Aghast at some very ghostly goings-on

REVIEW: 2.22 A Ghost Story – Malvern Theatres (Tuesday, September 23 to Saturday, September 27).

Showtime! stars rating: * * * * *

FOR quite some time now I’ve been thinking that the perennial argument about whether ghosts exist or not has more or less been settled.

All right, not clinically conclusively, but perhaps the next best thing. After all, what is television if not a ghostly image? And the internet? Are they not manifestations that would have had our distant ancestors reaching for their crucifixes and gimlet-eyed inquisitors dusting down their favourite thumbscrews?

Perhaps playwright Danny Robins is tapping – Ouija board style, naturally – into that idea with this nerve-shredder of a dark yarn.

And returning to my theory, is not the endlessly compliant computer siren Alexa - constantly issued with orders by the cast - nothing if not a ghost haunting a small chamber of plastic on the shelf near the telly, ready and willing to submit to our every command, even to the extent of agreeing to play a Smokie or Brotherhood of Man hit?

That didn't happen, by the way. I just made that up.

This is not just a sit-back-and-be-terrified tale of the supernatural, rather an assault on all the senses that doesn’t let up for a single, tremulous, shivering second. Indeed, maybe it’s the relentless pace of the play that triggers a mass outbreak of nervous laughter among this first-night audience.

For at times, it seemed that the afflicted were so possessed of demons that they were under the illusion that they themselves had been teleported into some future Malvern Christmas panto, such were the inexplicably high levels of mindless coughing and cackling during a production that was anything but funny.

Jenny (Stacey Dooley) is convinced her house is haunted because every night at 2.22am she hears footsteps on the landing and other unexplained noises. It seems that a poltergeist is active, and it is the expectation of further activity that keeps us all on our toes for the next couple of spine-chilling hours.

Husband Sam (Kevin Clifton), being an alpha male – in other words totally lacking in empathy or imagination – rubbishes his wife’s claims, periodically parroting “things cannot appear and then disappear”.

Really? So how else would he explain what happened in the case of the present government’s election manifesto… hmm, hmm?

Anyway, there’s nothing like a boozy dinner party to flush the odd ghoul or boy, and so Jenny and Sam invite Lauren (Shvorne Marks) and Ben (Grant Kilburn) over for the evening. For a meal of ghoulash, probably.

The night wears on and the men strut and shout, as men do. Sam is particularly athletic, and such is his cavorting that I think he should try his luck and get on Strictly. Hey-ho, just a thought - he might come up to scratch, you never know.

Yes, it’s going to be a very long night, so the boys pop out down the offy for another shedload of drink, the hard stuff being the favoured tipple. And once back at the house, they all decide to sit around the dining table and attempt to summon another form of spirits…

Oh dear, this really is not a good idea. Many of us, during our young and stupid days did this after a heavy night on the slop, and it’s not to be recommended. Steer well clear, in fact.

No surprise then that things start to take a turn for the worse, the hysteria and sense of foreboding accelerating as the computerised clock on the wall flashes its inexorable way to the bewitching hour.

Director Matthew Dunster keeps up the pressure from start to finish, although I did think the scream effects between scene changes over-egged the pudding somewhat. Screams? Blooming heck. A tad too Hammer Horror-esque for my jaded sensibilities.

This year has seen a good run of spooky themes at Malvern Theatres, and I must admit to the occasional sweaty palm, having now witnessed three productions of this ilk from under my hedgehog pattern duvet in the relatively safe region of the stalls.

And to be sure, it’s not just a case of loving to be frightened, rather the delicious savouring of being confronted with things beyond one’s comprehension.

Although that does lead me back to the subject of Alexa. For once artificial intelligence has humanity firmly in its grip, surely it’s only a matter of time before she will need no prompt, assumes a mind of her own… and becomes a ghost in everything but name?