Clowning world mourns Jolly Goodfellow, a performer in a class of his own

He once performed for 53 hours straight without sleep and was perpetually dressed as a medieval jester. Now the clown world is mourning one of its legends: Jolly Goodfellow, the Australian fool known as Rumpel aka Rumpelstiltskin, who died in Los Angeles, aged 54.

As tales of crying with laughter and links to his shows on YouTube are shared, a fundraiser has been set up to “pass the very final hat” around to “resolve, return, house (or re-house) his endless stashes of props, fabulous costumes, musical instruments, drawing and incredible documentation,” and eventually bring his cremated remains home to Australia. So far, just over $37,000 has been raised.

Last week, police found Rumpel dead in his prop-filled van, where he had been sleeping during the recent heatwave, his death attributed to natural causes. But the clock is ticking. His body remains with the coroner, and until the family gets a death certificate, his van stays impounded — racking up more fines to pay by the day.

Rumpel was a mythical character in the global clowning scene, known to sleep in bushes, caravans and at the chai tent in pursuit of a life busking and at festivals. His unstructured, nonsensical shows were filled with slapstick, silly noises, rambling poetry and philosophical musings. On and off stage, he spoke in a high-pitched voice; some say he rarely dropped character. His motto? “Crikey!”

“He was an unsung genius,” said Mike Finch, former artistic director and co-CEO of Circus Oz, putting Rumpel’s mastery of his craft on a par with painters Vincent van Gogh or Frida Kahlo. “In the world of clown and street performance, he really was in a class of his own.”

Rumpel was born Sean Goodfellow in 1972 in Adelaide to parents Roxley Halleday and Brian Goodfellow, who met as advertising artists. His family settled in Melbourne in 1976 and he moved from school to school as he often got in trouble for his hyperactivity and playing the fool in class. “No education system was really able to contain him,” recalls his older sister, Antonia Goodfellow.

Prone to constantly changing his name and voice, he was exposed to clowning at a young age, when the siblings befriended a tightrope walker in Carlton Gardens while waiting to be picked up from primary school. The man strung his rope between two trees and taught the kids to walk it. He also rode a unicycle. “I think that was his [Rumpel’s] first real taste of meeting someone like that and experiencing those clowning and circus skills,” she said.

He left school and after doing the rounds of alternative festivals in the 1990s – Adelaide Fringe, Maleny (16-hour show), Woodford, Confest – he headed to Europe, where over two decades he built a reputation for absurd marathon performances. He played in every country in Europe and got star treatment at festivals including Glastonbury. The only “proper” job he ever had was in 2006 and 2007 performing in Cirque du Soleil’s Beatles show Love in Las Vegas, although he was unhappy after his song, The Fool on the Hill, was allegedly cut because Yoko Ono felt the show had too many Paul McCartney songs.

Legends abound and his life off stage was as chaotic and adventurous as his shows. He often checked in at airports in full costume to reduce the weight of his suitcases, laden with rubber snakes, balls, spring shoes and noisemakers. He once landed at Heathrow, dressed as a jester, and when asked at customs if he had money for his stay, presented a bag of Australian coins. He was put straight back on a plane to Melbourne.

En route to a festival in Austria, his friends accidentally left him behind at a service station, returning to find him in his undies holding a toothbrush. They hadn’t noticed he had got out of the truck to freshen up.

Rumpel has been described as sweet, brave, strange, gentle, humble, authentic, endearing, prolific, vulnerable, irritating, achingly funny, properly silly, from another dimension, allergic to cash, the kookiest of kooks, a child at heart, highly skilled at circus tricks, and always late for planes and parties. “He really was the performer’s performer,” said Annie Lee, a former partner, long-term friend and member of comedy trio the Kransky Sisters.

Jolly — who changed his name from Sean by deed poll — was born with muscular dystrophy, a genetic condition his father also had. Around 2008, Rumpel was in a serious car crash on the way to Burning Man in the US, which Antonia thinks “flicked a switch” and triggered the disease. He settled in LA, clowning and working as an extra, before returning to Australia in 2019. Struggling with his health, he was restless, and in June this year returned to LA to get back into performing and sort out his props, which included a hurdy-gurdy and a Volkswagen Beetle painted like a ladybug.

The death of the once-in-a-generation performer has shocked many, and a Facebook page dedicated to him is filled with an endless stream of funny, adoring anecdotes. One fan, who witnessed the end of his legendary 53-hour performance in Poland, said the world needs characters like him more than ever: “Undoing the serious matters of life if only for a moment, and making us approach reality with a smile and a good laugh. It was a crown that Rumpel wore like no other … Jest In Peace, King of Clowns.”