HERE'S A RIDDLE: what kind of Harvard theater group has no affiliation with the Harvard Radcliffe Dramatic Club, writes its own scripts, and has neither auditions nor comp. Hint: on any one rehearsal night, it could have the following shopping list: poster paint (especially flesh-colored), blond doll hair, cheap scissors, Whoppers, tinsel and rhinestones.

Answer: The Onion Weavers, a puppet-theater group that makes all its own puppets, writes its own scripts, and functions on only the most egalitarian of principles. "We're founded on the idea that a lot of people should be able to get involved in theater...anybody can join; we try not to take ourselves too seriously," says founding member Tanya V. Bezreh '95. To achieve club status at Harvard, the group has an official president, but in reality, there are only two positions: the designated "phone-caller" and "e-mailer." The same members of the Onion Weavers who create the puppets also write the shows, perform with their puppets and build sets. "A multi-faceted person can do all kinds of things," says Bezreh.

And "all kinds of things" are exactly what flood the floor and corners of the Dunster House squash-court-turned-art-studio where the Onion Weavers meet. Two years ago, the club's foreparents, disgruntled by common casting's ruthless rejections, decided to band together and give their first fifteen-minute show "The Frogs," by Aristophanes. They left behind debris from a veritable Big Bang of puppetry: a frog clad in Dionysian grapes and toga hangs around in hope that he might still have a chance at a "recycled" role in a future show, and various black-swathed puppets left over from this year's Halloween compilation of Poe stories still haunt the room.

How did the Onion Weavers get their name? Apparently, the name has something to do with Professor of English and American Literature Leo Damrosch's English 10a onion symbolism, or with wallpaper and Service Merchandise, or with the notions that "onion" sounds like "Union" and that weaving is what we do with our lives...or some combination of the three. Nobody remembers for sure, though some members just don't care anymore--they've argued the various creation myths too many times. "It's like hearing the story of your parents meeting over and over again," says founding member Michelle M. Martin '95.

The history is unimportant. "[The Onion Weavers] just happen and grow," says Bezreh. Last year, their second show "Star Wars: The Trilogy in Puppets" was a great success, both in audience response and artistic achievement. The performers condensed the plots of all three movies into a blitzkrieg show lasting just over one hour. "It was delightful," says Bezreh. With novelties like a Planet Alderon that exploded into an audience-showering rain of candy and complementary freeze-pops during the Hans Solo-frozen-in-carbon scene, the show drew an enthusiastic crowd.

Beside all the gratifying praise, the Onion Weavers get their share of fun and satisfaction from putting a show together. "Puppets are very therapeutic," said Jenty Wood '95, while working on a new wire frame for an "Elvis" puppet. "It's sort of like Odyssey of the Mind, like in high school," explains Martin. "Last time I got to set up an entire parallel circuit for the Ewok's little red eyes...it's a chance just to do something completely different with your mind."

The upcoming show "Elvis: A Rockumentary in Puppets" certainly promises to do something completely different with your mind. According to Martin, the making of this "rockumentary" forced the Onion Weavers to deal with "wonderfully complex and horrible issues," such as the morally objectionable use of real KFC chicken as a prop. It also features lots of tacky upholstery (something about a blue suede bed...).

The show goes up during the Arts First festival and will continue through the next weekend, for a grand total of twelve shows. To encourage a feeling of oneness with the Big E, the Onion Weavers plan to offer a fifty-percent discount to anyone who shows up with some form of sideburns.