the toy store, it was referred to as a What-Not. This was the single greatest gift I’d received since… well… since I actually watched Sesame Street – if only my childhood self could have seen this I would have completely lost my shit!

The actually day of my birthday was the only day of the honeymoon when it rained – so much so that my wife’s own birthday plans had been foiled. A torrential, blizzard-like downpour that saw people topple over in the streets desperately salvaging crooked umbrellas would still not deter me and regardless of mother natures plans, I will always remember my actual birthday as the time I redeemed a What-Not voucher. The What-Not section of the toy store was the closest I’ll come to Sesame Street, countless Muppets smiling back at me from their place on the walls and as I made my selections, from eyes to hair to the shape of the nose and attire – I was treated like an elite member of the Muppet family and the waiting time for them to assemble my new pal was easily spent marvelling at all three incredible levels of the coolest toys I’d ever seen. It’s rather fitting that later that day when walking around New York City holding my Muppet I heard a guy exclaim to his female friend “I wish I had a kid” implying that I had brought my Muppet as a gift for a child, if only he knew.

Just this week we pimped out my glorified movie room and I finally took the What-Not out of his plastic vacuum and placed him high (out of child’s reach, heaven forbid someone should actually use him for the purpose he was intended) where he’ll proudly stay for the rest of his life, or at least until I cease becoming so precious and allow my daughter to go crazy. It’s also worth noting that as I stood there admiring my room full of displayed toys from Groucho Marx to Darth Vader to the Muppet, a true gathering of my all childhood favourites, it occurred to me that if I were hypothetically single I would certainly continue to remain so.

So as Manamana played on my iphone screen enchanting my ecstatic child, she reached out to touch these wonderful creatures as though she could just reach into the screen and hug them as I had wished to do so many times before. I allowed her to take hold of the phone for a closer look and as I did, rather than enjoy the rest of the song she simply shoved the phone in her mouth and proceeded to teethe and drool all over it. Hmm.