On the dark side of 'Sesame Street'

NEW YORK -- Stigma seems like a natural subject for two people who star in a hit musical that features an Internet porn pirate, a closeted homosexual and a song entitled "Everyone's a Little Bit Racist."

But during a recent afternoon break from Broadway's "Avenue Q," it isn't talk of any social taboo that elicits the "s" word. Instead, John Tartaglia and Stephanie D'Abruzzo muse about the preconceptions surrounding their own special brand of theater -- one that has purists and neophytes alike relishing the warmth and fuzziness of make-believe actors.

"There's a 'stigma' about puppetry," D'Abruzzo says. "On the ladder of entertainment, we're viewed just below mime and just above birthday-party clown."

The craft's reputation has surely scaled a few rungs thanks to "Avenue Q," which drew raves during an extended off-Broadway run at the Vineyard Theater before opening July 31 at Broadway's much larger John Golden Theatre.

A "Sesame Street" parody meant to soothe and amuse stressed-out grown-ups, "Avenue Q" is also an affectionate tribute to the perennial staple of children's television. Many of its cast members, including Tartaglia and D'Abruzzo, shared a set for years with Big Bird, Bert and Ernie.

The musical is pleasingly familiar in its music, acting and puppets, some of whom seem to be loose twists on their more famous antecedents. Thematically, of course, the two shows are as different as cookies and milk.

On Avenue Q, there still exists that simple logic and reassuring optimism, but the puppets drink (alcohol), have one-night stands (sex) and take pleasure in the misfortune of others (a catchy little song called "Schadenfreude").

To D'Abruzzo, the dichotomy is not so unusual. "We're a bunch of sickos at 'Sesame Street,"' she says, "and I mean that in the best way possible."

"We are. It's really disturbing," Tartaglia adds. "We sort of embrace that." The two speak brightly and in close sequence, displaying chemistry and sharp timing.

"We embrace the dark whenever we can," D'Abruzzo slips in. "We need that yin and yang. I don't think you could have a show where everybody was syrupy sweet all the time because everybody would kill each other."

D'Abruzzo, 31, started doing puppetry while attending Northwestern University in Evanston, Ill. Tartaglia, 25 -- whose principal character in the show is Princeton, a young puppet in search of a purpose -- discovered his craft early.

"When I was 8, I said to my mother, 'Mom, just so you know, when I'm 18, I'm going to graduate high school and move to New York to work on 'Sesame Street,"' he recalls. "And there was no question because I was 8."

Dreams do come true. Tartaglia was a regular on the show by 18.

The two first worked together briefly on the TV show "The Wubbulous World of Dr. Seuss" and then for several seasons on "Sesame Street." Remembering their first meeting, D'Abruzzo describes her counterpart as a "a wide-eyed, enthusiastic little kid."

"I was so annoying," confirms Tartaglia, who could still be described as wide-eyed and enthusiastic.

Both performers, who make their Broadway debut in "Avenue Q," had juggled acting and voice-over work with puppeteering -- but never all at the same time, as they do now. Unlike "Sesame Street" and other shows on which they had worked, the puppeteers are visible to the audience and acting along with the puppets.

"We didn't realize just how much our faces had to support what the puppets were doing," says D'Abruzzo, who plays several characters, including Princeton's love interest, Kate Monster.

"When Kate's mouth is not open she can be deadpan, she can look mad, she can be frustrated, upset or blank. And it's up to my face to fill in what's happening."

For the cast members, it was a bit unsettling at first to ponder the move from the cozy 125-seat Vineyard to the 805-seat Golden (which first opened its doors as the Theatre Masque in February 1927 with a production called "Puppets of Passion").

"When they told us we were moving to Broadway," Tartaglia recalls, "our first reaction as performers who always wanted to be on Broadway was, 'Oh my god! Cool!'

"And then, immediately following that it was like, 'Oh. ... My god,"' he says, his face dropping.

"It was a concern, but it was very short-lived," D'Abruzzo interjects.

"As soon as we went to the theater and sat in the back row," Tartaglia continues, "it was like, 'OK, this will work."'

The set of "Avenue Q" is roughly the same size it was at its previous address, about 80 percent of human scale. There are more puppets now -- five Princetons and six Kates as opposed to three of each -- which makes it easier to prep them for each scene. (Puppets, of course, are no help during costume changes.)

Director Jason Moore was not without apprehension when he began work on the show off-Broadway.

"I had never worked with puppets before," he says. "I feared that because I was working with professional puppeteers, that I would have quite a bit to prove -- sort of catch up with what they had dedicated their life to.

"Watching that craft is a big part of the experience of watching 'Avenue Q.' I wanted to harness that for theatergoers, because I think that is as intriguing as the story itself."

Moore feels comfortable relying on his cast's instincts. "The puppeteers are sort of directors themselves because they're watching the character they're working on," he says.

The puppeteers may not feel the same assuredness.

"In rehearsal once, we had a pupil fall off Princeton," D'Abruzzo says.

"Those are some of the things you ordinarily don't think about as an actor: Is my eye going to fall off?" Tartaglia says.

Princeton was not the only puppet who suffered a mishap in rehearsal. One lost a nose, another fell out of her dress.

Despite spending so much time with the furry inhabitants of Avenue Q and injecting them with life on a nightly basis, the performers don't feel even a hint of attachment to the puppets themselves. Instead, they consider them tools or costume extensions.

The same cannot be said for audiences who come see the show.

"Because there are naked puppets on stage and because we curse, that is what becomes the trigger for the show," Tartaglia says. "I don't think a lot of people come expecting to care about the characters."

But where should the audience focus its attention, on the puppet or the puppeteer?

Tartaglia says some people have told him their focus began on him and then drifted more toward Princeton as the show progressed. Others said their focus shifted periodically depending on whether the mood was comic or melancholy.

"The nice thing is," D'Abruzzo says, "they can look at whatever they want. ... That's one of the things that makes it (theater) so different from television or film."

"It's kind of a new beast, which is fun because we don't have to fit any kind of a mold," Tartaglia says. "We almost get to say, 'No ... you can do this."'