We're all muppets now, concludes PETER CRAWLEY

WHAT DO THE following all have in common: awkwardly early screenings at the multiplexes; internal emails between several managing directors of Goldman Sachs (allegedly); some of your most treasured childhood memories; and more than one current stage show?

That’s right, they all contain muppets. (Anyone over the age of, say, 55, please bear with me.)

Muppets seem to be as full of meaning as they are hopelessly difficult to define. We can all choose a favourite. (Mine ought to be a toss up between Statler and Waldorf, two curmudgeons on the balcony seats of life, who double as the patron saints of theatre criticism. But actually it’s Beaker, the stoic emblem of scientific mishap and limited expression.) Still, you wouldn’t want to be called one, would you? You muppet.

It’s the bumblebee of insults – kind of cute but it still stings – and it’s also the reason that Greg Smith’s roundly circulated, roundly mocked resignation letter from Goldman Sachs makes its corporate culture sound like a Guy Ritchie movie:

“Over the last 12 months, I have seen five different managing directors refer to their own clients as ‘muppets’,” he wrote, terminology that is only appropriate when facilitating a merger between the Children’s Television Workshop and the estate of Count von Count.

But what is a muppet? “It’s not quite a mop and not quite a puppet,” explains Homer Simpson. “So, to answer your question, I don’t know.” According to seasoned muppetologists, is it not, contrary to popular belief, a portmanteau word, patched together from “marionette” and “puppet” by Jim Henson and now the legal property of Disney.

Rather, “muppet” is a state of mind – if that mind is involved in the operation of a puppet lightly covered with fuzz that is allowed to do or say anything that polite society frowns upon. And by that definition muppets are currently everywhere.

This week Avenue Q makes its long-awaited visit to Dublin, a musical based on the Sesamean idea that all of life’s lessons, whether they be the order of the alphabet, the universality of racism, or the lucrative nature of internet porn, are better taught through furry accomplices. At the same time, the inaugural production from Collapsing Horse, Monster/Clock, in Smock Alley, is a comedy musical involving the manipulation of furry puppets; a concept for which more astute critics might invent the term “Avenue Q-ish”.

Should this muppet dawn be seen, like the word, as a gesture of affection or infantilising abuse? Does it connote the cheering symbol of transformation that is

a puppeteer’s arm inserted firmly into the base of a puppet, or

does that better describe the relationship between Goldman Sachs and its customers?

Let’s go with the positive. The theatre aims to show us familiar human behaviour while making it strange enough to be remarkable. Few forms of performance do this with as much ease as puppetry, and none with as much feathery appeal as Muppets. If empathising with others is a core component of our humanity, then even being able to identify with a fur-covered frog can be a hint towards something more profound. You know something, it probably ain’t easy being green.

Now that domination is upon us, it’s time to play the music, light the lights, reclaim the word.

You muppet.

pcrawley@irishtimes.com