Edinburgh Fringe 2026
Twonkey’s Soft December Night In Tallahassee
Paul Vickers
Genre: New Writing, Puppetry
Venue: Laughing Horse @ Dragonfly
Festival: Edinburgh Fringe
Low Down
As on-form as it could ever be. Silly, pointless nonsense which is a huge delight
Review
How to describe the annual hour in the company of Paul Vickers’ Twonketta (the widow of Twonkey)? You can’t. Not in any meaningful way. For those of a certain age, think of The Cure’s video for their single ‘Close To Me’. The band in a deeply claustrophobic wardrobe. Tat and finger puppets being shoved in your face whilst a twee and happy melody belies the madness. Now stick the band in a baby doll dress. That’s the best I can offer you.
Vickers has been playing the same little room at The Dragonfly on the edge of West Port for many years now. It’s the right space. You can only fit in about 20 people whilst he mostly stands in an alcove, occasionally venturing into the audience, and trying an impossible balancing act of all his demonic puppetry insanity on a small table.
If you’ve been to one of his shows, you know what to expect. Whilst the surreal Reeves & Mortimer-esque narrative changes each year, the format never does and there is comfort in this. Each of his deformed and zombified puppetry creations feel like home. When a scruffy cat called Timothy Horsepiss is seen as cute, you know you’re in a padded cell you chose to enter.
Each year I experience so many bonkers moments that have me screeching with laughter but I have forgotten half of them by the next day. There is nothing important in a Twonkey show. Nothing will change your view of the world. It’s just very, very silly. Vickers is well aware of this, as Twonketta frequently laughs along with the audience.
The story this year concerns Twonketta working alongside a group of fairies running a fairground. In Tallahassee. That remains a central tenet of the show for about fifteen seconds. Forget about it. Something equally weird is going to happen in a moment. A routine about legendary 60s music producer Joe Meek actually involving one of his most annoying tunes? Yep, we’ve got that. Your favourite serial killer? We can cover that too. Hitler. Animals making fairground rides out of their own poop. All my favourite immature interests can be found in this small space with 10 people cackling away in disbelief.
The regulars are still there. Chris Hutchinson, a beat up old anthropomorphic lion. The ship’s wheel, which discloses your most private sexual fantasies (and I was presented with the red silk knickers FOR THE FOURTH YEAR IN A ROW). The prize of a Transylvanian Finger Fantasy (finger puppets made out of paper and ping-pong balls just a few centimetres from your eyes).
All this madness alternates with songs presented as laptop backing tracks which Vickers sings along to. He still sounds somewhere between John Cooper Clarke and Cat Stevens and, I’ve got to say, this year the songs were about the best I’ve heard. Again, difficult to explain. Outsider? Industrial? Collage? Indie? It’s impossible to pigeonhole. If I have one criticism, it’s one I’ve mentioned several times in the past. Whilst the vocals are now much more clear (a better PA system, I expect), the music playback is way too loud. The lyrics are what we’re trying to hear – not that everything will suddenly click into place as a result. This year’s collection could comfortably make an album.
Twonketta wraps up on a surprisingly sombre and respectful note regarding Anne Frank and her wishes for the future. It’s a 180 turn from the rest of the show yet it absolutely works.
How can I sum this up? A Twonkey show is the most Fringe thing of the Fringe. It’s hilarious, it’s completely pointless, it’s profound, it’s oddly comforting and it’s entertaining. To try and recall what you’ve seen afterwards can make you think you were very drunk when you watched it. You were happy and laughing but bits fly in and out and nothing fits together. Vickers in a baby doll dress looks completely regular and is about as conventional as things get.
It’s a Marmite thing. You’ll love it or hate it. I’ve been enjoying it for over 15 years. It’s a glorious mess, always walking the edge of a descent into chaos. When Fringe ‘comedy’ now appears to be someone just standing on stage talking about their uneventful life with a weak punchline that barely raises a smile, it’s good to see someone still doing something unique that is genuinely funny.
