Ventriloquists are an odd bunch, practicing the art of talking to themselves for the entertainment of others. Two voices, two personalities, two narratives; and that’s just onstage. Could this be a psychiatric fantasy? Her Master’s Voice, an autobiographical documentary by master ventriloquist Nina Conti gives an uncomfortably close examination of her own internal struggle, externalized through a variety of sentimentally important ventriloquist mannequins.
Nina is about to give up her lucrative stint and hang up Monk, her latex monkey hand-puppet, when she discovers her mentor and former lover, Ken Campbell (an eclectic figure in British theater), passed. He bequeathed his numerous dummies (including a likeness of himself) to her care, along with an old note telling her to visit the Venthaven International Ventriloquism Convention in Kentucky. After consulting with Monk, Nina decides to take the journey, and retire one of Ken’s dummies to the Venthaven collection. She and her right hand set off to America with a suitcase of characters.
On one hand, it is a study in the art and wit of the professional ventriloquism. It is rare that Nina appears without a foil of some sort on her arm. Whether it is her familiar Monk, or one of the various appendages from Ken’s exploits (which include an old man named Gertrude Stein, a crow, an owl, and Ken himself), there is always a “second character” in the room.
Her skills, as well those of other artists she interviews, is clearly astounding. The one-person, two-voice conversations she improvises are witty, smart, and smack of well learned timing that elevate her to that level of critical success. Whether in an interview panel with Monk, lying in bed with her bare hand, milling the crowd with Owl, or giving Gertrude Stein his first swimming experience (“you have to wring me dry!”), the art of ventriloquism is always on display. The characters come loose and easy, the quips fast, but the lips never move -- even when the most personal moments are brought up by her alter-egos.
But its these closer, more personal discussions, such as the relationship between Nina’s abortion and the appearance of Monk seven months later, that take us to an uncomfortable place of intimacy. At times, the comedy feels more like a desperate attempt to turn painful truths into a punchline as a means of hiding and escape. In a sense, ventriloquism is the ultimate adult make-believe, and here it often feels as if the artists have suspended their own disbelief.
Perhaps the art is a struggle between the ego and id, with the dummy an unconscious, psychological extension of the things we all want to say but dare not. Nina’s story is broken up by interviews with other ventriloquists, lending a threadbare masquerade of documentary patina above the personal dramas played out with puppets. To paraphrase Jay Johnson, the American ventriloquist known for his recurring role on the 80's sitcom Soap, “I can blame everything on the puppet.”
At an hour, it makes for a quick view in spite of the homemade “did it with a Handycam from Best Buy” look. I had no foreknowledge of Nina’s celebrity in Europe, but the story seemed too personal to escape the feelings of quiet discomfort, in spite of the clever funny bits, having crossed too far past that line to safely return. Even though Nina happily returns to ventriloquism, we are left a bit baffled and uncomfortable at the film. Its not so much a documentary as an homage mashed with a talk therapy session, wrapped gently is a comedy candy shell. With creepy mannequins.
Rating: Three of five Urban Assault Vehicles
Medication: 3 mg dilaudid, 100 mg pregabalin
Pain level: 4
TO WATCH HER MASTER'S VOICE ON NETFLIX, CLICK HERE
No comments:
Post a Comment