Forget Me Not: a love letter to Ronnie Burkett's love letter to the magic of theatre, humanity and puppets
9 June 2019

by Drew Rowsome -

Please do not, in any way, misconstrue this as a review. This is, in the parlance of Forget Me Not, a love letter. MyGayToronto asks me to assign one to five stars to every review, for Forget Me Not, I would need a constellation. And practically, unfortunately, I, due to unforeseen and dramatic circumstances, did not get to see the ending of Forget Me Not. Just as we approached the climax, when sideshow/Punch and Judy stall proprietor Zacko Budaydos is about to marry the dancing bear who is not exactly what it appears to be, and Ronnie Burkett has transformed into a giant wedding cake, our rapt attention was interrupted by fire alarms. 

No-one was sure if it was part of the show or a genuine emergency. The arriving fire trucks and the frenzy of the harried Luminato volunteers hustling us out a fire exit into the rain, sirens and flashing red lights, gave us the answer. We stood in the cold drizzle hoping to be let back into the magical world we had cast out of, before slowly dispersing and meandering off. And of course Burkett, who had dealt with a few technical snafus (it was a preview as he noted) with quips and asides, was not flustered by the potential conflagration. We last saw him smiling and saying, "This might just be better than what I wrote."

It would be cruel to attempt to encapsulate the plot of Forget Me Not. A spoiler revealed should be more punishable than the extreme horrors that are inflicted in the New Now for using writing, particularly love letters. Suffice it to say that there are several plots that simmer simultaneously with multiple digressions that illuminate or just entertain. Yes, Burkett is telling a story but he is also deconstructing not only the art of puppetry but also the barrier between performer and audience, and, in the process, the barriers between fellow humans. And fellow puppets.

Audience participation or interaction is something that I am normally leery of. Burkett, the world's most charmingly benevolent dominatrix of a performer, makes it integral. We became props, puppeteers, maestros, lighting technicians, supplicants, and all so eager to do so that we became, for the time of Forget Me Not and on into the rainy night, community. Burkett is a master puppeteer, his creations appear to have lives of their own, to breathe and feel, but he also is a master at pulling the strings of his audience. Acknowledging his manipulative tendencies and casually barking out orders, Burkett undercuts it all with a twinkle in his eyes that is a klieg light, and a smile that is of equal wattage. If he ever decides to lead a cult, beyond his artistic one, society is in severe danger of happily drinking Kool-Aid, even the icky orange flavour.

There is not a proscenium stage for Forget Me Not - aside from the one that Burkett occasionally adorns himself with as a disguise - and the seating, which won't be used much, is vintage furniture and benches scattered around the playing area. Burkett moves restlessly but purposefully throughout the space, erasing the concept of stage and best or worst seats in the house, and the audience follows or regroups. That would be the only complaint about Forget Me Not, the cavernous space of the Joey and Toby Tanenbaum Opera Centre occasionally swallows the voices of Burkett and the multitude of characters. Or perhaps that was the design: to draw us in, to make us lean in so that we become intimate and seduced, like the whispers that are used to give information to She, The Keeper of the Lost Hand to compose the love letters that are crucial to Forget Me Not.

There is slapstick, an entire mythology, a funeral procession, a smattering of Polari, evocative music courtesy of John Alcorn, puppets that come to life in Burkett's hands and in ours (Burkett's power is so strong that we believe and it happens), the obliteration of a homophobic Tom of Finland-esque puppet, a tattooed lady and the aforementioned dancing bear. And those are just the moments that come instantly to mind, I was far too busy and entranced to take notes or remember quotes. So maybe the fire alarm - thankfully the theatre and Burkett's props and puppets did not go up in flames - was a blessing. I'll never know the ending of Forget Me Not, but I'll also never have to let the experience end. The emotive state that was achieved lives on, open-ended, and is easily accessible. 

The only downside is that we never got to applaud Burkett - I'm sure he had a joke ready about us already being standing for the ovation he richly deserves - but I suspect his self-satisfied smile - when he wasn't in the trance he enters when bringing the puppets to life, it's as if they become linked entities, and we are so close that the magnetic field also envelopes us - as we gasped, laughed and were enraptured, gave him the same reward. That was one rambling sentence but hopefully properly punctuated and to the point. Like Forget Me Not, a love letter.