Purloined Jane Austen quote for a title, fog-wreathed wharves, smoke-spewing factory stacks, greasy spoons and, for those old enough to remember the Primrose Hill set, Sadie Frost’s acting career – no variety of antique Londoniana is unresurrected in Ben Charles Edwards’s comic-fantasy debut. The river has flooded his retro-unfuturistic capital, as Michael Winder’s piano player and Max Bennett’s sailor form a chance friendship and dream of escape to Egypt. But there’s a rising tide, too, of precious romanticism that swamps these “pilgrims not making any progress”, James Hatt’s stellar production design putting a fire under moon-dilated vistas but weighing down Edwards’s direction. There are moments of Guy Maddin-esque vim – like the crayfish that draws tarot cards – but even cameos such as Noel Fielding’s sex-pest lackey come over as try-hard in the absence of much higher purpose. The billboard asking, “Has the 21st-century killed Art?” (the main character’s name) doesn’t qualify. This bygone orgy neglects that old-timiest of things: a plot.