Copyright The Daily Beast
In the hallowed name of Veterinarians’ Hospital—“Bongos, Dr. Bob?”—what is going on? The Muppets’ long-overdue Broadway debut is over almost as soon as it began, the show now closing this Sunday. It was originally scheduled to run until Jan. 18, 2026; instead, at the time of its closing, Playbill reports, it will have played just 20 preview performances and four regular ones. Whatever the exact circumstances behind the curtain coming down so brutally (a spokesperson would not elaborate beyond the announcement), from the point of view of a Muppets fan it may be for the best: I saw this incredibly odd show over the weekend, baffled as to why it wasn’t the Muppets’ own enterprise, and why the scattered moments they were on stage were so awkward in script and sound (the show uses the Muppets’ pre-recorded voices)—and far too fleeting. This is not to take anything from the magician Rob Lake, whose show the Muppets were appearing in at the Broadhurst Theatre. He makes things appear and disappear professionally enough. But why were Kermit the Frog, Miss Piggy, Animal, Fozzie Bear, The Great Gonzo, and Rowlf the Dog his guests? Why were these icons relegated to second billing when they are—as Miss Piggy herself would surely insist—the bigger stars? Why was Animal so silent? Where was Beaker, the Swedish Chef, and the glorious clucking chorus of chickens? Why were the Muppets making their Broadway debut in someone else’s show? Why don’t they have their own? Why weren’t we hearing them live (they’ve played the Hollywood Bowl and London’s O2 before)? On film, the Muppets took Manhattan in 1984; 41 years later, they should not be playing second fiddle to anyone else in this town. They are the Muppets! In our audience of kids and adults, the crowd response said it all: cheers, whoops, and wild applause whenever the Muppets appeared as part of a stilted, not particularly well-scripted skit, or in service to one of Lake’s illusions and tricks. But when they were not on stage, and Lake was doing something that was Muppet-free (the vast majority of the show), an impatient restlessness set in until Kermit and co. reappeared to collective elation and joy. If you were there for Lake, you might have enjoyed him doing his very Vegas-feeling thing (with female assistants attired in figure-hugging costumes), including sawing a woman in half, the reading of minds, making rings somehow join together, and a finale involving a platform and a motorcycle. But why did the Muppets and their representation sign up for this? The scripted repartee between Lake and the Muppets was particularly odd, because the Muppets sounded so not like themselves. It was still lovely seeing Fozzie, Gonzo, Kermit, and Piggy, even if they were treated somewhat dismissively—although Lake went out of his way to say how much he adores them. Poor Gonzo was politely hustled off the stage twice—much to the displeasure of the audience, particularly the kids—before his big moment (involving a rocket launch-related magic trick). A fan might have felt cheated in terms of expense and expectation. The Muppets didn’t interact with each other much. They had no space to just be the Muppets. When Miss Piggy appeared, you hoped in vain she would at least be allowed to go full Miss Piggy, and to deliver a general “Hi-yah!” on behalf of herself and the audience. Lake was not overtly disrespectful to these pop-culture icons, but the fame and popularity imbalance on stage—the absurdity of the Muppets relegated to his subordinates—was stark. Looking up to the box seats on the side of the stage, I imagined Statler and Waldorf in one, muttering their magisterially caustic remarks about what they were being forced to sit through. In a true Muppets-on-Broadway show that’s exactly where they’d be sitting. Let this be a temporary aberration—and someone make the real Muppets’ Broadway show happen. And don’t forget the chickens.
