The puppet in the canvas booth is concerned about the flimsy dinghies and the frightened families therein. She’s troubled by the waves and the weather, but she’s more concerned about the appropriate soundtrack. Yes, it needs drama, but too much threat and questions will be raised. There needs to be hope but, again, too much and the jig is up, and fickle viewers will surf the channels until they find something less foregone, like a nature documentary or a snooker match that hinges on the last black. Give us swelling strings and restrained percussion. Hell, give us an ecstasy of woodwinds and the promise of redemption just as soon as the Sun’s first rays ruffle the morning foam. But what about the generations smothered in cold? What about the inconvenient bodies? A flutter of flutes. Maybe a bassoon.




Oz Hardwick
Photo Nick Victor

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