I'M YOUR PUPPET: One Buccaneer's Robert Brock, with friend.

One Buccaneer, which screens April 2, follows Lancaster's Robert Brock, a man who has literally given up everything to build his own puppet theater. A merry but self-deprecating character with a passing resemblance to Nathan Lane, the middle-aged Brock moved in with his parents, and accepts a weekly allowance of $25—"barely enough to keep me in gin and cigarettes," he says.

Brock became interested in performance when a rare form of childhood cancer kept him bedridden. He admits, "I know it sounds bizarre, but I've always wanted my own puppet theater." He majored in theater, but took a job at a Lancaster group home for mentally retarded adults, supplementing his income by working various jobs at the local Fulton Opera House. He also worked in advertising for a spell. "Let me tell you," he says, "people in advertising are crazier than ballerinas."

In 1991, a lucrative ad contract gave him the seed money for his first puppet production, so he quit his day job and founded the Hole in the Wall Theatre. Fifteen years later, he's come a long way, but he's still making sacrifices, and every production is a new test of his determination.

In 2003, Brock agreed to let friends Jerry Greiner, Paul Hunt and Julie Kauffman film the making of his latest show, Treasure Island. In one of the opening scenes in One Buccaneer, we watch Brock, outfitted in plastic safety glasses and a beret, surrounded by piles of supplies and machinery in a garage workshop, leaning over a miter saw and painstakingly whittling down the wooden leg of a single puppet, which he says will take 50 hours to make. Later, as he irons tiny pieces of fabric and cuts them into patterns, he confesses that he lost money on an early business deal, after which his mother took over the company books.

As good-natured as they are, his parents have some conflicting attitudes about his profession, aesthetic choices and financial management skills. "If he has a stupid idea I'll tell him he's being stupid," his father says. "He chose hideous wallpaper and paint colors for his room, but over all, he's a half-decent tenant for what he pays for rent—which is nothing." His father hoped Brock would choose another career, and he complains about his son's weight and cigarette habit, offering to pay him money to get in shape. "If Rob didn't have his mother to help him," he says, "he'd be in a lot of poo-poo."

Brock's mother, an Episcopalian deacon, says that she always thought it would be good for her son to choose puppets over the "legitimate" theater. Though she takes on a sizable role in the company—in addition to business manager, she's its seamstress, program director and receptionist—she's concerned that the show's content is inappropriate for children. At other moments in the film she looks doubtful about the company's future.

Outside of his family, Brock faces other challenges, like working in a misunderstood medium. "People in Europe are used to puppetry. People in America think it means I wear a sock on my hand," he says.

Today, Hole in the Wall has a healthy following. Though his audience is mainly children, Brock has developed an over-21 show called Hello, Sucker which chronicles the life and times of 1920s nightclub queen Texas Guinan, rumored to be a distant relative. (He'll be performing it at the RUBA club, 414 Green St., following the festival screening of One Buccaneer.) He tours educational shows to schools in the Susquehanna Valley. And he still takes the occasional role at the Fulton to supplement his income. "There's not enough money out there for arts funding, which is a shame," he says. "I think the arts is something that stays with you your whole life."

The critical importance of public arts funding is at the core of Curtain Call, screening April 7. The brainchild of former teacher Maureen Mullin, Curtain Call Creations is a Philadelphia-based afterschool program for teenagers that covers every aspect of theater production: script-writing, score composition, choreography and set and costume design.

"My goal is not to train children to be on Broadway but to give them a safe environment and the opportunity to meet mentors that aren't their teachers and parents," says Mullin.

Students are coached by a staff of 12 professional artists and musicians, like William Brock (no relation to Robert), a charismatic songwriter who teaches the teens to write lyrics and improve their stage presence. The program culminates in May when the students perform their creation for a public audience.

Directed by local filmmaker James Doolittle, Curtain Call begins in fall 2004, when the first classes of the year start planning the show that eventually will become Murder at Manchester Mansion. Tentative and awkward at first, the students slowly grow more confident and deepen their connections with one another. A few months later, many of the once-shy young writers and costume designers audition for roles in the play.

Mullin believes that in addition to giving students the opportunity to develop their talents, the program also demonstrates the possibility of a career in the arts. "Not every student is going to be college bound," she says. "It's important to provide them with career paths and tools to use in order to be productive citizens in our city."

Mullin herself started teaching when she was 22 and stayed in the public school system for eight years, which was where she first started developing student theater programs. "I always had bigger dreams, and wanted to start something citywide," she says. In 2003, she decided to quit her job and began researching nonprofit development. Curtain Call Creations was born out of raw South Philly warehouse space, letters to former colleagues and substantial financial risk.

Since then, the program has grown through word of mouth. Returning students have brought their friends, and there are participants from 17 schools. Some of the older students are now working as assistants with more responsibility in the company. This year, the group was nominated to perform at the Harrisburg Arts in Education Day at the state Capitol.

Despite the program's relative success, Mullin still works in two different theaters part time to make ends meet. In the film, joyous shots of children rehearsing and learning are intercut with scenes of Mullin agonizing over unpaid bills, a broken heating system and grant rejections. Even so, her optimism is unflagging.

"I don't even think about the possibility of not doing this," she says. "I'm making it possible. No matter how much I struggle, I don't think I can take no for an answer."

One Buccaneer screens Sun., April 2, 7 p.m., International House. Curtain Call screens Fri., April 7, 9:45 p.m., Prince Music Theater.