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The Muppet Show is back! We need this, don’t we? We need them. The TV show ended in 1981, yet decades later, memes of Kermit, Miss Piggy, Animal et al still circulate. We give their movies Oscars. Their version of A Christmas Carol is a non-negotiable tradition for anyone with sense. Jim Henson’s furry anarchists bring us together like few things can. As a beady eyed fun-sponge, I can’t help but wonder – why?
In an 1810 essay, German poet Heinrich von Kleist argued that puppets demonstrate pure grace: a weightless unself-consciousness that humans long for but never achieve. He was talking about marionettes, suspended from strings. Yet Muppets are hand puppets; extensions of a body. They have weight. As for grace, have you seen how Kermit moves? His arms flap, and he bounces vertically, while moving forwards. It’s hard to imagine a less efficient walk. That frog, he silly.
That’s why we love them. Do we not, too, know ourselves to be odd, hapless psychological caricatures? Do our plans not also lead to flaming wreckage? Do we not long to put on a vaudeville-style variety show in a classic theatre?
Which brings us to the 2026 Muppet Show (Disney+, from Wednesday 4 February), with executive producer Seth Rogen on board. It’s a one-off, but could lead to a whole new series, the trailer reveals, “depending on how tonight goes”. Happily, it hasn’t been updated so Fozzie is doing bits on TikTok, or Rowlf protesting about streaming royalties. The guys are still trying to put on that variety show, and it’s still all going wrong.
Something I love about these geniuses made of rod and felt is their lack of false modesty. They know we love them. Every famous person in the world would kill to be on the Muppets (though what a horrific negotiation). They turn this popularity to farce: producer Kermit replies to every act who expresses interest in appearing, “That sounds like fun!” It’s a polite way of saying no, he confides to stage manager Scooter. “That’s very indirect,” responds Scooter, with misgivings.
Naturally, the overstuffed running order runs into crisis, with cuts needing to be made, a disaster for any fragile egos in the vicinity. At least guest star Sabrina Carpenter is unflappable. Like Rogen, the former Disney channel child is a perfect fit. She gets in a saucy joke with a straight face, doesn’t upstage the real stars and proves herself game. Or fowl, given her musical number backed up by a bunch of hens.
A highlight is when Carpenter meets Miss Piggy, gushing how she has always loved her, and even copied her look. “My attorneys have taken note,” Piggy replies primly. The porcine diva is energetic throughout, trotting backstage to announce to anyone present that she is “on vocal rest”. Protecting her place in the running order, she undertakes a water-based romantic rescue mission, which culminates in a bisexual rug-pull moment. She’s doing a lot.
Even the show within the show is good. Expect toe-tapping needle drops old and new. Skits include period-drama parody Pigs in Wigs, and a science segment about screen time, which ends with Beaker losing his eyes. Unlike Sesame Street, where the Muppets also appear, there is no educational agenda. The agenda is electric mayhem.
The Muppets have always been subversive. I thrill to the meta winks, comic timing, the sheer weirdness of this world. There’s a throwaway bit in which audience member Maya Rudolph dies and apparently goes to hell; it’s one of the sweetest things I’ve seen. Given that young people love choreographed K-pop and makeup tutorials, I wonder if nostalgic parents are now the primary audience. The kids may be just an alibi for them to watch.
The show’s resident theatre critics, Statler and Waldorf, remain unmoved by the Muppets. (The fact they live in a box, and have never missed a show, suggest a resentful dependence.) They are my spiritual teachers, yet here we must part company. This show isn’t half bad; it’s all great. In 30 minutes, I laughed more than I can count. In the end, it doesn’t matter why we love the Muppets. Joy needn’t be dissected, like a frog on the table. It’s meant to be felt.
