Jim Henson Co - The LA Flood Project (sitios de interés)
Descripción del sitio
Stage 1
There's something unusual about the studios that give birth to those so-familiar puppets. Something distinctly alpine, or Germanic, or Fraggle. The red brick entryways sandwich the storybook cottage, as for a Fordist factory for Brothers Grim. But it's the green man a top the tower who sets the tone of it all, looking so Chaplinesque, doffing his hat, unperturbed by a smatter of rain.
Stage 2
There he stands, the lone verdant sentinel, overlooking the swamp before him. The brackish waters that have risen almost to his feet are littered with the bodies of his friends. Many muppets were spared, on location at a desert shoot for some new major network holiday extravaganza. But a few were left behind. Mostly the Sesame Street crowd. Oscar, who was genuinely surprised his can could float, rescued about 132 rats, though it was doubtful all would survive the stench of the enclosed space. Snuffalupagus had waded out valiantly, trudging his sopping and sooty mass into that water, Big Bird astride his back, looking so much the hero, like Sean Penn after Katrina. But no one has seen either of them for at least 48 hours. Sam the Eagle is perched atop the mossy shingles, a single tear down his cheek for the nest of muppet eggs he could not save. It’s time, declares the frog gravely, to light the lights, and a single beam illuminates vast fuzzy muppet carnage. And could it be…Piggy?
Stage 3
On the sidewalk around the studios lie 70, maybe 80 deflated muppets. How empty look the foam and fur when there is no hand inside. The loss in muppet lives is nearly impossible to reckon, not to mention the number of puppeteers now out of work, forced back into the already crowded birthday market. Some will no doubt go back to the street. Others, will hang up their strings and sticks. The green man looks more humbled then ever, his face taking that signature fold, that collapsing in, made by pulling your hand back into a sign language E. And as he looks on over the destruction, somewhere deep inside, he knows now why there are so many songs about rainbows.
-- MCM
There's something unusual about the studios that give birth to those so-familiar puppets. Something distinctly alpine, or Germanic, or Fraggle. The red brick entryways sandwich the storybook cottage, as for a Fordist factory for Brothers Grim. But it's the green man a top the tower who sets the tone of it all, looking so Chaplinesque, doffing his hat, unperturbed by a smatter of rain.
Stage 2
There he stands, the lone verdant sentinel, overlooking the swamp before him. The brackish waters that have risen almost to his feet are littered with the bodies of his friends. Many muppets were spared, on location at a desert shoot for some new major network holiday extravaganza. But a few were left behind. Mostly the Sesame Street crowd. Oscar, who was genuinely surprised his can could float, rescued about 132 rats, though it was doubtful all would survive the stench of the enclosed space. Snuffalupagus had waded out valiantly, trudging his sopping and sooty mass into that water, Big Bird astride his back, looking so much the hero, like Sean Penn after Katrina. But no one has seen either of them for at least 48 hours. Sam the Eagle is perched atop the mossy shingles, a single tear down his cheek for the nest of muppet eggs he could not save. It’s time, declares the frog gravely, to light the lights, and a single beam illuminates vast fuzzy muppet carnage. And could it be…Piggy?
Stage 3
On the sidewalk around the studios lie 70, maybe 80 deflated muppets. How empty look the foam and fur when there is no hand inside. The loss in muppet lives is nearly impossible to reckon, not to mention the number of puppeteers now out of work, forced back into the already crowded birthday market. Some will no doubt go back to the street. Others, will hang up their strings and sticks. The green man looks more humbled then ever, his face taking that signature fold, that collapsing in, made by pulling your hand back into a sign language E. And as he looks on over the destruction, somewhere deep inside, he knows now why there are so many songs about rainbows.
-- MCM