- and don’t we love it? I was instantly intrigued by Meow Meow’s glamour, and the promise of her voice, and will be basking in both later this week, in Ann Arbor. Partly because, well, doesn’t it look like a fabulous evening? and partly because the trailer was such a rush - that vision of the book revisioned - that it got me thinking about a stage show of some kind, a presentation. . . Not necessarily of the book itself, the novel’s narrative, but a piece that would be at home in the home of the Poppy, a kind of sideways sidebar celebration. . . Give a puppet an inch, see, and onstage it turns into a mile.

It’s not that I’m a clearinghouse for puppet performances or anything, but there is just so much of it out there: like Basil Twist and Joey Arias’ Arias with a Twist, or aboard the good ship Jollyship, or you could wait till the autumn cools to reheat your puppetry passion, and go to the cabaret of desire.

Wherever you end up, please do save me a seat.

For those who have asked: my lyrics to the Under the Poppy trailer song, “In the Dark.” (All music, including performance, is by the inimitable Joe Stacey.)

If it’s fun you’re after, companionship and laughter,
You can always find it in the dark.

The days are long in earthly life,
What with the lucre, war, and wife,
So men must seek their pleasures in the dark.

A bit of smoke, a bit of drink,
A slippery bit of something pink -
You’ll find what you are after in the dark.

For who’s to judge and who’s to see
What’s fun for you or fun for me
As we mingle our pleasures in the dark?

For life’s a show that can be cruel,
And passion often plays the fool
Together, we will break the rules,
And love what we are given in the dark.

Found this while in the midst of reading about Toulouse-Lautrec - Henri Riviere’s théâtre d’ombres. The details - the artistry - in this flowering of shadows are as refined and ravishing as a piece by Satie . . . I have no French, sadly, but this looks like a great site to happily explore Monsieur Riviere’s work

What I find comforting and thrilling both is the knowledge that this form of theater never dies, but ebbs and rises, sinks and flows and flowers, again and again. Newer technologies never replace it; the romance of the shadow is still there, still strong.

This is fun: not a juxtaposition you often see. Plus, a nice trailer shout-out.

It’s so intriguing to watch this tributary winding its way through current culture - the ironic, fantastic opulence of this Victorian Picnic (and don’t you love the rabbit?); the ongoing phantasmagoria of Dances of Vice (including, now, Shanghai Vice) - powered by steampunk, inspired by - what? Needless to say, everybody at the Poppy would fit right in at any of these events.

I don’t question - I don’t even examine - the prompts and urges and fancies that become the books and stories that I write; my process, such as it is, is an unconscious one, and I’m more than happy to keep it that way. But I’m obviously paddling this same river along with those beauties in the top hats and the guy who makes silver charm-and-leather sleeves for iPods. Where do you get your ideas?

This was just presented at St. Ann’s Warehouse in NYC - does it not look fantastic? Toy theater takes the imagination and artifice exponential: not only is it a made-up story in a made-up place, it’s a made-up world entirely. Even better: a series of made-up worlds, some matchbox-small, some composed of shadows, or cut out of paper; wee peep shows, animation, toy piano accompaniment, workshops, oh yeah. And names like John Bell, Susan Simpson, Eileen Blumenthal, Peter Schumann, Torry Bend, Jim Napolitano. . . .Teeny little hats off! Wish i was there.

A non-moving nutshell, this time . . . For those who’ve asked, “What’s Under the Poppy about, besides the great song and sexy puppets and all?” the answer is this: It’s the story of an orphaned brother and sister, Istvan and Decca, and their childhood friend, Rupert, set in a Victorian-era brothel called Under the Poppy. The brothel is owned by Decca, who’s in love with co-owner Rupert, who’s in love with Istvan, who comes to town, louche puppet troupe in tow, and takes up residence there.

The lines of their desires intersect against a backdrop of approaching war, as old betrayals and new alliances — not only their own — take shape, hearts are broken, and the townsmen seek refuge from it all by watching the girls of the Poppy cavort onstage with Istvan’s naughty puppets . . . Short answer: It’s a love story.

Thanks for the Poppy shout-out, GalleyCat!