We descend to the darkened basement, below all else. I feel a damp draft, a small, cold wind. As we reach the bottom, there are six two-foot-tall 1930s bandleaders staring at us, standing in their display cases with smiles on their wooden faces—they belong to the grandfather of master puppeteer Basil Twist—and Victoria Nelson and I are in the Dorothy B. Williams Theatre, named after Twist's grandmother in the depths of the HERE performance space in downtown Manhattan. As I look at the little men in their cutaway tuxedos, I have this feeling they want to express themselves. One even looks like he is going to tap his toe or something. But nothing happens right off. Nelson and I proceed to... More >>>