Brian Henson: A Life

March 30th, 1998 Posted in Short Stories

1990

Jim Henson — hero to small children, maker of fantasy, weaver of tales — is in the prime of his creative life. Both The Muppet Show and Sesame Street are long-running hits, and Henson’s abundance of creative zest ensures the enterprise for years to come.

Jim watches over his puppet empire with a careful eye. He is meticulous and thorough, investing himself in every detail of his vast empire. His son Brian, eager to claim his father’s throne despite a complete lack of basic creative and motor skills, waits patiently in the wings. Soon enough, he is rewarded. His father’s love of mayonnaise finally catches up with him, prompting three heart attacks in a row. The elder Henson, midway through his second heart attack and about to start in on his third, is heard to point at his son and whisper: “Whatever you do, don’t let this potatohead take over the company.” Henson then quietly passes on. He is revived ten minutes later in a hospital and dies again, this time more violently.

“What were those last words of his?” a forgetful Frank Oz would ask.

“Uh,” prompts Brian, “I think he said, ‘Make sure Brian takes over for me.’”

“I thought he always called you potatohead.”

“Uh,” counters Brian, thinking quickly. “No.”

Brian becomes president of Henson Enterprises soon after the funeral.

1992

After months of patience and hard work, Brian is rewarded with the knowledge that he is talentless and hates children. He is similarly horrified to discover the googly-eyed felt things his dad was always sticking his hand up do not actually talk of their own free will. “I thought the hand thing was a reward for talking!” Brian complains in frustration.

When reached for any decision, Brian is heard to mutter: “What would Dad do?” He would then usually stand completely still for hours. It eventually becomes clear that Brian doesn’t have the first clue what his dad would do. More often than not, Brian simply airs a rerun of an old Jim Henson-produced show, then ducks out to Hooters under the pretense that “Dad probably would’ve done that if he’d ever thought of it.”

“He’s good,” the staff is heard to remark. “But he’s no Jim Henson.”

“And he kind of smells like sandwiches,” offers another.

“And not good sandwiches either,” adds a third.

1993

“It’s just felt fucking puppet! It can’t talk! It’s an inanimate fucking object!” screams Brian. He is midway through an interview, and is responding to the repeated requests of children that he “make Kermit talk.” To confirm his point, he rips off Kermit’s head, exposing his hand underneath.

All concerned with the incident agree that Brian has handled the incident “rather poorly.” Brian quickly heads to a nearby Hooters and can’t be reached for his opinion on the crisis, which all agree is most likely for the best . Ratings begin to dip.

1994

The ratings of the once-great show plummet. Brian, desperate for a hit character but low on cash, scrambles desperately for new puppets. 1994 will usher in such forgettable characters as Mister Jibbety, the Crumpled-Up Newspaper, The Tied-Up Bundle of Sticks with Gum Stuck To It; Endorso, The Jingle-Spewing Pepsi Can; and the forgettable Can of Soup Brian Henson Was Just Eating Out Of And Stuck Googly Eyes On In A Panic.

The average child tuning into Sesame Street could expect ten solid minutes of the Brian-voiced character Carpet Scraps Glued to a Board ranting about expenses, fiscal revenue and “those damned bankers.” After commercial break, it would not be uncommon to find Brian drop his puppet, walk up to center stage, and sob large, bitter tears for the remainder of the program. It would be still more common not to have seen this, since by 1994, the Neilson’s Board estimated that on average, no percent of the viewing audience watched the program. On some nights, this number would sink still lower, with some viewers actively forgetting past episodes they had watched.

1995

The show, now almost completely unwatched, lies nestled in a 3 AM time slot on Tuesday. The Muppet Show, once a cornerstone of family entertainment, serves only to entertain stoned college students eager to catch a glimpse of “that broken-down dude who cries away his dignity.” Frank Oz and Brian Henson, living in the studio and devoid of any human contact, turn on the camera every Tuesday night and sit around the stage for an hour, passing around a flask and burning puppets for heat. Kermit crackles in the background as Brian talks drunkenly and with record-breaking profanity about minorities, ex-wives, and his opinions of them. Frank Oz only mutters.

Those that still remember the show believe it to be cancelled — however, due to an unbreakable ten-year contract, Brian must parade his lonely waltz on the stage every Tuesday, filling up time any way he can.

“Show business,” Brian would rant, “what a foul mistress she is, Frank.” Frank Oz would usually laugh, then order Brian to dance. Brian, well past the point of caring, would comply — shuffling gamely to Oz’s clapping and hooting.

1997

During one of his typical rants, a chain-smoking Brian prowls the stage, making puppets engage in obscene acts. October 17th, 1997 finds Brian grabbing Grover, throwing him to the center of the stage and pouring red paint over the puppet in an effort to “convince children that Grover is dead.” The red paint quickly dries on Grover, shrinking him. Frank Oz, though dulled by liquor, sees potential.

“Let’s call him Elmo,” he says, picking the puppet up off the floor.

“Let’s call him Grover,” counters Brian.

Oz ignores Brian.

1999

Elmo has ignited Henson’s enterprise into a once-again flourishing industry. With their newfound cashflow, Brian quickly hires a staff of competent writers to handle the creative reigns. The Henson train is back on track, and everyone pauses to bask in their second chance at success.

Brian suggests locking himself in the basement for the good of the company, and everyone agrees. Brian Henson is never heard from again. However, ghost stories are told around the set about a “strange, sandwichey smell” that sometimes wafts up through the floorboards on hot days.

“And not a good sandwichey smell, either,” comments a key grip.