Kevin Augustine's Lone Wolf Tribe

by Martin Denton 1999

When Kevin Augustine sits down next to one of the life-size puppets who co-star with him in Big Top Machine, theatrical magic is made. It's not proper ventriloquism at all: Mr. Augustine's lips clearly move, for one thing. The puppets don't really look like people--they're just big heads on the ends of sticks, with arms hanging loosely at their sides. And yet, when Mr. Augustine animates their expressive faces (b inserting his hand, quite visibly, in the back of their hollowed-out heads), they spring to life, fully-formed characters, quite palpably present on stage. No moment in Big Top Machine is quite so affecting as the one where Mr. Augustine, handling a puppet dressed as an old, silent woman, cautiously and painstakingly opens an old jewel box, allowing a butterfly to fly free from within.

I don't know why, but Mr. Augustine's illusions draw their power from their subversion of the way we expect them to work. When that old lady opens the box, it is quite clearly with Mr. Augustine's hand. But watching this extraordinary actor immerse himself in the feelings and kinetics of the characters he portrays is an enchanting and mesmerizing experience.

Lest you think that Big Top Machine is only about Mr. Augustine's craft, let me now tell you that this is also a very well-written play, woven around a couple of interesting themes, that moves forcefully and humorously to a poignant, moving conclusion. Big Top Machine tell the story of Ramsey, who at the beginning of the play is hired to join the circus as its new Hero, which is to say the man who climbs the 251-foot pole to the top of the ring and then flies down from the top. He's not exactly an obvious Hero: he wears a costume that looks like a poor man's superman uniform; he listens to motivational tapes during (frequent) moments of self-doubt; and he hangs out in bars with the circus's ringmaster Frank, who is only too happy to let Ramsey pay for all of his drinks.

But deep down inside, Ramsey obviously has heroic stuff; it's just that he's stuck in the 20th century where even the supposed magic of the circus has been rendered obsolete by pervasive commercialism and cynicism. A real hero, in the classical sense, simply may not be possible anymore.

Mr. Augustine explores this idea thoughtfully and affectingly in the course of this amazing show. Using puppets, props and sometimes just his voice, he populates the stage with memorable characters, including the aforementioned Frank, Günter the lion tamer, a whole roomful of bratty schoolchildren, and an old homeless balladeer, all of whom participate in, or comment on, Ramsey's story. Lots of what ensues is very funny and very creative: watch how Mr. Augustine depicts Günter's lion taming act, for example, or how he recreates Ramsey's climactic climb to the top of the circus tent. And lots of startles as it hits us right in the gut, like the moment when Ramsey understands that today's children are too smart to be enchanted by the circus ("those wires are invisible," he tells them sadly).

Mr. Augustine is ably aided by tow black-shrouded puppetry assistants, Josh Cohen and Anna Kramer, who move props and puppets around with astonishing deftness. Excellent and appropriate sound and lighting are provided by Sean McFaul and Craig A. Young respectively. In the end, what I remember best about Big Top Machine are Mr. Augustine's extraordinary alter egos: the still old lady seated in a chair, the tiny schoolboy cradled in Ramsey's arms, and the sad but enduring, slightly seedy circus man Frank. These characters feel more real than the ones played by live actors in any half dozen plays around town.

Big Top Machine is all about wonderment. With its sublimely inventive theatricality, it reminds us what wonderment feels like, and makes us more than a little wistful that it's become so rare and precious these days.