nytheatre.com's review of by Martin Denton October 30, 2003 There's a spectacularly arresting moment in the middle of Animal when Eugene, a 5/8-human genetics laboratory test subject, is playing with his only toy, a bright green, Kermit-ish frog puppet. Venting his frustrations, Eugene carries on a make-believe argument with the puppet, telling it that when he bangs its head on the floor it can't feel anything. "You don't have a soul," he tells the puppet, decisively closing a debate that he has, of course, really been carrying on with himself. Welcome to Animal and to the world of Kevin Augustine. Eugene, the little boy in the genetics laboratory, is one of Augustine's remarkable creations. Though a puppet himself, we almost believe Eugene when he announces that he has a soul; we're aware, anyway, of some spark of life-call it what you will-whenever Augustine is at his controls, for the genius of this extraordinary artist is to endow his amazing creations with something very near the stuff of humanity in a way that's eerily almost-miraculous. Watch Augustine, portraying a very troubled young man named Jeff, engage in conversation with Eugene: the one is clearly manipulating the other (and Augustine's lips never stop moving no matter who's talking), and yet we're aware of two separate actors on stage. Is it any wonder, then, that this gifted performer-writer is so preoccupied with the nature of creation? Animal, in common with the rest of Augustine's oeuvre, is at least in part about the ways that men play God--whether metaphorically, by using (abusing) other creatures in pursuit of some unilateral interest; or, as here, literally, by building living beings and then enslaving them in supposed service to humankind. For Eugene is indeed a slave: a mutant boy whose DNA has been tampered with so that he will be prone to depression. His "keepers"--presumed scientists, shrouded im white, who are as likely to threaten Eugene with a bullwhip as to strap him into some fearsome torture device masquerading as laboratory equipment-are systematically destroying his self-esteem; once he's reached rock bottom, he will be the ideal test subject for a new wonder-drug for chronic depression. His life will, theoretically, have meant something. It's a disturbing, unsettling, and sad journey that Augustine takes us on: his preoccupations--macabre, surreal--jolt us and tug at our emotions. Yet the very definition of life, and what makes it worth living, is at the core of Animal. Jeff, who is the chronically depressed human for whom the fruits of Eugene's labors are immediately intended (and whose dream, or nightmare, Eugene's story may well be), visits Eugene frequently. At one point, he teaches him to paint, telling him to draw whatever it is that he really cares about. Eugene draws a red ball, an object that he played with as a baby--an object he later gave to a dog, another test subject that he befriended in the genetics lab. What matters, Augustine finally tells us, are the simplest acts of caring and sharing. Of course, Augustine's artistry is what suffuses Animal with its extraordinary unique spirit. When Eugene paints the red ball, it is in fact Augustine, manipulating Eugene's tiny arm with a metal rod, who is doing the painting. It's aÝ delicate, painstaking, simple, and beautiful act of creation--look: we've come back to that concept again. Animal features three other puppeteers (they play the masked scientists I mentioned earlier), who provide invaluable support: Lindsay Abromaitis-Smith,David Michael Friend, Jessica Scott. Ditto Animal's designers, who help Augustineachieve his particular vision: David Evans Morris (the stark set, a maze of walls and door frames evoking the genetics laboratory and the confused inner reaches of Jeff's psyche),Ý Andrew Hill (the moody lighting), Sean McFaul (the eerie, ephemeral soundscape), and Michael Oberle (appropriate costumes, not just for Augustine and the puppeteers, but perhaps also for the puppets?). It all makes for a melancholy, alien, and unforgettable world--a place where a little boy's ingenuity, figuring out how to climb up to the window ledge where his dog is sitting, becomes a thing of incomparable beauty. The images that Augustine creates will haunt you for days. I don't know anybody who is doing theatre quite like this. This is indisputably a work of theatre that demands to be experienced.