Review: 2:22 A Ghost Story

Danny Robins’ smash-hit play, ‘2:22 A Ghost Story’ finally arrives in Edinburgh, and boy has it been worth the wait. Of course, the haunted house is a well-worn trope of stage and screen, but this tight, and well-woven piece of theatre makes a superior addition to the canon.

2:22 A Ghost Story sets its scene so very well, not only in the well-observed, fluid dialogue between husband and wife, but also within the confines of Anna Fleiscle’s finely crafted domestic set. Framed in livid scarlet by Lighting Designer Lucy Carter between scenes, the play continually builds the audience’s anticipation. There’s the blood-curdling scream of urban foxes and the abrupt flare of a security lamp beyond the glazed double doors back of the stage. Complimented by the ominous, and restrained tones of Ian Dickinson’s sound design, 2:22 is a play overflowing with atmosphere.

At first, there’s little time for Sam and Jenny to butt philosophical heads, Sam’s old university pal Lauren (Charlene Boyd) and her new boyfriend Ben (Joe Absolom) soon arriving for a dinner party. Yet, when the wine starts flowing, Jenny’s fears re-emerge, finding a sympathetic ear in psychologist Lauren, and an unlikely ally in believer, Ben. Much to Sam’s dismay a plan is hatched: they will wait up till 2:22 a.m. and see what happens.

Much has been made of the celebrity casting associated with the play, and obviously, the touring cast isn’t short of familiar faces either. I can’t speak to the quality of the West End casts, but Absolom, Boyd, Curtis, and Lytton are first-rate, clearly invested in and delighted by the play.

Narratively, the deadline is a masterstroke, immediately heightening expectations, and impressing a sense of doom upon proceedings. It infuses every word with mounting tension, but this is no po-faced psychological thriller. Robins injects his play with a rich and genuinely funny thread of comedy through most of the run-time. Ben’s immovable scepticism makes a fine foil for Ben’s working-class son of a psychic. Lauren’s ambitious pursuit of blind-drunkenness loosens her tongue, whilst Jenny’s swithering between panic and rationality is a constant source of surprise.

Curtis is believably odious, doubling down upon Sam’s superiority complex again, and again. It’s the dark side of the educated wit which makes such characters popular at dinner tables. Lytton has the toughest gig, in many ways the play’s nominated victim, but played with restraint and humanity. Boyd has an absolute ball as 2:22’s damaged but ebullient drunk, whilst Absolom is an utter delight, blending equal parts fool and sage into his oddly likeable Ben.

However, with 2:22 am approaching, the embers of charged conversation are fanned closer and closer to a wildfire, Jenny’s primal need to protect her daughter brooking no opposition, be that ghost or her husband. The audience knows something is coming, and the signs aren’t good.

Apposite to the mastermind behind the ‘Uncanny’ podcast, Robins is careful never to let proceedings side with either side of the belief divide. Things are most definitely going bump in the night, but don’t expect spectral visitation, or anything else so obvious. 2:22 A Ghost Story is at its finest when almost nothing is happening, just a figure left alone in a house with a picture of its now-deceased former owner. The supernatural may be up for question, but the inevitability of death isn’t.

Perhaps most critically, the plot of the play holds up under scrutiny. Once it’s all played out, a post-mortem reveals a consistent progress towards an inevitable finale. The play is continually telling you what’s going on, but even this well-versed fan of all things fantastical and horrific couldn’t predict the ending. So bravo Danny, bravo indeed.

2:22 is set to become the new ‘Mousetrap’, and so of that finale, nothing shall be said. Nailing the end of a spooky story is notoriously hard, but if 2:22 A Ghost Story were an Olympic competitor, it would be 10’s across the board.