London’s most infamous paranormal event inhabits the West End scene through this new adaptation starring Catherine Tate and David Threlfall. Guillermo Nazara shares his views on the show, to let us know if this ghostly production keeps any skeletons in the closet.
No one knows what awaits us once we leave this world. But what we do know is that there’s no turning back. Unless there is… The possible existence of a spiritual realm and the chances of making contact have captured people’s imagination since probably the dawn of time. Perhaps an idea grounded in sound evidence, perhaps the desperate outcome from our inability to accept that one day, we’ll just cease to be, the truth is that a great part of every community’s zeitgeist is rooted on the concept that something else lies beyond our earthly path. And if it doesn’t, at least some have managed to make their living out of the dead.
The 70s might be christened as the Golden Age of Parapsychology – many of its most legendary cases being investigated during a period where IG stories and iPhone’s high-definition (by the company’s standards) were still not ready to grasp the wonders of the spectral universe. Curiously enough, it doesn’t happen so often anymore, but surely it’s because spooks need the right filter too. The Enfield poltergeist has in some way become the fair-haired boy of the paranormal groups – however weird that may sound. An event that made it to the international headlines and caught the attention of believers and skepticals alike, the attempts to bring back the alleged horrors that terrorized a not-so-regular family from North London have not been, by any means, rare.
After the recent success of Apple TV’s documentary series, it really comes as no shock that the infamous story has found its way to materialize onstage. Following a set of out-of-town tryouts before landing in one of West End’s most crammed January seasons in the last years, The Enfield Haunting had its grand opening last night – with a star-leading performance intending to fulfill that appetite for terror that such great precursors like The Woman in Black or 2:22 have left us with since their departure. Sadly, though, such endeavour never translates into a solid apparition on this occasion.
Written by Paul Unwin, the show recounts the latest investigations that real-life character Maurice Gross undertook while researching the strange occurrences the family claimed to be affected by. A hoax to the distrustful, a sign of another entity for the open-minded, the script condenses in roughly 75 minutes the frightful happenings that disrupted the peace of 284 Green Street for over two years. The premise is concisely adequate: there’s conflict, motif and arc. Yet, none of them are sufficiently exploited to make of it more than an initial scheme in much need of development.
The biggest problem stems, precisely, from its structure. Dealing with several purported episodes of supernatural possession, it’s surprising how dissimilar a work so close to what’s arguably the best horror film in History can be. When The Exorcist opened back in 1973 to rave reviews and traumatized audiences, religion was still a strong component of people’s everyday, but incredulity towards the almighty powers (good or bad) had started to plant its seeds in many modern viewers’ brains. Yet, the proof was in the pudding (or the pea soup…), as nobody was indifferent to the nightmarish dismay jumping off the screen into people’s unconcious.
There’s a reason why this play can’t achieve the same result, and that relies on its pacing. In William Friedkin’s classic masterpiece, the absence of belief constitutes the grounds of its first act – taking the public on a very close journey with Ellen Burstyn’s Academy Award-deserving role, and helping us walk every step from doubt to conviction when it comes to the presence of hell. Urwin, wistfully, does exactly the opposite – introducing us to the narrative’s most extreme factors way too early, thus preventing us from slowly submerging into its universe, and plummeting us into it so rapidly it causes nothing but a reaction against it.
Directed by Angus Jackson, the staging also compromises the piece’s effectiveness to draw out any eeriness. Using a vertical view of the two-storey house (design credit to Lee Newby), the stillness of the set, despite its ability to emanate the sinister aura of the play’s context, erases any opportunity to build up an atmosphere. Many of the jump-scares (some of them, excessively recurring) lose some of its impact due to the simple reason that they happen one floor above us – thus, separating us too much from the menacing feeling we’re supposed to be gripped by through the entire rendition. On the other hand, the fact that the whole set is visible through most of the time (except for some rather repetitive blackouts to transition from scene to scene) rubs out any element of surprise – too often, bringing up the thought that many of its excerpts have been conceived with more of a cinematic style in mind rather than something suitable for the stage.
As for the cast, though their efforts to construct an ominous ambiance are noticeable, unfortunately no portrayal features enough depth or verity to make it sustainable, let alone sympathetic or relatable. Catherine Tate exudes some allure in the lead part of Peggy, but none of the traits her role is expected to project are utilized. Depicted as a single mother struggling to raise three children in a council house while confronting something escaping her own understanding, there aren’t any traces of such harrowing background to be found in her interpretation – which, though charming at some points, feels generally restrained and slightly shallow.
Applaudable for not giving up the ghost, yet still far from getting to a hot spook, The Enfield Haunting leaves us with no uncertainty about the chances of connecting with another dimension – basically because such attachment never happens to unfold. A play discussing the presence of portals linking different worlds, the script nonetheless forgets to build up its own one, breaking every odds for the audience to bond with its narrative and plunge into the mystique of what, instead, could have been an exorcising experience (no pun intended). It’s a piece about darkness. But even so, a few things still require some shining.
All pictures credit to Marc Brenner.
The Enfield Haunting plays at London’s Ambassadors Theatre until 2 March. Tickets are available on the following link.