THE WOMAN IN BLACK
Confession time. I have never seen ‘Star Wars’ but even worse, nor have I witnessed ‘The Woman in Black’. So my visit to the Arts Theatre last night was my first encounter with the second longest running play in history. A terrible confession for a theatre reviewer.
In mitigation, I am not usually a big fan of ghostly goings on or creepy bumps in the night. But this play, adapted from the Susan Hill novel some thirty years ago is so much more than a superior spine tingler (which it also certainly is). The adaptation by the late Stephen Mallatratt is also a loving homage to theatre as an art form. We have been without this precious experience for so long that it is wonderful to be reminded of the magical powers of live theatre.
The show deliberately uses spare forces to tell its sinister tale: two male actors gradually unveil the terrifying source of a lifetime of nightmares for our leading character. Arthur Kipps, now an old man, has been plagued by something which haunts his waking existence. There is one cathartic act that may banish his demons: to tell the story, Ancient Mariner like, to his family. But how to tell it? He is no performer and so engages an actor (billed as ‘The Actor’, we never discover his name), to help him narrate the ghastly events. As the lights go up, we are in a bare theatre – black drapes, a few costumes on a hook, a wicker crate – the barest trappings of a rehearsal stage. Kipps, we are shown, is no thespian and makes frozen mincemeat of his written script. The Actor tries, at first in vain, to teach Kipps how to tell his story with passion and with audience engagement. It is an uphill struggle which brings unexpected light relief, even moments of engaging comedy, to the proceedings. But as the days in rehearsal pass, The Actor succeeds in turning Kipps into ‘another Olivier’. And so the uber spooky tale begins.
The ‘play within a play’ shtick is very satisfying as it gives the actors plenty of opportunity to show reflect on the Chorus’ lines from Shakespeare’s Henry V:
‘Think when we talk of horses, that you see them / Printing their proud hoofs i' the receiving earth; For 'tis your thoughts that now must deck our kings.’
The format requires the two actors play all the parts though the excellent Antony Eden sticks with his role as ‘The Actor’ playing Kipps as a young man. Robert Goodale is outstanding as the older Kipps, and a swathe of other parts from horrified horseman to terrified townsman. He turns in a hilarious part as the bumbling ‘can’t act, won’t act’ older Kipps. Eden was mesmerising contrasting his jaunty actor part with the increasingly unhinged younger Kipps drawn into the clutches of some very evil doings in the remote old house surrounded (naturally) by malevolent marshes and swirling impenetrable mists.
There is of course a third player in this story: the eponymous lady. Without giving away spoilers suffice to say she makes a number of suitably goosebumpy entrances designed to get you clutching your bubble partner for comfort. The menacing atmosphere is effectively created by an impressive lighting design by Kevin Sleep) and Ron Mead’s creepy soundscape. The whole production directed (as ever) by Robin Herford maintains a freshness that one wouldn’t expect from a play that has been doing the rounds for three decades. My only slight niggle is that more use could have been made of an underscore – there were a few key moments between or at the end of scenes when a strange silence descended in the auditorium thus breaking some of the atmosphere.
But this is only a minor grouse for what was a most enjoyable evening of thrills and scares, a tour de force of terror, a nerve-wracking Nirvana. There was genuine fun to be had in the early part of the play and the apparitions were all too real. This was theatre magic at its best, so much the more welcome for having been missed so badly. I loved it. That’s a confession I am happy to reveal.
The show runs at the Arts Theatre Cambridge until Saturday 26 June
www.cambridgeartstheatre.com
