Praying for the End of Time

In 2006, a controversy arose on the online discussion list of the American Society for Theatre Research when a request for notable performances about the Gulf and Iraq Wars sparked members' interest in the searing routine delivered by Stephen Colbert at the White House Correspondents' Association Dinner. John Bell (a founder of the Great Small Works collective, which draws on folk, avant-garde, and popular theatre traditions to address contemporary issues) responded to Colbert's new status as an Internet sensation with a provocative question: "Does this mean that the most interesting or 'effective' political theatre depends upon hosting a Comedy Central show, being invited to the White House, and then having our work rebroadcast on YouTube?" ¹The ensuing debate about the viable forms and functions of American political theatre soon turned to puppetry. What activist relevance, if any, do the communal spectacles forged by groups like Bread & Puppet during the 1960s and 70s retain in our hyperrealist information age?

I'm surely not alone among adults when I say it feels a little weird to explore today's culture through the lens of puppet theatre. What do puppets have to say about religious extremism or the war in Iraq when they are so under-represented in our national media and other mainstream discourses? According to Elizabeth Burns, who studied the role of convention in both theatre and daily life, the success of a given performance hinges on more than actors' skill. Its credibility also relies on what she calls "authenticating conventions."

At first glance, the onstage interactions featured in The Rapture Projectseem to have little in common with the social conventions of twenty-first-century America. In part for that reason, Neil Genzlinger dismisses the show as antiquated in his New York Timesreview: "Inspired by a brand of Sicilian theatre most popular in the nineteenth century [. . .] any nineteenth-century Sicilians in the audience will no doubt find it quite enjoyable. Everyone else will be mystified more often than not." Indeed, the mere act of entering the HERE Arts Center is disorienting. Whereas typical lobbies offer bland muzak to help pass the time, this one confronts us with a live orchestra whose Klezmer-style pulse is distinctly unruly. Many patrons avoid the reception and hurry toward the downstairs performance space. Do they think we are late for the show, or are they caught off-guard by the experience of seeingwhat we normally only hear in a disembodied way?

Pondering the roles visceral presence might play in a show about American spirituality, I follow into the basement and wait. An elaborate frame dominates the stage, depicting various phases that will herald the End of Time. Though painted in stark black and white, nothing is clear about how these cycles actually work. "Israel the Head of Nations for One Thousand Years" is followed by "The Renovation of the Earth by Fire." "The Great White Throne," a glowing sofa in the sky, is linked by multi-directional arrows to "The Book of Life." As if reading my bafflement, an unseen narrator addresses the audience: "Ninety percent of The Rapture Projectis taken from actual, factual sources." After a pause, the voice solemnly adds, "We could not make this stuff up." The audience laughs, but breathes an audible sigh of relief. Ah, the reality of information gathering—finally, something we recognize from our hourly visits to Google and Wikipedia.

The stage fills with human performers dressed like psychedelic Statues of Liberty. Each one announces a personal sighting of the Apocalypse: "Hocus, locust, falling out of the sky. My promotion went to the other guy!" In response to this anxious litany, a one-horned Satan puppet plummets to Earth: "When times are scary, you need answers you can trust. Look at the plan that's drawn on this chart. It's not just some piece of postmodern art! Let go of your doubts and believe, believe, bee-lieve! Wah-ha-hah!" The devil's poetic fervor is counterbalanced by a stoic John Bell: "But God...