Mother and son are puppets, with their puppeteers visible on stage, animating them with fluid grace. At other times, Michael’s face is presented in closeup on film, walking through a majestic mountain landscape, in images strikingly juxtaposed with the live action scenes. Around the puppets, the ensemble cast of nine perform multiple roles and take turns to narrate the story of a man who is not a hero nor someone of any consequence but a man who would simply like to be left to his garden – seeking a quiet life from the brutal, unspecified war that rages around him.  

I am not sure what exactly there is about puppets that is so beautiful. I guess it is that we must watch them so much more intently than people and place ourselves inside of their empty souls to fill them up with meaning. What I found here that was so particularly moving was that inside of our simple, protagonist puppet, we had three men manipulate him. One was manipulating his hands and arms, one manipulating his feet and trunk, and, another, giving him voice. It was as if he was comforted and guided his entire time. I almost imagined they were three angels or parts of his spirit that were always at his side. Although Michael was going through hell throughout this play, I felt some sense of peace knowing that he was really never alone.  There was always someone there to give him a voice, move him through this world, and helping him to reach out for what he needed.

The plot of Michael working to return his dying mother to her homeland and then taking her ashes to this homeland – followed by surviving all that the civil war placed in his way – – to a simple garden to provide food for him offered all the plot that was needed to illuminate the character.  I did feel the two hours could use a little trimming especially at the end of the play when the playwright became a bit too preachy – when we lost our magnificent puppet Michael.