The biennial celebration showcases puppetry from all over the UK and beyond.
I bought a weekend pass. Arrived Friday morning and left Friday Afternoon.
The board meeting was chaos: five people allegedly representing different corners of puppetry, but really it was five cats attempting to conduct a symphony — lots of noise, zero direction, total self-belief. I arrived early with my coffee, greeted with a tote bag of niceties and sat with all the other attendies. A lady sit beside me, She wore a dog puppet for the whole event.
On the board: Jive Handler from Punch and Judy, a drama teacher representing UNIMP, Rusty (a walking delusion), and an elderly man who reminded us every five minutes that he was involved with the first puppetry directory website. Rusty dropped gems like “I don’t pay taxes” and “use puppet builders, not prop makers,” clearly parroting things he barely understood. Jive Handler as always looked like he’d slept under a bridge with a bottle of White Lightning. He was running around in the background.
Midway through, Sarah Wrong from Islington — founder of what she calls “the only puppetry school in the UK” — complained about having no money, despite living in one of London’s most expensive areas and being the daughter of the founders of Little Devil Theatre . Her brother, Joe Wrong, is reportedly worth millions. At one point, her students joined her on stage. Instead of presenting something live and engaging, they leaned on pre-recorded video. It felt lazy and, frankly, insulting.
Throughout the event, Sarah, Jive, and many others returned again and again to the same subject: money. Complaints about a lack of it, without any real sense of effort to create something worth paying for. I don’t understand that mindset. If you want an audience, put on a proper show. Do the work. Then earn from it.
Monty le Chew appeared too, offering occasional historical footnotes rather than anything relevant. Twice I spoke to him; twice Rustry swooped in, and Monty promptly vanished with him. “Pub time,” he said. Exit stage left.
Still, there were small wins. Two women joined me at a table on the break, showed genuine interest in my work, and offered useful contacts. By the end I left tired and slightly hollow, but amused by the absurdity. The festival was memorable — and afterward, I cancelled every membership to the related organisations.