OK to begin?

OK to begin?

By Charles E. Kraus

I’m back for another Zoom show.  Hi everyone.  Everyone -- that would be about 30 four and five year-olds and their parents, generally moms, seated, standing or walking around in front of computer screens. I’m looking at the gallery view of my audience,

Tim, the school director who organizes these programs has promised to monitor the audio.  My preference is to hear the viewers and for kids to hear one another.  I want laughter to build so stay-at-homers feel like they’ve become an audience.  But Tim is right.  Sometimes children need to tell parents they want more popcorn, or a bathroom break.  Mute that, please.

Back in pre-Corvid19 days, I made thousands of live, actual, in-person magician-clown-puppeteer appearances in schools, libraries, recreation centers, hospitals, fairs and private parties.  I’m not so sure how things will shake out when the world reaches the new normal.  At the moment, I’m dealing with the current normal.  Like many children’s entertainers, I’ve taken to virtual gigging.

I have to keep it short because Zoom allows 40 minutes, and Tim uses some of that time to go over a few organizational elements with the families.  Then … it’s me.  Thirty minutes of show.  In this case, I’m doing a virtual version of my become-a-clown routine.

Tim’s school is in Los Angeles.  I’m in Seattle. Lots of rain here, but I see many of my Zoomers seated by swimming pools, others indoors, a variety of homes, modest and luxurious.  Mothers holding babies, children running in and out of frame.

Just before starting I hear one of the kids.  “It’s Charles!   Another episode!"

My backdrop frame is behind me.  It holds an eight foot long seven foot high curtain.  But it’s not very far behind me because like many people, I’m working from home.  In my case, the rooms are small and you can only move furniture so far.  I’ve been left with a narrow corridor in which to perform.  By remaining exactly here, my computer camera will capture enough of me.  If I hold out my hand, bringing it closer to the camera, my fingers appear to quadruple in size. 

The audience sees me as I am, but when I view myself on screen, I’m looking at a reverse image.  I only realize this Zoom anomaly once the show begins.  Attempting to use the screen as my mirror, I explain — “This is how I put on my clown face,” Things immediately go awry.  I’m trying to draw the blue heart on my cheek, but discover that I’m working with my opposite self.  My hands are confused and I end up looking like a Stephen King book jacket.

Zooming a performance is similar to entertaining a stadium crowd.  I’ve done that at the Olympic Arts Festival and in venues such as Pasadena’s KidSpace.  The canvas is filled with indistinguishable pixels of people.  I talk, it responds.

I’m big on sharing smiles with kids.  But that concept is pre-pandemic.  Kids sitting on the floor a few feet away.  My puppet saying something funny, me looking into the eyes of a child so we can laugh together.  Try that over the internet.

These days, no one can join me on stage to assist as I twist up a giant balloon animal.  The routine was written as a comedy piece.  Cross out those jokes.

I can’t ask children to raise their hands if they want to help me identify a color or a shape, and I can't facilitate a conversation between a youngster and Biscuit The Dog Puppet.  It's extremely difficult to select someone from the audience.  The kid over there, I mean there, the one holding the …. I can barely see people framed by their small zoom screens, more or less indicate who I have in mind.  Solution, I ask Tim to do the picking.  

Childrens entertaining is always a learning experience.  Especially these days.  I'm combining a new skill set with well honed technique.  My goal --to present a virtual program, maybe in the next episode, where meaningful interactions take place.  A show that’s an engaging dialogue between the children and the performer.