Inspired by old ‘Goosebumps’ dummy, Santa Fe kid tries hand at ventriloquism
Ventriloquist and his puppets perform to the delight — and dread — of passersby
Paolo Alexander Buis sat with his pal Charlie Alexander McCarthy, chatting and clowning around as people passed by on the Plaza. Some folks stopped to talk with Paolo and Charlie; others gave them a wide berth.
“Scary,” one woman said as she scurried away.
That’s because Charlie is a ventriloquist dummy, named after the famed ventriloquist dummy of years back. But evidently, some people are frightened of — or, at the very least, not fond of — a dummy.
“People sometimes look over and say, ‘How cute!’ but in their mind they are saying, ‘Walk away, fast!’ ” said 10-yearold Paolo as Charlie’s eyes followed a pair of passing women. Meanwhile, Snickers the Cat — Paolo’s hand puppet — hissed and clawed at some nearby dogs, bewildering them.
Snickers, Paolo and Charlie are some trio.
Paolo has been studying ventriloquism for about a year, and next summer he will take his act to the Vent Haven International Ventriloquist Convention in Kentucky to join hundreds of other people who throw their voices and make people believe that the dummy sitting on their lap is the one doing all the talking.
“People like seeing someone doing an art that isn’t common for most people to do,” Paolo said. “I like seeing the smiles on people’s faces when they enjoy it.”
Paolo first became fascinated with ventriloquist dummies after watching an episode of the old 1990s Goosebumps television show involving Slappy the scary dummy, who seemed to have a life of his own. But that idea didn’t scare Paolo, who owns three ventriloquist dummies and is saving up money to buy a fourth.
Paolo said ventriloquism started in the days of the early Greeks, and he’s right: Its roots are embedded in an ancient Greek practice called gastromancy, in which stomach noises were thought to be the voices of the dead. As spiritualists who relied on this age-old technique took to the stage in the 1700s and 1800s, so did the art of throwing voices to fool the public.
Soon, ventriloquists got themselves some dummies to do all the chatting and created live stage acts that placed an emphasis on the comedy. Some, including Edgar Bergen and the original Charlie McCarthy (who is now located in the National Museum of American
History in Washington, D.C.) became stars on television and in movies. Bergen and McCarthy were particularly popular on radio in the 1930s and 1940s, a fact that baffled critics, who pointed out that the listening audience at home couldn’t see the voice-throwing ventriloquist or his talkative dummy pal in action.
And usually, the dummy isn’t the dumb one in these partnerships, as a typical exchange between Paolo and Charlie proved:
“What am I made out of? Flesh?” asked Charlie.
“No, you’re made out of wood,” said Paolo. “I wood not,” Charlie said. Paolo began practicing his act on the Plaza last year and, on the advice of a friendly police officer, applied for and received an official busker’s permit to perform there.
On this particular day, his tip basket filled up with dollar bills as passersby took photos and paused to take in the high jinks. But quite a few of those who gave money quickly hurried away without really stopping.
“Maybe they’re paying me to get away from us and off this damn street,” quipped Paolo.
His mother, Janny, loves that her son has developed this talent but is not fond of his use of words like “hell” and “damn” in the act.
Paolo insists it is Charlie, and not him, who is responsible.
Many spectators, including a couple of Acequia Madre Elementary School girls who stood stone-faced — and at a respectable distance from the action — watched as Charlie gabbed away on whatever topic came to his mind.
Charlie explained to these visitors that he has his own little bed at Paolo’s house, but that, for reasons that are not quite clear, he is forced to sleep in the basement.
“It’s scary as hell down there,” Charlie said. “Would you guys like to sleep over?” Nobody on the Plaza took him up on the offer.
“This is really awesome,” said Jackie Eagle, a tourist from Gore, Okla. “Ventriloquists are not really recognized anymore, so it’s great that he is bringing it back.”
Paolo and Charlie — who, unlike his tuxedo-clad namesake, wears casual slacks, a red and white checkered shirt and red sneakers — will be on the Plaza most afternoons through at least the Thanksgiving weekend before they take a winter sojourn to Mexico.
And that could be a problem, Paolo said, because he doesn’t speak Spanish. But maybe Charlie does.