A massive manuscript lies amidst a heap of books on-stage. Out of this manuscript – ‘Lilly Through the Dark’ - emerge four actors with chiselled white faces and decked in Victorian garb. These four will be our narrators for this puppetry play, which tells the story of young Lilly, who commits suicide (‘from her delicate white wrist, a bright river grew’) and travels into the ‘dead lands’ to reclaim her dead father. Not a puppet-show for the kids, then – but undoubtedly a show for those who like their theatre honest, enveloping and emotional.

River People have created a magical, morphing reality, with its own twisted laws of logic and distinctive aesthetic. Puppet Lilly – goggle-eyed, nimble and perpetually innocent – lies at the centre of this fantasy world, and she makes for an ideal protagonist. Controlled by two actors simultaneously (one for the arms and another for the legs), who manipulate her movements and reflect her emotions, Lilly makes for a powerfully magnified personality. Everything Lilly feels – her fear, anger and determination – is multiplied by three, and it is fascinating to observe that as the production shifts so too do the emotions expressed by this rigid puppet’s face. This ability to animate the inanimate is unique to theatre and is a power that River People keenly wield.

It is when this company sticks with the puppets that their brand of theatre works best: the tangibility of puppet Lilly, the deep complexity of this wooden figure’s personality, is all down to the company’s careful, observational puppetry and sensitive accompanying performances. However, cut loose from the puppet, the actors lose their way a little and the production’s tone slips. The narrators seem to come from different worlds - one narrator, with a forced plum accent, sounds like she’s been plucked straight from Keeping Up Appearances – and their inconsistent personalities and delivery puncture the internal reality of this show.

The confused nature of the narrators is suggestive of a company that hasn’t quite brought its concept into focus. Whilst the actors are brilliant at evoking Lilly’s world and Lilly’s emotions, they seem unsure about the other characters that populate these dead-lands. This is a pity: show’s as wildly imaginative as this need to create some rules of their own, some limits, or everything risks falling apart. This certainly hasn’t happened here – the underlying story is too strong, the puppetry too good – but, should River People stretch themselves further next time and push the narrative into more complicated areas, they will need to define their super-reality a little more closely.

This company also needs to be careful about not overloading its show. Emotional journeys like this do need to be kept simple (but absolutely pulsing with feeling), which isn’t possible if too much is layered over top. There are certainly some inspired and complementary additions: at one point Lilly, poised to talk to the Mother Moon and purveyor of the dead lands, encounters two watchmen. They both stand behind cardboard screens, a noose scrawled across the front with scrawny illustrated bodies hanging below and the actors’ real heads peeping through. They are a brilliant double act – akin to the grumpy grandpas from the muppets – and the incident is well-timed, the comic relief appreciated. But whilst additions like this fit nicely within the show, other elements – the narrators, the supporting roles, the music – do not. The songs in particular are not good or atmospheric enough and break the mood, rather than tightening it.

Quibbles, yes, but only because this company is impressively unfettered and imaginative – and the actors need to make sure these strengths do not become their Achilles’ heel. The trick with these inventive shows is to know when to stop inventing. But River People remain genuine and sensitive collaborators, who have pored their vibrant energy into one little puppet and made it dance, sing, smile and feel.

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