Famous Puppet Death Scenes

For over 80 beautiful minutes I watched puppets die, over and over again. Die, die, die. It was great.

Some were funny — outrageously funny — and some were sad, a select few were poetically medatative, filled with sobriety, revierie, and gut-busting joy. This Montreal troupe knows how to give death a good time.

Here's the thing: even though I laughed myself blue through all 100 deaths, I was left with an overwhelming sense of melancholia.

Why?

Because I want to live in a city where culture is common, not avant garde. Like Montreal, where I believe artists and non-artists alike talk openly about culture.

Sure. There's arty stuff here a-plenty. But the general public doesn't seem very open to it. I dream of a day when throngs of people flood this city to get drunk on red wine and roam hooligan in the streets, talking openly about the psychological effects of 100 puppet deaths. But I don't think that will happen for some time.

Lateral thought: Would it be funny to see the Molson indie crowd discuss the art of mime?