From Little Willy by Ronnie Burkett | Photo by Dahlia Katz
Though my experience with him is relatively limited, Ronnie Burkett’s Theatre of Marionettes has enormous resonance, almost by reputation alone. Having only seen Little Dickens, his take on A Christmas Carol, the Daisy Theatre and its band of eccentric weirdos already seem so familiar to me. It helps that their history feels palpable, even without any excessive backstory. The interactions between these oddballs in their struggling theatre, and their offhand comments, paint a vivid portrait of inflated egos, thespian rivalries and endearing little snapshots of very specific lives. This latest instalment, Little Willy, presented by Canadian Stage, sees the beleaguered theatre manager trying to wrangle the disparate personae here into a performance of Romeo and Juliet.
After Burkett does a personal introduction, we open on a puppet strip-tease! Yes, the miniature, buxom Dolly Wiggler gives us a risqué opening act! The degree of dexterity required to pull this stunt off is impressive. The whole affair is similarly masterful in that Burkett controls the various marionettes, hand puppets, delivers an array of vocalizations and serves as a host, narrator and meta-theatrical trickster showman.
This contains multitudes! It is classic, elegant, farcical, garish and sweet. Most of the runtime is dedicated to the squabbling of these colourful characters (also designed by Burkett) as they vie for the spotlight. Very little Shakespeare gets performed, though Willy himself shows up. With a chuckle, we suspend our disbelief to accept certain conceits… like, for instance, our aging, Norma Desmond-esque diva Esmé Massengill’s intimate history with the Bard himself going back some four centuries.
Burkett excels at vivid characterizations and a genuine sense of community. There are several brassy broads, a sultry number with “sausage” back-up dancers (some truly outrageous shenanigans there) and plenty of campy, queer humour that frequently takes affectionate jabs at the Canadian theatre scene. Jesus Christ even makes an appearance! Throughout, Burkett calls attention to the artifice and limitations of the form. The fact that he only has two hands is often on our minds, though he’s savvy enough to have this enhance the mystique rather than diminish it.
As usual, he enlists intrepid audience members to help out. Part of his schtick, Burkett chooses attractive young men and requires they be shirtless during their participation. Now, I can obviously understand how this whole bit can be fun and charming, though I felt a very distinct tension this time around and feel it’s worth unpacking. The bit functions under the assumption that the audience accepts there is no real consequence to the objectification of male bodies—chosen at whim, and who have neither been rehearsed nor properly prepared. The young lady brought up to help, for instance, is asked only for the slightest peck on the cheek from a male puppet. One shirtless dude, on the other hand, is repeatedly kissed on the lips and fondled in the crotch by an older female puppet as she performs Juliet’s death scene over him as an already dead Romeo.
Now, sure, he seemed a totally willing participant in the playfully provocative sequence. I couldn’t help but wonder, though: would I be comfortable in such a situation? No, though I would absolutely play along to be a good sport. That’s the expectation of these guys—that they be good sports about being ogled in a public performance. If they refuse, they’d be killing the vibe. It’s worth considering if we would all be so on-board if the young lady were asked to remove her shirt for a male puppet to repeatedly caress her chest or crotch.
I’m sure Burkett’s intentions are pure, that he’s very good at reading the room and takes his duty of care seriously. Perhaps my raising the issue of informed consent with regards to puppet-human relations seems absurd. I found it disconcerting, though, not least because of the clear double standard. And though there is a safe distance in the staging—space, string and wood—we are very much aware of these puppets as an extension of Burkett and, well, I think some scrutiny here is warranted.
I don’t want to end on that note though. So let me talk about two moments that really moved me. First, Juliet’s balcony scene text performed by crowd favourite Schnitzel. He’s the youngest member of the Daisy Theatre troupe, an aspiring faery that hopes to get his wings someday. His soft spoken, gentle and deeply earnest vibe is very touching. Then there is Mrs. Edna Rural, the good natured bumpkin, who gives a funny and heartfelt monologue about meeting and living with her late husband, Stanley. The mundane domestic details are what make it so poignant and a lovely reminder that we can always more fully appreciate the sometimes infuriating quirks of the people we love.
Little Willy
February 27 to April 5, 2026
Berkeley Street Theatre
(26 Berkeley Street)
1 hour, 45 minutes (no intermission)
From Little Willy by Ronnie Burkett | Photo by Dahlia Katz