“No matter how much you may brace yourself, this show is ready to startle you.”
The Woman In Black, will never grow old, terrorising those who watch it. Directed by Robin Herford, a champion of this account and adapted by Stephen Mallatratt, based in the novel by Susan Hill, get ready for an unforgettable and stormy reenactment of a paranormal encounter.
The play covers the story of Arthur Kipps, a man with a tale desperate to be told about his days working as a solicitor, travelling to a coastal town North of London, Crythin Gifford, to find and retrieve the financial papers of a client who passed away. Upon his arrival, Arthur Kipps begins to feel an air of unwelcomeness, secrets and paranormal activity. Years after his traumatising tale, Arthur Kipps desperately asks an actor to help him retell the story, to inform his friends and family after keeping this secret with him, eating him alive. Arthur Kipps and the actor begin to explore the story, reliving it to a grave extent.
Regardless of whether you have read the book, seen the play or watched the film, admittedly, there are large expectations from the stage play, it must be terrifying. The large task of creating theatre which scares unexpectedly was there, without being obvious as to when something was happening. The audience jumped and yelped at each scare, it seemed we fell into the trap every single time.
Directed by Robin Herford, the choices made seemed to be the right ones. Although this performance translated to the audience perfectly, it is understandably a story which can be easily muddled. The performance seemed honest and had great simplicity to it, nothing was too much, Herford’s direction made complete and total sense bringing two dimensions together, the theatre, where Arthur Kipps and The Actor work on bringing Arthur’s story to life and inside the story, the bleak and strange Eel Marsh House, the causeway and the unfriendly coastal town of Crythin Gifford. Herford himself has played Arthur Kipps in several different theatres across the world, conceivably, Herford’s knowledge not only as a director but as an actor, has clearly had an impact on this production.
Both actors had a heavy assignment to complete, having the complexity of being The Actor and Arthur, but also as several different characters in Arthur Kipps story, succeeding entirely in this process. Daniel Burke’s performance as The Actor and as young Arthur Kipps was honourable and had a great lightness to it, showing determination from both The Actor, perfecting the performance and the young Arthur Kipps, eager to do what is right. It was easy to differentiate between the two, which is essential for keeping the story easy to follow.
John Mackay’s Arthur Kipp was one to never forget, as well as his additional roles as Sam Daily and Keckwick. Mackay’s performance appeared to be slick, clever and precise, it was thoroughly enjoyable watching both actors tell this story.
The element usage on stage paired perfectly with everything else, lighting and sound were used effectively, yet not overdone. This play was on two different levels of excellence to watch; one, being the fact that The Actor mentions the importance of lighting and sound to aid Arthur Kipps to life, something of such simplicity but effect, and two, us watching it roll out, being hypnotised by said lighting and sound, believing it all and making this ghost story feel all the very realer.
Mystery was generally what led the production forward, in all means. Arthur Kipps perplexing experience, the paranormal and haunting doubt and the suspense as the story was told. This production is not one to be missed, and certainly is one to leave you feeling frightened.
The Woman In Black will be at the Bristol Old Vic until the 25th of April 2026. Tickets are available here.
We sat down with director Kay Brattan and playwright/producer Margarita Valderrama to chat about their new show Witch Girl Summer. Tickets here.
Witch Girl Summer has been described as “Mean Girls meets The Blair Witch Project — exorcism edition.” What first attracted you to this darkly comic world, and what made you want to direct its world premiere?
Kay: Margarita has written one hell of a roller coaster of a play! And I will always love a witch story. So the title alone attracted me to it when she and I first met to talk about her witch play. A horror comedy felt like such a delicious creative challenge to stage. Horror is a genre that has always fascinated me. But besides the fact that I really just want to scare people, the story has such a strong heartbeat about friendship, and speaks of the loneliness that can be felt when all of our interactions and sense of self worth are rooted deeply in the realm of social media. We should feel so connected because of these devices in our hands, but that connectedness can lead to isolation, or, in some cases, falling into a “community” that may be doing more harm to you than good. Horror is a genre that has always looked at the world and amplified back to us what we’re truly afraid of, or afraid of becoming. And to me, there’s something about the catharsis I experience when watching a scary movie that feels like a great purge of all the fears that I keep locked inside me. Then there is this incredibly hilarious comedic element to Witch Girl Summer that satirises the ridiculous beauty standards women are held to! When I go on instagram it feels as if my insecurities are somehow haunting me as I scroll down my feed. The fact that an algorithm tracks my interactions on social media even if I just hover over an image is sort of terrifying. The internet is truly its own horror story. So let’s make fun of it. The play whiplashes between these two states of comedy and horror in such a brilliant way, which is what makes it an exciting watch for an audience, and an absolute blast to direct.
This marks your first full production collaboration together. How did you approach shaping the tone — balancing satire, horror, and psychological intensity?
Margarita: I’m notoriously a big scaredy-cat when it comes to horror – the genre is too effective on me! I respect and admire its power. But horror and comedy share a structure: a set‑up that bursts into release. Writing the rapid back‑and‑forth between the absurd and the terrifying was a satisfying dance and I’m excited to see it’s translating into Kay’s vision as well.
I always say making art together should be fun and working with Kay and this team is very fun. The creepiness has surpassed what I imagined and I’m laughing in every rehearsal. That’s due to Elinor Coleman and Giullianna Martinez’s performances, who switch sharply and fabulously from horror to comedy. Eat your heart out, Chekhov!
Kay: It’s all dramaturged so brilliantly in Margarita’s script, so for me in staging it, it’s all about listening to what the play needs in each moment. The rehearsal room
has been a huge testing ground for this, to see what sounds work where, what physicality serves what moment best-the jump from camp to scary can happen in a micro second, so it’s all about being so detailed on which world we’re playing in for each scene and then being specific and sharp on when those switches happen. Having Margarita being in the room with us has been an essential part of this process. With new works, having the playwright present means that they’re able to see how their words are living in the real world for the very first time, so the script has been developed further as a result of this to what will serve the story best. I think the key to this is that none of us are being precious with what we’re exploring, which helps us make decisions on what is needed and what is not.
The play explores themes of self-esteem, beauty standards, and the pursuit of “glass skin.” How did you translate these contemporary pressures into something theatrical, visceral, and unsettling on stage?
Margarita: We’re trying to create, what the team calls, “digital hauntings” to emphasize the unreliable perspective of the protagonist. Scrolling endlessly on a phone is passive; we wanted to make the dread visceral. From day one Kay and I focused on attempting to capture the feeling of doom‑scrolling until it turns into brain rot. Onstage, the online world takes shape as a tangible presence: purposeful soundscapes make recognizable notifications and soundbites unsettling, while actors physically embody comments and content.
The Lion and Unicorn Theatre is an intimate space. How have you used that closeness to heighten the sense of horror, tension, or even complicity for the audience?
Kay: People always think horror is a tough genre to stage, but we have always been telling each other scary stories in the dark. And I bet you probably remember a story that was told to you that kept you awake for nights on end (mine was Bloody Mary). Most times, the thing we don’t see is the thing that scares us the most. Our imagination are such powerful tools, and the images that they create will always be scarier than an image fed to them. Leaning into the intimacy of The Lion and Unicorn’s space is asking the audience to use their imagination with us. What I’m looking to do is immerse them in an environment of a horror story. As with any piece of theatre, lights and sound will help, and I’m really interested in using sound in a way that heightens and intensifies the genre so that tension completely surrounds and transports the audience.
Margarita: An intimate space forces a tighter bond between performer and audience – there’s nowhere to hide.Thematically that works because while we all know beauty standards are unachievable and damaging, we all have different lines
regarding how much we buy into them. In this space the audience feels exactly what we feel when a stranger’s curated life flashes across our screens: “Why do I know what this person’s bedroom looks like?” They’ll see both the polished façade the protagonist projects and the messy reality lurking just out of frame.
The piece promises “horrific catharsis.” What kind of emotional journey do you hope audiences will go through — and what conversations do you hope they’re having on the way home?
Margarita: I want the audience to wrestle with what it means to take accountability. The online world seems designed to divide and isolate us, leaving little room for nuance. People are either idolized or vilified, and today’s hero becomes tomorrow’s villain and it’s scary to see this binary thinking seeping into our world IRL. Can the audience forgive our protagonist? Where do their own contradictions lie? How do they reconcile them? I hope they leave with different interpretations of the ending and debating those questions over a drink at the pub.
As a director with experience across different forms of storytelling, what has this production challenged you with creatively, and what has surprised you most in rehearsal?
Kay: For Witch Girl Summer, sound design has a huge presence in this piece in what creates the atmosphere of the piece. I adore working with sound, and it’s a skill I’ve been developing alongside my practice as a director. This play is filmic in the way sound affects the journeys of the characters, and how it emotionally moves the audience from one moment to the next, and that has been an exciting challenge in creating this world. I think one of the biggest surprises has been in finding elements of folk horror in something I thought was originally going to be rooted in the digital sphere. But there’s an earthiness to this play in its incorporation of the wild woman, and the themes of “girlhood” vs “womanhood” is something I was surprised to uncover through working with the actors in the room and discovering how the magic of the play is physicalised by them. I try really hard to listen to what the play needs, what the actors need, and what are the best choices to make in service to the story. I will always come into the room with my thoughts and ideas about the play, but I will always leave room for those to change and expand through collaboration with the actors and other creatives. To me, surprises should be a natural occurrence in the rehearsal room. It’s like a creative laboratory and we’re all mad scientists. Make a mess, throw all the things against the wall, and see what sticks.
Minimalist, masterful, and terrifying. The Woman in Black reminds you why live theatre can still scare the life out of you.
The Woman in Black at the Glasgow Theatre Royal, lived up to its reputation as one of the most effective pieces of theatre I’ve experienced in a long time. Sparse, clever, and deeply unsettling, it proves that you don’t need elaborate tricks to truly frighten an audience, just imagination, precision, and trust in the power of storytelling.
The play follows Arthur Kipps, played by the wonderful John Mackay, a man haunted by a traumatic experience from his past. Seeking relief, he hires a young actor, Daniel Burke, to help him recount his story in the hope that sharing it will finally bring him peace. What begins as a seemingly simple rehearsal slowly and horrifyingly transforms into something far more real, for both the characters and the audience.
John Mackay gives a compelling and grounded performance as Mr Kipps. His portrayal captures the emotional weight of a man desperate to rid himself of painful memories, and his gradual unravelling feels authentic and earned. Mackay handles the psychological intensity of the role with impressive restraint, allowing the fear to creep in quietly rather than forcing it upon us.
Daniel Burke, as The Actor, provides a perfect counterbalance. Initially confident, almost dismissive, he brings a lightness and theatrical bravado that helps ease the audience in (which only makes his eventual descent into terror more effective). The chemistry between Mackay and Burke is crucial to the success of the production, and here it works beautifully, driving both the narrative and the tension forward.
Director Robin Herford’s vision remains masterfully simple. The minimalist approach places complete trust in the performers and the audience’s imagination, something that modern theatre doesn’t always dare to do. Scenes shift seamlessly, often in front of our eyes, and the lack of excess means we are constantly alert- scanning shadows, listening for sounds, and filling in the gaps ourselves. In a horror story, this is exactly where you want the audience to be.
Michael Holt’s set design is deceptively clever. At first glance, it feels almost bare, but it proves endlessly adaptable, transforming from rehearsal space to eerie landscapes with subtle changes. This flexibility enhances the feeling that reality is slipping, that the boundaries between performance and memory are dissolving.
Kevin Sleep’s lighting deserves special mention. It plays a vital role in building the atmosphere, often revealing just enough, and no more. Darkness becomes a character in its own right, and the careful use of light ensures that when something does appear, it hits with maximum impact. The audience reactions around me included shrieks, sharp intakes of breath, and moments of stunned silence, are all a testament to how effective this is.
What makes The Woman in Black so powerful is its confidence. It doesn’t rely on spectacle or gore. Instead, it understands that fear comes from anticipation, from what we think we see,
and from the spaces left unfilled. As a result, the play lingers long after the curtain falls — not just in memory, but in feeling.
Seeing this production at the Glasgow Theatre Royal felt like the perfect setting for such an intimate and unsettling experience. It’s a reminder of what theatre can do when it strips back to its essentials and fully commits to its craft.
In short, The Woman in Black is tense, intelligent, and deeply effective. I loved it and I didn’t feel entirely comfortable walking home afterwards, which I think is the highest compliment I can give a ghost story.
“A beautiful, text-book showcase using horror movie to mirror theatrical ontology”
I sat down in the auditorium at the Ambassador, surrounded by my fellow audience members, feeling confident. The horror movie series Paranormal Activity is well-known for using a hybrid of fake CCTV-like camera and family DV to elicit horror, but I have this ultimate self-awareness that this is theatre. It is live performance by real human beings. We both know it isn’t true but just presuming it is true. There are hundreds seated with me. How can it be horrifying? No way.
But I was so wrong. It was super scary and the horror works so well in a different and unexpected way. In the original film, there is a hyper-heightened experience of anticipatory dread and sustained vigilance through long takes, minimal movement, and seemingly impoverished vision. Horror plays around with its watchers in-between presence and absence. Initially an independent horror film written and directed by Oren Peli in 2007 and then gained worldwide popularity through its unique found-footage style, the stage adaptation Paranormal Activity: A New Story Live On Stage, written by Levi Holloway and directed by Felix Barrett, now opens at the Ambassador Theatre after its premiere in 2024 and North American autumn tour in 2025.
Precisely knowing that the camera language is the fundamental underpinning logic of the franchise’s sole selling point of horror, the theatrical production translates it into a more technology-oriented presence. While the technology is unparalleled, the greater brilliance lies in its perception on the issue of “presence versus absence”, even after ripping off the series’ signature use of the camera.
Such perception actually mirrors the existential ontology of theatre and its making process per se: its live (un)presence. “Who’s there”(or what is there) is the eternal question asked not only in this production, but throughout the entire history of theatre criticism, speaking to the most mysterious part of human psychology mechanism. While we acknowledge a shared presence of the stage and the audience (a very relaxed performance also), it is the unseen, the disappearing, and the already disappeared, that ultimately defines.
The narrative follows the most signature pattern of Paranormal Activity: a couple in a domestic setting where psychological horror is always grounded in their not-so-healthy intimate relationship. In the show, Lou (Melissa James) and James (Ronan Raftery) just moving from Chicago to England. James’s mother Carolanne (Pippa Winslow) are chasing after a grandchild, but she doubt whether the couple could be good parents.
Besides the breath-holding illusions work by Chris Fisher, Gareth Fry’s soundscape and soundtrack are equally haunting, even when the melodies are rock and roll. Anna Watson’s lighting captures the nuance shifting in-between the normal and the abnormal within Fly Davis’s realistic domestic setting. Holloway intends to convey that the real problem lies with the not yet fully grown-up husband, but the dramaturgical connection isn’t sound enough between the couple’s relational dysfunction and thus the psychological horror grounded within.
Tickets are available here for performance up to March 2026.
Part folkstory, part horror, Loop is a ‘one woman fever dream’ that dives into the heart of obsessive desire, the pull of fantasy and unreality, and limerence – described as an altered state of mind characterised by intense romantic infatuation with another person. The play is about Bex – who can’t get James out of her head. In the Peckham party shop where she twists balloon animals all day, all she can think about is James. We sat down with Tanya-Loretta Dee to discuss the upcoming production.
The locket her Mother gave to her clings like a curse, whispering warnings. As her grip on reality unravels, Bex circles the same stories about wolves, witches and wanking – each one darker than the last. Will she ever break the loop? Loop is at Theatre503 from 10 – 29 November. Tickets are available here.
What first sparked the idea for Loop, and for Bex as a character?
The first spark came from an obsession with ‘love obsession itself’ – how we can know someone isn’t good for us, yet still be drawn to them like a drug? I started researching limerence – an involuntary, addictive form of romantic fixation – and realised how few stories explore this from deep inside the mind.
Bex is messy, funny, horny, intelligent, and completely lost in her own projections. She carries inherited wounds from her mother and tries to rewrite her story through love. She represents the part of us that keeps going back, hoping this time things will change or end differently.
As well as researching Limerence in science, fairy tales and mythology, I interviewed women about their experiences of Limerence. The play is inspired by and based on the experiences of a friend who lived in Brighton, as well as my own past experiences of Limerence around 14 years ago. I am also quite certain someone experienced Limerence towards me a couple of years ago; I now recognise the patterns – and so this was a huge spark. I have lived both sides of the experience and come out the other side. It’s an interesting topic and one that is being discussed more and more. I am also going through OCD screening process and wish I’d done so 14 years ago – this has also been a huge inspiration for the writing. Patterns, patterns everywhere!
What draws you to myth and fairy-tale as a way of exploring very modern emotions?
I believe fantasy and myth allows us to say the unsayable. It takes private, psychological experiences (love, longing, shame) and gives them form. When I read old stories, I see the same emotional landscapes as Tinder dates and WhatsApp obsessions, just in different costumes! Fairytales also let me occupy extremes: desire, hunger, power, rage. Ironically I feel safer using fantasy to explore the truth, at times you can hide inside the metaphor, but the emotions are absolutely real. That’s why the play is so wild!
Are there particular tales or traditions that influenced LOOP’s tone or imagery?
Yes! The Icelandic tale of the ‘Hidden People’ very much has me intrigued. Definitely ‘The Red Shoes ‘and ‘Bluebeard’, both about addiction, curiosity, punishment, and female transgression. I was also inspired by Celtic and Cherokee mythology, especially stories of transformation and duality, which is why the script opens with the “two wolves” parable. Angela Carter must get a mention too! ‘The Bloody Chamber’ is a visceral read. The tone moves between fairytale and realism is how I think obsession plays out, and is experienced in the body: ordinary one minute, mythic the next.
You’re joining the Royal Court Writers’ Group soon – congratulations! How do you see your writing evolving from here? Are there themes or stories you’re itching to explore next?
Thank you! I’m really excited! Loop cracked something open for me. I want to keep exploring interior worlds, where desire, shame, and survival intersect. I want to experiment with form, learn how to dramatise the invisible, the psychological and push further into the strange, comic, and brutal sides of being human. Sarah Kane was brilliant at this, I love her work. I have been researching and interviewing women who cannot afford rent in London and are paying with sex in exchange for a room. It’s been an amazing journey meeting these brilliant women. I am drawn to exploring ‘shame’ in society, the things that people deem as taboo or unbelievable. I’m excited to explore structure and form with The Royal Court, as well as finding my voice as a writer.
What do you hope audiences carry with them after seeing LOOP?
I would love people to leave thinking about hope. I want people to recognise something of themselves that perhaps they deem as shameful or secret, to share it with a friend. Maybe people will see their own patterns they create the in search for happiness, or love. If the play does its job, it should feel like holding up a mirror, uncomfortable at times, but ultimately freeing. The audience will leave with a glimmer of self-compassion, knowing that sometimes the journey to healing isn’t linear, tidy or neat, and that reclaiming yourself is a huge act of courage.
“A haunting and confident debut from Frankie Lipman”
Working the graveyard shift sounds scary, but what happens when it actually goes wrong? Longlisted for the Royal Exchange Theatre’s Bruntwood Prize in 2022, Frankie Lipman’s debut play Wightwater has landed in the vaults of 53Two Theatre in Manchester.
Cleverly set in a fringe radio station, Whitewater follows a has-been radio host, Terie, holding onto the scraps of her career. Hosting the late night slot, Terie settles into The Paranormal Show where classic spooky hits are played and the public can call in to tell their ghost stories. Everything seems to be going smoothly – colleagues who don’t want to help, a regular telling the same story for the 100th time and a constant supply of coffee and biscuits. That’s until a call that seems to echo Terie past, leaves her feeling more than unsettled and leads to unexplainable events.
Isobel Middleton gives a brilliant performance as Terie. She shoulders much of the play’s emotional and narrative weight, guiding the audience through moments of dry humour, loneliness and mounting dread.Supporting her is Dylan Morris as the young, ambitious producer, whose easy realism grounds the piece and offers a glimpse into a generation that’s already looking beyond the studio walls. Barney Thompson’s Station Manager is both infuriating and familiar, the kind of boss whose indifference adds another layer of quiet despair to Terie’s world.
Lipman’s writing is clever and poetic, building tension through atmosphere, subtext and sound. The radio setting is inspired, allowing the small cast to carry such an atmospheric and intimate landscape. The play makes exceptional use of the disembodied voice, blending the uncanny with the mundane rhythms of late-night work. The pursuit of answers is a key part of Wightwater. In the conclusion of the play, there is a hope there would be more answers, more explanation of the past and the present. Perhaps that shows that there was a desire for more of Terie’s story.
George Miller’s lighting wonderfully layers the performance. Bursts of brightness and eerie shadows build tension and shock, jolting the audience at just the right moments. It is impressive to see what is possible in such an intimate space. The setting of 53Two could not be more apt. Nestled beneath Manchester’s railway arches, the venue’s echoing space enhances the play’s claustrophobic tone and further enhances the production.
Wightwater is a haunting and confident debut from Frankie Lipman. It’s a meditation on the ghosts we carry with us, wrapped in the eerie crackle of a late-night broadcast and a great spooky fix the industry needs more of. This is a production well worth tuning in for.
Wightwater plays at 53Two Manchester until 7th November. Tickets are available here.
“Halloween is here; orange is the new black and October is almost over. Spooky decorations are aplenty and the freaky flow of trick or treaters will soon be upon us.”
To celebrate the spookiest month of the year there is a fringe festival in London called GrimFest. It runs throughout October and celebrates dark and twisted theatre in the piercing heart of London. Barons Court Theatre has joined forces with Old Red Lion Theatre in Islington and Bread and Roses Theatre in Clapham to produce the largest edition of GrimFest yet. It appropriately culminates on Halloween night after a three week series of spine-tingling shows.
One of these productions is ‘Conspiracy’, a topical dark comedy that charts one man’s descent into paranoia and madness as he gets sucked into the online world of conspiracy theories. Written and directed by Jodie Garnish, this new play was performed at Barons Court Theatre by Frederick Arnot for two nights this week.
After being fired from his job and leaving under a cloud, Brian (Arnot) is struggling with isolation and poverty. He subsequently descends into the online world of online discussion forums and conspiracy theories, which forms of the basis of the play. What begins as an innocuous interest soon spirals into something darker as Brian becomes increasingly paranoid and unable to decipher internet speculation from reality. A claustrophobic dark comedy, ‘Conspiracy’ blends horror and humour to explore the devastating real-life consequences of online hysteria and misinformation.
Brian’s days involve a mixture of slouching in a dressing gown, eating bland ready meals and posting rambling videos whilst being chronically online. This mixture makes for a toxic cocktail which separates him from reality and plunges him into a warped world of his own. Arnot gives a reasonably solid performance and the dark subterranean setting of the Barons Court Theatre accentuated the gloomy life Brian has come to lead.
Some conspiracy theories can be downright bizarre, some provide amusement due to their outlandishness and some can be so gripping they are turned into Oscar winning movies. You can easily lose an hour going down a Wikipedia rabbit hole reading about some of them. Everyone is entitled to believe whatever theories they want regardless of how unlikely or controversial something might be. But it is important to use your judgement and read the room whilst talking about your beliefs/theories and firmly establish whether to even share them at all. Watching this notion play out on stage is very topical, especially the scenes where Brian sets up his iPhone and records his rambling tirades to post online. People filming themselves talking, complaining, crying etc. and posting it online is very commonplace nowadays, not just with youngsters but also older folk who should know better.
Writer & director Garnish says: “Conspiracy promises audiences a funny and frightful evening, with an ending they’ll be thinking about long after the lights go down.”
“We believe that the themes of online misinformation and fearmongering are incredibly relevant to our current culture and seek to explore these themes in a darkly humorous and sensitive manner.”
So in closing was ‘Conspiracy’ a trick or a treat? Truthfully neither of these terms are suitably befitting, but there was definitely something topically gripping about it.
A gripping hour of spooky storytelling, perfect to kick off the Halloween season.
As the leaves start to change colour and crunch underfoot, we have finally entered ‘spooky season’–when many of us seek out an extra thrill or two as the long nights draw in. Writer and performer Lucy Spreckley’s new horror play, Skeleton, draws audiences into a complex web of memories, half-truths, and delusions.
The set is bare as audiences enter, with a single chair set amongst a scattering of autumn leaves on the floor. Over the first few minutes, Spreckley establishes a relaxed and quippy style of storytelling, crafting an illusion of comfort which is gradually shattered as the story’s tone slowly shifts into a much more ominous register. Spreckley has a masterful grip of cadence and pacing, shifting the mood easily between the dark subject matter and the humorous moments which punctuate the plotline with a few moments of light relief. With some compellingly original imagery and descriptions, Spreckley has created an engaging and memorable narrative voice, which truly shines in her ability to paint a striking portrait of each new character with just a few phrases. With some eerie sound effects and a few powerful lighting choices, this is simple storytelling at its best.
Skeleton asks us what it takes for us to reveal our secrets – fear? The desire for connection? For absolution? This twisted tale weaves together inspiration from an unlikely pair of sources: Shakespeare’s ghostly apparitions, who often appear to hold murderers accountable for their crimes, and an early 20th-century invention designed to elicit confessions from reticent criminals. Like many of the spookiest short stories, the erratic and, at times, feverish narration leaves the audience piecing together fragments of the plot; the narrator drops hints and flashbacks about horrors from their past which refuse to stay buried. This could easily be developed into a longer-form exploration of the character’s descent into distraction, which could allow a bit more time to flesh out these memories, but it’s also perfectly effective to leave the audience wanting more.
In today’s climate, where so many figures refuse to take accountability for their choices and misdeeds, Skeleton is a satisfying reminder that no one can truly outrun their past and, as Shakespeare reminds us, ‘the truth will out.’ If you’re looking for a way to kick off the Halloween season, which will have you both laughing out loud and jumping out of your seat, this gripping thriller is a deliciously spooky choice.
This show runs at Etcetera Theatre until 19th October. Tickets here.
High on jump scares, low on depth – a haunted-house thrill ride in theatrical form
Ghost Stories at the Peacock Theatre delivers exactly what it promises on the tin: jolts, jumps, and plenty of shrieks designed to send your pulse soaring. And in that sense, it succeeds. I can say, hand on heart, that mine was hammering for much of the evening. But once the adrenaline ebbed, I was left wondering if there was much more here than a collection of well-timed bangs and flashes.
The frame narrative begins intriguingly enough: a parapsychologist addresses the audience directly, lecture-style, guiding us through case studies of supernatural encounters. There’s audience participation (don’t worry, nothing too heavy-handed), discussions on the psychology of fear, and some playful blurring of the line between lecture and performance. It’s a smart set-up, one that briefly suggests a more cerebral exploration of why we scare ourselves for fun in the first place. But as the stories unfold, the ideas put forward in the ‘lecture’ are soon subsumed by a string of horror vignettes that rely heavily on shock tactics rather than substance.
To its credit, Ghost Stories knows how to use silence and darkness. Lighting design is excellent – spotlights isolate characters in pools of light, while the surrounding blackness seems to swallow up the stage itself; you get the impression that any number of ghosts and ghouls could be lurking in the shadows. These moments of stillness and dread, when you clutch the seatrests waiting for the inevitable jolt, are among the most effective. Pacing, too, is carefully judged: the cycle of tension and release is well-timed, and the audience is kept perpetually on edge.
But while the production excels at triggering screams, it rarely lingers in the imagination. The horrors here are of the loud-noise and ‘Boo!’ variety. Themes of loss, suicide and illness surface from time to time, but more as cheap (and sometimes borderline tasteless) shock than meaningful exploration. Compared with something like The Woman in Black – a play I saw a while ago which used supernatural terror to probe grief, trauma and injustice – this production feels shallow, uninterested in using horror as a lens for anything deeper. I’m reminded of Mark Kermode’s observation that horror is a “genre of ideas”. This, however, is closer to a fairground haunted house: fun in the moment, but with little to chew on afterwards.
Performances are solid if unspectacular; no single actor truly anchors the piece. Special effects are effective enough, and there are a few clever tricks, but in a play that trades so heavily on its technical wizardry, I found myself wishing they went further. The midpoint delivers the strongest thrills – at several moments the theatre was buzzing with nervous laughter and exhalations of breath – but by the finale the energy had waned. The ending feels muddled, with both the narrative and the scares fizzling out rather than culminating in a satisfying crescendo.
Ultimately, Ghost Stories is a thrill ride, nothing more and nothing less. If what you want is a quick, scream-filled night at the theatre, it will not disappoint. But don’t go looking for ghosts of deeper meaning here – they never make an appearance.
“What makes it extraordinary is how singular the experience becomes”
Darkfield have built a reputation for leading the way in immersive theatre, known for crafting unsettling yet unforgettable experiences across the globe. They bring intimate moments that catapults you into a different world, very much like a video game.
The excitement of DARKFIELD productions is going in blind, and they ensure that with the total pitch black darkness you find yourself in for the 30 minute duration. After a briefing, you enter the space and are surrounded by 80’s arcade machines and fluorescent lights. Once the headphones begin the narrative and the darkness engulfs your senses, each member follows their own, unique journey through a cleverly crafted story.
What makes it extraordinary is how singular the experience becomes. Whilst there are grounding themes to keep everyone on a shared path, different choices unlock new characters, environments, and play times. No two journeys are quite the same, and when shared with a friend, comparing storylines afterwards is half the fun – like swapping notes on a dream you both had but in entirely different versions.
Darkfield’s work is also a reminder of how powerful theatre can be when it strips everything back to its rawest tools: sound, imagination, and a carefully designed environment. Without visuals to illuminate your journey, your mind does the heavy lifting, conjuring vivid images and scenarios that feel almost tangible. It’s this clever use of absence – of light, of certainty – that makes the return to the outside world feel sharper and somewhat changed.
Arts Council England has enabled the showcase of three different DARKFIELD experiences across Manchester ARCADE at Lowry, FLIGHT at Aviva Studios, and SÉANCE at HOME Manchester. They all run until 21st September and tickets are available here.
