Words by Angelika May
Our amorous desire for whimsy has, thus far, led to a fornication of folk theatre and music, birthed within the belly of The George Tavern.
Photo by Solomon Warner
Waterfowl Collective calls on you to roll up, fill your mead, dust off your bloomers, and bless your ‘scrumping’ self each day you wake that you weren't born into the ‘scrumping’ family of ‘scrumping’ Father Thames.
Father Thames’ Dredgeful Circus & the Story of James of Tickfen (yes, quite a mouthful if you’re recounting your Monday night merriment) masqueraded as a variety show, blending what might happen if the cast of Horrible Histories went indie, combined with a brilliant episode of The Mighty Boosh (minus the political incorrectness), your Year Six school play, and the local pantomime your family attended each Christmas. These comparisons are by no means criticisms. On the contrary, the night evoked the idea that when we tap into childlike wonder and creativity, we often find the most earnest and purest forms of art. Yes, I'm about to sound like a Facebook mum quoting Pablo Picasso's overused line: "It took me four years to paint like Raphael, but a lifetime to paint like a child." Yet, it rings true.
This collective is part of a growing subculture germinating around The George Tavern—creatives eager to play, who haven’t forgotten how. As an actor, one thing they tell you in drama school is that when you forget how to play, you do yourself a disservice. Even if you end up outside the creative world, the ability to play is vital (and cheaper) for staying youthful and being able to connect to yourself and others.
Photo by Solomon Warner
The night before, I had seen A Woman Becomes a Wolf When She Learns How to Scream, also at The George Tavern. A vastly different event, yet there is a silver thread of this same traditionalist longing—a resurgence of folk culture now gaining a more prominent voice, whether in music or in the types of events that draw us as audiences. There is a severe, aching, vice-like grip around a shepherd’s crook, begging the shepherd to lead us, as these collectives strip us back to our roots, our bare bones and remind us of the importance of storytelling and living in pastoral harmony with one another.
Upon entering the Tavern, I was transported to a Victorian-esque circus, where a token allowed you to bob for apples, have your fortune told, or marvel at strange creatures—including a half-human, half-crow. Immersive theatre at its finest! The actor-musicians displayed the bravado and skill of any band at The George, but their training—hours spent pretending to be animals or other embarrassing drama school activities—reduces the ego and allows for a truly engaging performance, no matter how silly the narrative.
It would be cruel of me to reveal the crux of the story, but to summarise, it is a lyrical play—simple in style, following a classic fabulist arc—about a downtrodden young man (born in a puddle) on an adventure, interwoven with impressive original music by August Janklow (guitar/piano), one of the collective's organisers. The script was co-written by Holly Demaine, August Janklow, and Daniel Cukow. Directed by Holly Demaine, she was also responsible for artistic design and costuming, alongside Varvara Ivanova, which never fell short of your serfdom fantasies. It was produced by Anna Overshkova.
The play featured a diverse array of musicians, including Jude Dulake (Domina, drums), Patraic O’Donnell (bass), and Iain Buchanan (of Ex-Giant, guitar). Various art forms were incorporated, including diabolo, ribbon dancing, juggling, and shadow puppetry, all seamlessly woven into the narrative.
When I first heard of the event, I felt apprehensive, having attended similar gatherings and fearing it might feel like being at Boomtown Festival—sober. However, I laughed so genuinely, my attention was completely captivated, and my heart was stirred with empathy for poor James Tickfen. Each actor's stage presence was infallible.
Photo by Solomon Warner
Janklow’s booming performance as ‘Father Thames’ was as if you had cast Jim Morrison as Prospero, while Cukow’s portrayal of James Tickfen embodied a deadpan charm, evoking a mediaeval male Aubrey Plaza. A batty ‘Bird-Lady’ (Emma Hickman) and the two children, Portia and Largo (Abigail Sinclair and Daniel Fruman-Naumov), were strangely perverse, offering just the right amount of stomach-churning folk horror to expose your own dark inclinations. ‘The Smuggler’ (Mick George) was as roguish and charming as Jack Sparrow, and ‘Jenny Greenteeth' (Bethan Jenkins) could easily have been related to Old Gregg. ‘The Farmer’ (Tommy Lee) seemed to be written by Mark Twain, the only thing missing being a piece of straw dangling from his mouth. And then there was ‘The Executioner’ (Ben Preston)—well, we all love a bad boy, don’t we? The only thing lacking was the chance to scream, “He’s behind you!” despite the ‘booing’ prompts—a crying shame.
Photo by Solomon Warner
After that spectacle, Duramater took the stage—a diverse musical ensemble blending art rock with chamber folk. With soaring violins played by a knight in chainmail (Dan Parry), odd melodies on a kaossilator (August Janklow), sharp-edged guitars (Janklow), a tight beat (Frank Godden), and rich, textured horn (Marlon Jasielczuk-Lando), their sound felt like an evolving journey rather than a fleeting experience.
Ben Preston (vocals), once known for carrying a shroud of death around him, has transformed, now exuding a punk energy on stage. His offbeat lyricism remains perfectly attuned to the night’s eccentricity. A personal highlight was the song about pigs, which captured the evening’s darkly comedic brilliance.
Finally, the night cost a mere fiver. Thank you, Waterfowl Collective, for single-handedly de-stratifying the theatre industry.
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