In a lockdown, the puppets come out to play
Zoo. That was where he and a colleague named Sarah Feliciano created natural-looking toys and devices, called “enrichment devices,” for the animals there and at other places such as Disney Animal Kingdom, the San Diego Zoo and Cincinnati Zoo.
Now Owens is doing his best to enrich the lives of human beings.
“Where else can you see and hear a yodeling toad singing about sushi?” says Jennifer O’Brien, who lives in the house next door with her husband, Jack, and teenage daughters Samantha and Sydney.
“Matt is so talented, and he and Carla are just terrific people. It is so much fun, for us and the neighborhood.”
That was the idea a couple of months ago.
“I felt my neighbors were in need of something,” Owens says. “So I made a puppet, just one, and put it in a tree with a spotlight shining on it from my apartment window.”
And so the show was born, quickly becoming a full-blown production that features some of the 40 puppets Owens has made, a wonderful, internationally spiced soundtrack and lively narrative punctuated by his wicked wit and sense of mischief.
He’s not doing this for recognition or money. There’s no charge to watch, and he does not even want the precise location of the show to be known, fearing that large crowds might attract unwanted attention or disturb non-puppet lovers, if there is such a thing. The audience, usually a few dozen people, is seeded by nothing more than word of mouth.
The clever, compelling shows are most often built on a circus theme. The “stage” is a tiny secondfloor balcony, framed by a bright green curtain and bracketed by colorful flower boxes in the sturdy brick building in which Matthew and Carla have lived since 1984.
On any given Saturday, the cast of a show will feature such characters as that aforementioned yodeling toad, a sword sallower, gorilla, organ grinder with a very active monkey, a ring master, a magician who pulls a rabbit from a hat, a juggler, trapeze artist, devil, elephant, acrobats … and others.
One puppet is named Giggles the Clown. He tells jokes:
“My father was a clown too. All his friends came to his memorial in one car.”
“What do you call a clown who never sits down? A standup comedian.”
“What kind of birds always stick together? Velcrows.
There is much music, singing and Matt’s own bagpipe playing.
For all its seeming informality, Lockdown Puppet Theater is a polished production because Owens knows how to put on a show. He was long been a fixture on the city’s visual art, theater and performance art scene.
As a performer and stage designer, he has collaborated with such people as Brigid Murphy for her “Milly’s Orchid Show,” and directors Bob Falls and Stuart Gordon. He has worked with the Raven Theater and at Links Hall; made puppets for the Lyric Opera, Chicago Symphony Orchestra and director Tim Robbins’ film “The Cradle Will Rock”; painted large murals for many places, including the bygone old Children’s Memorial Hospital; been a very successful painter of animal portraits; and played the bagpipes in a band.
“When you do something extravagant in public, people will stop and stare,” he says.
That is often true, but not all who stopped and stared at Lockdown Puppet Theater stayed. Understandable, I suppose, because there were restaurants and bars nearby or other places to go. It is also a shame, since wonder is so hard to come by.
The shows tend to attract a few dozen people, appropriately social distancing, most wearing masks. That makes it hard to see what are certainly smiles because the shows, which last little more than 30 minutes, easily evoke them.
Those who do stay have become regulars.
Julie Waller and Dan Rest live in a building around the corner. She has been a public grammar school teacher for more than three decades, and he is a retired professional photographer.
“This is our weekly theatrical experience and we so look forward to it,” Waller says. “Matt and Carla are such delightful people and this show gives us hope.”
One regular is a handsome 2-year-old boy named Sebron, who lives on the second floor of the building next door with his parents, Ben and Anna Haley.
He had been frightened a couple of weeks ago when the show came in the form of a murder mystery that included a “dead body,” so he started watching from his apartment window. But last weekend he was back on the street, perched on his father’s shoulders or dancing on the sidewalk.
Owens plans to continue the show until … well, who knows when in a world so uncertain?
With this show over, he comes downstairs to say hello to what is left of his audience. Sebron is there and says, “Thanks Matt,” and the puppeteer smiles. Upstairs, his puppets sleep.