Lab Rats and Puppets

By JASON BAGLEY
Beneath the kaleidoscope-like clutter of red and white paint splotches, white paper scraps, shards of glass, pieces of cardboard, iron rods, 18 quarts of Valspar paint and an endless knot of extension cords is the plywood floor of the University of Connecticut Puppet Lab. A half-circle of one-inch tall red buddhas, a glass jar of tongue depressors, and an all-purpose drill set are scattered on one of the twenty-something wooden workspaces.

One adroit student has his IPod playing soft classical music, which gently diffuses the room, as he carves the last fine details of a small animal sculpture. Then suddenly he is summoned to help with a computer program by another graduate student. He lifts his head with a jerk. The sound of his loafers scuffing the wood fade into the hallway. Minutes pass and he returns to the lab with a determined trajectory to his workplace. He swings around the metal seat, causing a sharp screech of metal on metal, plops down on the worn out red cushion and becomes absorbed in his work again.

Sitting with his legs crossed in the center of the wooden floor is graduate student Michael Bush. He is preparing Kate Smith for a production of “Hair” in three weeks. “Ah the smell of ethanol, how I miss thee,” Bush quips as he warps and bonds pieces of Styrofoam together with a hair blower for Miss Smith’s shoulders. Kate Smith is the largest puppet in the room, looming over the students at a solid 6’4”. A bundle of thick, loose white strings, extracted from a mop, render the hair, which spills over a pink pincushion face with black beady eyes and a scrunched-in pig nose. Two large paper ball lampshades etched with an Oriental design are the lady’s breasts. Attached to the center of each sphere is a red wooden ball with a blue tassel sagging from each ball. Kate has large, bulging Hamburger Helper hands that match her pink face.

The lampshades, Styrofoam, wooden balls and tassels are “all part of ‘Hair’ being based on found objects,” Bush says as he points to an antique, wooden radio on the table above him. With only three weeks before “Hair” opens, Bush foresees production heading into overdrive with “the first person in the morning or the last person at three in the morning” toiling extra hours.

However, he adds as he heats the Styrofoam, the ethanol odor continuing to spill through the room, “it’s never over even when it’s over.”