THERE MAY BE no 9/11 references or partial nudity on
offer here, but few shows in the Fringe are guaranteed
an audience as reliably as this one, writes Eddie
Harrison.
Unlike the sleazy 'now-it-can-be-told' attitude of his
competitors George, Zippy and Bungle, Bagpuss the show
is not a vehicle for an embittered, saggy old cloth
cat to rant on about how his artistic integrity was
cruelly compromised by the BBC, followed by a fraught
but ultimately uplifting description of intense
personal battles with substance abuse and sex
addiction. And a good thing too.
In fact, this show is so restrained that you don't
even get to see Bagpuss. Or the mice. Or Professor
Yaffle.
It's a storytelling show, but performed according to
the inimitable Bagpuss formula, which clearly
entrances young people as effectively as ever, even if
the mixture of antique charm and surrealist humour now
appears positively David Lynch-ian to adult eyes.
This is no kitsch celebration. By telling two stories
in such a traditional style, Bagpuss retains both his
credibility and charm, relying on the imagination
rather than animatronics or puppetry. Which, for those
of us who remember the original programme, is just as
it should be.
Of course, many audience members had brought along
their own Bagpusses and you might want to do the same
in order to focus your attention on what is, after
all, just a saggy old cloth cat, baggy and loose at
the seams.
But Emily loved him. Chances are you will too.
