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Fraggle Rock puppeteer DerRick Starlight shares some of his storytelling secrets

Fri, 21 Aug 2026 17:09:01 GMT

Fraggle Rock puppeteer DerRick Starlight shares some of his storytelling secrets

https://www.ctvnews.ca/calgary/article/fraggle-rock-puppeteer-derrick-starlight-shares-some-of-his-storytelling-secrets/

When he was a kid growing up on Tsuut’ina Nation DerRic Starlight found inspiration from Mr. Dressup.

“I was taught a lot of arts and crafts by Mr. Dressup himself,” Starlight said, “and so, growing up, I always wanted to work in television or go to Sesame Street and see all the characters.

“I still watch Sesame Street to this day because I love puppetry and what they do but they’ve never had a native Indigenous puppet on Sesame Street, Starlight said.

Sunday afternoon, Starlight was hosting Puppet Making 101, a day-long workshop for adults, teens and kids seven and older who participated in a puppet-making workshop with Starlight, who has worked as a puppeteer on Fraggle Rock.

“Puppets 101 is finding a character you always wanted to be, or even it could be an animal – and it all starts with construction paper,” Starlight said.

He developed a puppet roadshow that started out adapting the famous Muppets into something Starlight calls “Nuppets.”

“I would make Kermit the Frog into Creemit the Frog (and) Miss Piggy into Porkahontas and they’d be Native (characters),” he said. “And later on, I developed my own Indigenous characters that I called the Nuppets, because they’re half-native and half puppets.

“But it’s also a (teaching) tool for how to teach my culture and Indigenous languages,” he added.

One of those looking for some guidance in how to use puppetry as a teaching tool was Jennifer Stables, who teaches in schools and at Arts Commons where she’s the education coordinator.

“I’ve performed with DerRick in the past as a roving puppeteer and I’m aware of his incredible talent,” Stables said. “I’m hoping to take away his insight into developing incredible characters, his insight into voices and performing and also just how do I bring that very beginning of puppet making into my work with students?”

Ossie Long is an eighth-grade teacher at Rideau Park School who also incorporates performance into his teaching technique.

“I’ve got a prototype muppet that I’ve been working on so just looking for some inspiration to see what goes on behind the scenes from someone who’s well entrenched in the system.”

With files from CTV’s Tyler Barrow

How Indigenous comedian DerRic Starlight found his way to Second City — and what he lost

Fri, 21 Aug 2026 16:57:41 GMT

What fuelled his drive to fix his life and career? In an excerpt from his new book, an Indigenous puppeteer/comedian points in part to the Muppets.

By DerRic Starlight

Comedian, puppeteer and screenwriter DerRic Starlight’s talents and values long battled his demons to determine his future. Alcoholism during a period of voluntary, investigative homelessness dogged him even as he kept earning laughs from crowds in Western Canada and those watching him on APTN. He wound up in a treatment centre west of Lloydminster with his talented friend Bobby, as they resolved to stay sober and make it to Toronto — specifically, the most important place in Canadian comedy: Second City. As this excerpt from Starlight’s book “See-Me Street: My Homeless Indigenous Journey” shows, there would be losses along the way.

My stay at the Thorpe Recovery Centre was coming to an end. One afternoon, our counsellor walked into the group room with a stack of papers and said, “Today we’re going to make a plan for what comes next.” We were asked to draw what the next five years of our lives might look like. Most people sketched calendars, mountains, or winding roads. I drew something else entirely: the old 1980s “Donkey Kong” video game. I told the group, “That little guy climbing the ladders — that’s me.” People laughed, but I was serious. In the game, you start small and climb one rung at a time, dodging barrels and fireballs. Each level gets harder, but you get stronger. Every barrel in my drawing meant something I wanted to reach.

The first barrel said, “Be a better father.” That one mattered most. Jessica, Aerial, and Isaac are my heart. I can’t change the past, but I can show them a better version of me — one who shows up for birthdays, report cards, and quiet nights when they just need to talk.

The second barrel was “Get my own place.” To me, that meant peace. A small apartment or townhouse where I could make breakfast, work on my puppets, and finally feel safe.

The third barrel said, “Help my friends.” I’ve watched too many street brothers and sisters struggle with addiction and loneliness. If I could find my way up, maybe I could help pull someone else along .

The fourth barrel read, “Go back to The Second City Toronto.” Comedy and puppetry gave me confidence once. I wanted to stand on that stage again, not just as a performer, but as a survivor. I wanted Bobby there too.

The fifth barrel was, “Make amends with friends and family.” Not just saying sorry, but proving I’d changed — rebuilding trust one day at a time.

The sixth said, “Go to film school in Vancouver.”

The seventh barrel was simple: “Take my kids to Disneyland to make a memory that lasts.” At the very top was the last barrel: “Work at The Jim Henson Company.” That dream has lived in me since childhood. If I ever reached it, it wouldn’t just be for me — it would be for anyone who ever needed imagination to survive.

When I finished, the counsellor asked what it meant. I said, “No matter how many barrels roll my way, I’ll keep climbing. I’ve fallen before, but now I know how to get back up.” That drawing wasn’t just a plan — it was a promise.

Finding my higher power

Another day at Thorpe, we were asked to draw our higher power — whatever gave us strength or purpose. I stared at the page for a long time. Then I drew Jim Henson, surrounded by the Muppets.

Characters from “The Muppet Show,” 1976-1981.

Star file photo

As a kid, I watched the Muppets for hours — not just laughing, but learning. I learned that kindness could be funny, that creativity could heal, and that puppets could say truths people were afraid to speak. Jim Henson built worlds out of felt and foam where everyone belonged.

My higher power doesn’t live in the clouds. It’s the reminder to keep creating, to believe in something better, even when life gets dark. That belief carried me through more than I realized. So when I finished the drawing, I wrote one line beneath it: Keep the dream alive.

Good Bye Thorpe

I was serious about helping Bobby become an onscreen performer. He always wanted to. From the first day I saw him on the streets making people laugh and lift their spirits, I knew he had something special. He had this spark — a mix of humour, honesty, and heart that could light up any room. Bobby wasn’t just a powwow dancer or a street performer; he was a real entertainer. Deep down, I knew he wasn’t just an alcoholic trying to survive. He was a brilliant man with a story worth telling.

When I got out, I wanted to help both myself and Bobby apply for funding through our reservations. I wanted us to go to Toronto and Vancouver — not to escape, but to rebuild. To study acting, writing, film, whatever it took to give us a real fresh start. I believed that if we could learn new skills, we could change our own lives and maybe help our families too. Before I came to Thorpe, I used to think dreams were only for people who already had everything together. Now I know better. Dreams are what help people get it together. They’re what keep you moving when everything else feels too heavy.

When I thought about Bobby, I didn’t just see a man from the streets, I saw a friend with a story that deserved to be seen by the world. And I wanted to stand beside him on that journey, just like others stood beside me when I needed it most.

Dad picked me up and we drove back to his place. I knew this was my chance to rebuild my life to start from scratch if I had to. I made a plan. In March, I was going to go back to Second City in Toronto. That was where I learned so much about performing, writing, and being fearless on stage. I wanted to go back, not just to perform, but to prove to myself that I still had it. Then in September, I planned to go back to film school in Vancouver. That was the dream: to get behind the camera and tell stories that mattered.

Comedian/puppeteer Derric Starlight and his creations.

derricstarlight.ca

I knew it wasn’t going to be easy. I had to rebuild my career piece by piece. I had to earn back trust, rebuild my name, and start from the ground up. But I wasn’t afraid of hard work anymore. Then I heard about something big. In 2018, Lethbridge was holding the annual International Peace Powwow & Festival, hosted by the Kainai Nation (Blood Tribe). I knew it was a huge event, big audience, cameras, and even a live broadcast to First Nations communities across Canada and the United States.

I decided to take a chance and asked if I could do a halftime show. I needed to be in front of that camera because I knew it was going to give me the push that I needed. They said yes! When I stepped out into that arena, I felt alive again. The lights, the drums, the cheering. It all came together like a sign that I was on the right path. I gave everything I had in that performance. I made people laugh, I made them cheer, and I felt that old fire come back. After that, bookings started to roll in and even from as far away as Manitoba. I was asked to appear on Calgary breakfast television shows, just like I used to when I first started back in 1997.

Then I got the news I had been praying for, I got funding to go to The Second City in Toronto. It felt like the world was opening up again. Bobby got funding too, through Maskwacis, and we were both excited to take this next step together. Things were finally lining up. Then just before our trip to Toronto, Bobby slipped and started drinking again. It broke my heart, but I didn’t give up on him.

Around that time, we also got the sad news that our friend Willowmania had passed away at the Alpha House in Calgary. It hit us very hard. You could see the pain in Bobby’s eyes. He told me, “I want to do this right. I want to get clean before we go.” Sometimes, pain has a way of reminding us how much we still have to live for.

Toronto it is

Downtown Toronto was bitter cold that winter. The wind tore through the streets like it had something to prove, and every night the sidewalks glistened with ice. Bobby and I rented a nice small hotel room near Second City, our home base for the next month. We didn’t have much, but we had a plan to finish what we started and take one more big step.

I had been to Second City before, back in 2010. This time, I was there to complete the courses I never finished: improv, writing, and performing. Bobby was starting fresh, taking film acting classes for the first time. We both wanted to make something real out of our lives.

The Second City is not an easy place. They push you hard, make you think fast, and teach you to be fearless in front of a crowd. Every class was a challenge. You couldn’t fake your way through it. You had to dig deep.

Our weeks were long. We’d walk to class through the wind tunnels of downtown, half frozen, but determined. At night, we’d wander the city just to stay awake — Queen Street, Eaton Centre, and once we even made it to the Hockey Hall of Fame, which Bobby loved. Some nights we barely had enough in our budget for food, but we laughed our way through it. It felt like maybe, just maybe, this was the start of something good.

When we finally finished our studies, we decided to celebrate at Niagara Falls. The air was thick with mist, and we could hear the roar of the water miles away. Standing there, we felt small but also proud. We had made it through the hard part. Then, out of nowhere, we ran into Tom Jackson, the well-known Indigenous actor and musician. He was there on vacation. He told us, “Keep doing what you’re doing and make your family proud.” It felt like a sign.

The next day, I got a message from my agent Eddie. We had a show booked in Winnipeg at a casino. The work, the travel, it was all coming back. I was excited and thankful. But that night, while I slept, Bobby went out to celebrate with Lady Luck at the casino. When I woke up, the bottle was back, the same one that always found him when things were good. My stomach sank. I wanted to believe he’d beat it this time.

The next morning, Bobby was pale and shaky, fighting a hangover. We went to the Wendy’s across from the hotel for breakfast before heading to the airport. They messed up our order, and Bobby snapped. He started yelling at the counter, his voice echoing through the restaurant. I could feel people staring. I wanted to disappear. We walked out to grab a cab and when we arrived two police cars were waiting. They called us over, and before I could say anything, they cuffed him and put him into the cop car.

I tried to explain, but they said he’d only be in a holding cell for a couple of days. I watched him with sorry tears in his eyes. I didn’t want to leave him behind. But Eddie said, “You have to go, DerRic. You can’t lose this opportunity.” So I went to Winnipeg alone. I performed the show with a heavy heart, pretending everything was fine. A few days later, Bobby caught a bus to meet me. We did a few shows together around Manitoba. We laughed again, like nothing had happened. But deep down, I was scared for him.

When we got back to Calgary, I couldn’t stop thinking about Vancouver. Film school was next the final step of my plan. But I didn’t know if I could take Bobby with me. I wanted to believe we could rise together. But recovery isn’t a straight line. It’s full of turns, heartbreak, and hard choices. That winter taught me something powerful: You can’t carry someone else’s storm without losing your own light. I knew I had to keep going for both of us. Even if it meant walking that next road alone.

Time on the streets in three Alberta cities gives author clear insights into the unhoused

Fri, 21 Aug 2026 16:34:50 GMT

By Shari Narine
Windspeaker.com Books Feature Writer
Local Journalism Initiative Reporter

Despite the toll living rough had on his health, entertainer DerRic Starlight says he has no regrets about the street project he undertook over the course of three years.

In his book SEE-ME STREET My Homeless Indigenous Journey, Starlight chronicles in stark terms and brutal honesty the reality of his time living as a homeless person in Lethbridge, Calgary and Edmonton. The book ends with a list of 19 “street family” members who died.

Spurred on by the 2011 film Super Size Me, in which documentarian Morgan Spurlock ate McDonald’s for 30 days to show the impact fast food had on the body, Starlight initially decided to immerse himself in the world of the homeless for a month, spending two weeks in Lethbridge and two weeks in Calgary. His intent was to write a book and draw attention to people living on the margins. Later, he added Edmonton in the winter to his experience.

Starlight, a member of the Tsuut’ina Nation, was in his mid-30s in 2014 when he took on the project. At the time he lived what he called an “Elvis Presley Lifestyle”, riding high as a puppeteer, stand-up comedian, screenwriter, award-winning voice actor, and a wrestling promoter. But he had also turned to alcohol to deal with the loss of two partners in quick succession.

As he writes, “I spent time with Indigenous men across the country talking about broken relationships and depression… The stories were different, but the roots were often the same—generational pain passed down from residential schools, abuse, loss of language, loss of love…These were men carrying generations of weight.”

Wanting to write the story of these men who found themselves on the streets, Starlight decided to immerse himself in the experience. That he ended up in the hospital and detox treatment numerous times was to be expected, he says.

“It helped me. It healed me. This is a healing journey that I went through. After I stopped, when I left the street, and I'm now almost 10 years of sobriety, I've never touched a drink or a cigarette or anything like that ever again after I went through that,” said Starlight.

Through diary entries, interviews, narrative, and black and white photos, Starlight provides a shocking insider’s view into life in detox centres, homeless shelters and off-the-book sleeping spots.

The term “see-me street” is ghetto slang, he says, for “you’ll see me on the street.”

As Starlight’s late friend Bobby explained, “See-Me Street means a lot of things. Can you see me on the street? See me fight on the street? See me survive the street? Can you see me? I am the street!”

What Starlight soon learned was that a community was formed amongst street people. They looked out for each other and took care of each other.

“It becomes an Indigenous Native community down there, all the cities that I went to, Lethbridge and Calgary, Edmonton. And what amazed me the most out of all of it was how they know each other in all these cities,” he said.

In Edmonton, Starlight was dubbed with the street name Hulkster after doing an impression of his hero Hulk Hogan. On his return to Calgary, the street name had preceded him.

“To be called the Hulkster…that made me feel good getting that name,” said Starlight. “It has to come with a ghetto slang or something like that when it comes to nicknames because it's very rarely that they call each other by their first names. They just get a nickname and then that will stick because a lot of them probably forget what their real names are.”

Starlight wrote SEE-ME STREET years after his homeless project ended. He said he needed time for recovery and to re-educate himself in film school and acting school. When COVID hit in 2020 he started organizing the book. It took him three years to write it.

Revisiting his diary entries, notes and memories was “emotional,” especially writing about Bobby, who came from Maskwacis in central Alberta. After recovery, Starlight worked with Bobby to help him enter a career in entertainment.

“I really highly expected him to become a great performer, because that's what he was, and to write about his demise it was just so, reliving it again, it's so very sad. But it makes me happy that his story was being told the way he wanted it to be, that he wasn't just an alcoholic down there. He was an entertainer. I (saw) him try several times, and he was successful many, many times. But he was a young person. If he tried (detox) a couple more times, he would have been successful. I have no doubt,” said Starlight.

Starlight is hopeful that SEE-ME STREET will help the public understand street people as more than the addictions or mental health issues that have left them unhoused.

“This (book) is for Indigenous people. It's just the start of making a difference, writing about it and telling their stories. And there are Indigenous Native people like myself who are trying to help people get out of there,” he said.

SEE-ME STREET My Homeless Indigenous Journey is part of the Indigenous Spirit Series published by Durvile & UpRoute. The book launch will be held June 11 in Calgary. See-Me Street can be ordered at https://durvile.com/books/SeeMe.html

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Blackfoot puppeteer spreads humour, anti-bullying messages with Indigenous characters

Fri, 21 Aug 2026 16:09:04 GMT

DerRic Starlight is a Blackfoot puppeteer from the Tsuut'ina Nation near Calgary who followed his dreams into a career.

"My characters are called the Nuppets," he said.

"Jim Henson had called his The Muppets because they're half marionette and half puppet. So my characters are Native and puppets, so they're called the Nuppets."

Starlight grew up watching The Friendly Giant and other puppet shows on television.

"I used to think that Sesame Street was downtown Calgary," he said.

One Christmas, he received Muppet characters as gifts. He learned how to imitate their voices, and carried that same effort into creating his own characters.

Starlight started writing at age 14, while attending Fairview School in Calgary's southeast. He began acting in short films and television shows such as North of 60, and performing puppet shows for community gatherings.

https://i.cbc.ca/ais/1.6237956,1717200411609/full/max/0/default.jpg?im=Crop%2Crect%3D%280%2C0%2C1280%2C720%29%3BResize%3D620

DerRic Starlight wants to get the first Indigenous puppet on Sesame Street

Fri, 21 Aug 2026 15:58:55 GMT

DerRic Starlight is best known for his puppetry, taking his “Nuppets” (Native puppets) across Canada, mostly to Indigenous communities. But about a decade ago, he set his puppets aside to embark on a different kind of storytelling project: writing a book about homeless communities in Alberta in an effort to explore the root causes of Indigenous homelessness. Starlight tells Q guest host Gill Deacon why he chose an immersive approach, living alongside the people whose stories he wanted to understand and share. He also talks about wanting to have the first Indigenous puppet on Sesame Street . His memoir, See-Me Street: My Indigenous Homeless Journey, is out now.

The full interview with DerRic Starlight is available on our podcast, Q with Tom Power . Listen and follow wherever you get your podcasts.

Interview with DerRic Starlight produced by Diane Eros.

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Fraggle Rock puppeteer DerRick Starlight shares some of his storytelling secrets

Fraggle Rock puppeteer DerRick Starlight shares some of his storytelling secrets

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How Indigenous comedian DerRic Starlight found his way to Second City — and what he lost

What fuelled his drive to fix his life and career? In an excerpt from his new book, an Indigenous puppeteer/comedian points in part to the Muppets.

Time on the streets in three Alberta cities gives author clear insights into the unhoused

By Shari Narine Windspeaker.com Books Feature Writer Local Journalism Initiative Reporter

Blackfoot puppeteer spreads humour, anti-bullying messages with Indigenous characters

DerRic Starlight wants to get the first Indigenous puppet on Sesame Street

By Shari Narine
Windspeaker.com Books Feature Writer
Local Journalism Initiative Reporter