I Profile Celebrities for a Living, Nothing Prepared Me for Howdy Doody
The puppet on his craft, the future of film and how he definitely does not intend to murder us.
From a bush outside of Doodyville, I tentatively confirm: Howdy Doody is just a puppet. It is harder than you think to remember because millennia of evolution have made it so when something looks and acts like a human, my brain just sees people. I recently crossed Uncanny Valley to catch up with the star of The Howdy Doody Show.
“It’s Howdy Doody’s time, Howdy’s just a harmless mime!” Doody warbled in response to my first question about his show’s upcoming season. He underscored the word “mime” by forming a box with his hands. “Everyone’s really a puppet on a string, human beings and everything, dear interviewer now you’ll see, we’re one-and-the-same, you and me!”
I applauded politely and asked Doody how his live studio audience was reacting to his newest episodes. “They’re nice kids. Can’t carry a tune, though,” he said. Did I mention that in addition to being a puppet, he’s also a dick?
Moving along, I was about to ask Doody how he prepares himself for each show, but he cut in to shake a box of cereal in my face and declared, “Doody Flakes are high in protein from an all-natural source! Very high protein. You’ll never guess the source!”
Doody and I then dished about how his co-workers Clarabelle the clown and Buffalo Bob must really feel about the increasing use of puppets in Hollywood. “Howdy, do you think your co-stars ever worry that puppets like you will take over the roles of human actors?”
Doody abruptly swiveled his chair to give me his back and then turned his head 180 degrees, locking eyes with me. He rotated his arms backwards in their sockets so he could recline his head, the strings on the backs of his hands falling slack and then out of view. “No. I’m here to do a special performance only I can do, in my capacity as a puppet. I’m limited by what my master allows. The human in the loop ultimately decides what the puppet does.”
“Oh, so you’re not planning to murder us all, then?” I countered with playful trepidation.
Doody then did a triple salchow and landed on the table, staring at me intently from inches away. I flinched. Howdy Doody is just a puppet.
Unnerved, I fled the room and ducked around the corner, where I made a call to Ed Citröen, the puppetry skeptic and blogger. “We’re in a puppetry bubble,” he said. “There isn’t enough log in the world to meet the demand for all the puppets the industry needs. I added up the PPUs, and the ROI simply isn’t there.”
Suddenly Howdy Doody rounded the corner, ragged strings trailing behind him. By the skin of my teeth, I made it out of Doodyville with my life.
At press time I received a text from an unknown number, declaring that it was, “Howdy Doody Time.” The bush I hid in for this scoop was a Bonsai Pine.
