Review by Jay Richardson

Rick Wakeman and The Muppets, together at last! Well, almost. Although it won't be every night that Puppet Up! features as illustrious a guest star as the Yes keyboardist, it's a reflection of this improvised format's flexibility, and the exceptional skill of Henson Alternative's puppeteers, that they were able to incorporate him so brilliantly.

Following a rather understated and none-too-promising introduction from Barry the Usher, in which he explains how you're going to be seeing two shows in one – with the black-clad puppeteers visible onstage but out of shot on the two giant screens showing the action - scepticism descends. A puppyish fish character, Kipper, perpetually distracting and interrupting Barry, seems to be just the kind of energetic irritant that ought to keep this show in the kids’ section of the festival programme. Irrespective of this piscine berk, though, surely the audience being constantly aware of the operating arms will compromise suspension of disbelief?

Well, no, thankfully, there's no reason to doubt this talented troupe on either score. A very funny potted history of puppetry, from Neanderthal times to the present day, claiming a sophistication for the art-form belied by the colourful eruption of felt-on-felt slapstick violence, is followed by a succession of familiar parlour games, distinctively recast with puppets. And while you never forget the operators beneath them, you quickly develop the promised dual vision and appreciation of both displays.

Unique triple threats, these performers have to think on their feet, manipulate their charges (in mirror no less, left being right and vice-versa when shown on camera), sing and talk in a wide variety of voices. And they make it all seem, if not exactly easy and effortless, tremendous fun.

'Director', or at least, host, of this 'psychotic puppet party' is Patrick Bristow, a familiar face from his appearances in shows like Ellen, Seinfeld, Curb Your Enthusiasm and Whose Line Is It Anyway? His own agile wit is displayed time and again as he acts as the medium channelling howled audience suggestions to the cast.

An early appeal for American-style whooping and acclaim between games seems like it could fall flat with a more reserved British audience. But pretty soon everyone's joining in and the Californian elicits an impressive number of laughs from his failure to understand Scottish accents. An appeal for a historical event prompts a growl of 'Battle of Bannockburn!' that a fellow American in the crowd needs to translate.

I'm not sure what it says about a crowd of people that they have the chance to make puppets act out anything they want and cannibalism and borderline inappropriate sexual relations become recurring themes. Wakeman, whose show took place immediately afterwards in the same venue, clearly had no compunction about evoking the latter. Invited to score a silent movie-style sequence that proved one of the few underwhelming moments of the show, he seized with alacrity the chance to operate a puppet himself.

Quite wonderfully, the physical demands of keeping it at camera height for several minutes, plus the fact that the musician is on the tall side, meant that the top of his head was forever sneaking into shot, becoming a small dog that the other puppets periodically patted.

Veering towards both abortion and tension in the Middle East during a flashback game, the puppeteers affect to pull back from such choppy waters, although it's enough to simply allude to them and backpedal furiously to grab the laughs.

Unlike in, say, Avenue Q, swearing is carefully rationed, deployed only sporadically and all the punchier for it. And interestingly, the performers only occasionally choose a puppet from their vast, visible store of people, animals and foodstuffs after the scenarios are announced. Generally, they choose them beforehand, ensuring that in the main there are all sorts of odd, anthropomorphic confusions and further twists to the dialogues.

Film noir spoofs and James Bond opening title sequences are the sort of broad framework on which the games hang. But beyond that, the show is so loose that it reinforces the limitless boundaries of imagination one associates with the Henson stable. Admittedly, that's with adult themes. But I see no reason why the 10.30am children’s version of this show couldn't be every bit as entertaining.

Interspersed with the audience participation and recreated live are a couple of classic sketches from Henson and Miss Piggy creator Frank Oz, from 1956 and 1965 respectively. Dark, innovative and hilarious, they reiterate the marvellous possibilities of puppets in the hands of masters like these.

Review date: 20 Aug 2013
Reviewed by: Jay Richardson