Fully hybridised storytelling, blending puppetry, spoken word and performance to create something greater than the sum of its parts. Clearly a passion project, and not afraid to mingle comedy with serious commentary, John Muir and the Missionary’s dog, is a must see if, and when you can.
John Muir, “The Father of the (American) National Parks,” likely needs little introduction from me. Born in Dunbar in 1838, Muir left our shores, aged 11, when his family emigrated to the the state of Wisconsin, USA, where they would create Fountain Lake Farm. Such were John’s later exploits as a preservationist (he abhorred the term “conservation”), writer, and organiser, that the farm is now an National Historic Landmark.
Richard Medrington and Rick Conte, of the Puppet State Theatre Company, and storyteller Andy Cannon, have teamed up to bring a little of Muir’s life, to life. This feat of revivification extends not only to John, but also his faithful friend, the dog Stickeen.
If one were to rank Muir’s writings into some sort of “Greatest Hits” order, “Stickeen: An Adventure with a Dog and a Glacier,” would likely be top of the pops, thus proving the old adage that almost everything, including reckless, life endangering exploration, is better with a dog. Muir, who lived to a ripe old age despite his fondness for free climbing, and sojourns into unknown, hostile wilderness, met Stickeen during his second trip to the chilly climbs of Alaska.
Owned by the Reverend S.H. Young, a friend of John’s, and companion on this particular journey into the mostly unknown, the compact, black pooch met with initial scepticism on Muir’s part. Muir did not think the journey apt for dogs, but gave way before the Reverend’s absolute confidence in the beast, named by, and in honour of the Native American Stickeen tribe, due to its perceived sagacity and status as a bringer of good fortune.
Thus into a small boat tipped Muir, Young, a Native guide, and Stickeen, and together they paddled off in search of lands uncharted.
Days later, one might think that Stickeen made a poor life choice, deciding to forgo the relative safety of the shoreline to join Muir on a particularly “brave” solo trek across a glacier. To most of us, and certainly me, trying to trek across an unknown glacier, in the middle of Alaska, subject to ferocious weather, and blood freezing temperatures, sounds very stupid. To John Muir it was like crack-cocaine, immediately, and undeniably addictive.
Why Stickeen decided to join him, only the dog knew. Maybe “terrible danger” was a popular brand of dog food of the time.
Life-endangering adventure immediately ensued, and given that (spoilers) Muir didn’t die, the author was later free to immortalise his time with Stickeen in print. One imagines that Muir, starved of peril, likely hired a local knife thrower to practice their art about his person whilst he wrote, to avoid feeling too deprived.
Just as with John Muir and the Missionary’s dog, this article has taken it’s time to wander, absolutely delightfully, through informative content, other than the headline review you clicked to read. Veterans of the world touring, hit show, The Man Who Planted Trees — on the road to the tune of more than 1,500 performances since 2006, Medrington and Conte know how to work an audience in the most delightful, and deceptively informal fashion. I say deceptively, as there is an arch-competence required to so easily, and organically transition through a show with multiple aspects jostling, rightfully for attention. Collaborator Andy Canon, channels the great man himself, pipe chewing, and eyes twinkling, his performance delightfully irreverent but never silly.
Without semblance of rush, the hour spent in their most genial company, encompasses a great deal, moving from audience engaging quasi-classroom Q&A on the life of Muir, through cast introductions, both human and puppet, and into the storytelling, never less than captivating, often highly amusing, and always captivating. Both Otis the monkey made missionary (you’ll have to see it to understand, I refuse to spoil it), and the dog (familiar to much of the world’s populace from the Man who Planted Trees), are fully realised personalities, who just happen to have a human escort at all times.
When we finally arrive at the story of Stickeen, Muir, and the glacier, we’ve already learned much of John’s preceding life, and gone on a prequel adventure with the adventurous Scotsman, the good Reverend, and the good Reverend’s highly detachable shoulders. Did it feel a long time coming? No. Was the central story, just like this review, worth waiting for? Yes.
Was I sad when the show was all over? Yes.
It’s always a delight to watch masters of their discipline involved in a project in which they have complete, and natural engagement. This is fully hybridised storytelling, blending puppetry, spoken word and performance to create something greater than the sum of its parts. Clearly a passion project, and not afraid to mingle comedy with serious commentary, John Muir and the Missionary’s dog, is a must see if, and when you can.
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