EdFringe Review: The Jolly Fisherman

One of the heavyweight theatrical premieres of the 2026 Fringe, John Dinneen’s The Jolly Fisherman, has serious pedigree. Produced and created by Bruntwood-longlisted writer Dinneen and Alex Urwin’s Kick it Anywhere—responsible for OFFIE-sweeping hit Brixton Calling—and starring Why I Stuck A Flare Up My Arse For England phenom Alex Hill alongside RSC veteran Jonny Khan (fresh from the Olivier-nominated The Shitheads), anything less than a bona fide theatrical hit would be a disappointment.

Though I saw it in preview, I have to say it might just live up to expectations.

Which is impressive, given the charged, hideously snarled conversation over national identity, multiculturalism and community in which Dinneen goes looking for a nuanced middle ground. At the heart of his play, The Jolly Fisherman, is an East-London local pub— ten minutes north of Barking town centre—struggling to keep the lights on as society moves on in the mid to late 2010s.

To 13-year-old Alan, and his dad with whom he shares a forehead, it’s the heart of everything. It’s where his father and his nicknamed mates hang out in their appointed chairs, overseen by an Irish landlady who mothers Alan since his own mum passed away.

Alex Hill is superb, his early performance infused with a youthful, wide-eyed energy that screams 13 despite the stubble. His impassioned descriptions of the Fisherman, its ways and characters, are infused with the sort of shiny admiration only possible in the very young. Dinneen’s script doesn’t try to force unusual eloquence on him, or any of the folks he hangs around with. The world of The Jolly Fisherman, inspired by true events, is our world, not some manipulated literary equivalent.

Navigating Friendship, Faith, and National Identity

Into Alan’s life comes Amir (an immensely charming, boyish Khan), first a bus mate sharing ‘a headphone’, but before long a best mate. Unsaddled with prejudice, and with the keys to the Jolly Fisherman which lies empty until Alan’s dad and his mates slide in each evening, the pub becomes their playroom. Darts are thrown, pool is played; Lil the Landlady is happy to have two kids to informally adopt. Amir can pray in the backroom, and when Alan gets prayer-curious, he gets taken along to the local mosque.

“…anything less than a bona fide theatrical hit would be a disappointment… I have to say it might just live up to expectations.“

Thanks to great chemistry between the leads, and assured direction by Layla Madanat (whose credits span Shakespeare’s Globe and the Young Vic), their journey is both believable and incredibly enjoyable. With only a few stools and a dartboard, the pub comes to life, a haven for our two leads whose banter over life, girls, and everything else offers plenty of laughs. Some friendly crowd involvement as the audience enters even finds a few of the front row named amongst the regulars.

Yet time passes, and the pair grow up, the years chalked up on the scoreboard between scenes. Acid-edged comments made towards Amir by other locals grow harder to ignore, much as Alan would love to.

When the pub closes under the weight of too little trade and too much debt, this friendship, so easy to invest in till now, comes under serious pressure. When, five years later, it comes under new ownership, with plans to transform it into an Islamic Centre, that pressure escalates to boiling point. Maybe there’s a little nuance that goes begging as our two leads age into young adulthood with rather minimal character growth, but the narrative stays firmly in the realm of possibility.

Dinneen doesn’t pretend to have an answer to how one community should treat with the other, but he knows that places like The Jolly Fisherman matter. He also knows that when society leaves folks behind, anger and resentment will follow. He understands that those who feel powerless to ‘fix’ their situation will often blame the nearest ‘other’, and that the only hope lies in human beings knowing one another, talking to one another, and forming friendships. He isn’t, however, entirely convinced that’s what people will choose when given the chance.

Yet, the playwright’s genuine belief in the power of friendship comes through so strongly at times that I wish he had the fortitude to nail his colours to the mast. Even so, the play’s lengthy, high-tension ending is a wonderful bit of theatre, and as the two leads perfect their rhythm, it will become even more powerful.

These are, however, really rather small notes on a fine new play which will inevitably be nipped and tucked into even better shape over this Fringe run, and — very possibly — beyond.