The main gallery lined with bolts of blue fur is an excellent touch. The monographs about his early career, the sketches and notes, the videos of fledgling TV puppetry and ad work, even the proto Muppets (the ones that look like gas-pump nozzles are especially good)—it all looks exactly how you’d expect a museum treatment of Jim Henson’s career to look.
But none of that prepares you for what happens when you turn the corner and enter the section dedicated to Henson in his prime. One second you’re looking at a bunch of drawings and videos, and the next, you’re hurtling through a time tunnel that ends at the base of your soul.
I don’t know what I could have been expecting, but when I came face-to-face with the actual physical Bert and Ernie in their little striped sweaters, mouths agape in a permanent smile, rubber ducky in hand, I was stunned into silent awe. It only took about five seconds before I burst into tears.
