Adapted by Stephen Mallatratt after Susan Hill’s Book

Directed By Robin Herford

Tickets from £13.00

What’s a theatre without a ghost, eh?

Over thirty years of chilling delights, The Woman in Black roams a suitably fitting Theatre Royal, Glasgow, to continue its descent into realms of fear and dread. A right of passage for theatregoers, often those visiting from neighbouring schools, Stephen Mallatratt’s adaptation of Susan Hill’s 1983 gothic horror draws in millions of stage aficionados and those brave enough to take a wander into the sacred realm of the theatre may find themselves leaving with more than just a quickened heart-rate.

Clambering through the rafters, scurrying down the safety curtains, and scuttling at the far ends of the auditorium, The Woman in Black survives in the skin of theatre. The longevity in this once ‘Christmas filler’ production lies in the genius adaptation of the book into a ‘play within a play, with the now ageing solicitor Arthur Kipps (Malcolm James) seeking aid (and peace) with the help of an unnamed ‘Actor’ figure, played by Mark Hawkins. The goal? To unshackle himself from a chain of cruel memories and events that stem from the remote Eel Marsh Island, a tidal island where a once grand home stands guard, surrounded by boggy marshland. Not a soul to be seen for miles but there’s plenty to keep Kipps busy following the death of its owner, Mrs Drablow, a reclusive widow.

A three two-hander, Hawkins takes on the role of (a younger) Kipps, with James (Kipps) providing filler as the various townsfolk he would encounter along the way. What sounds like a potentially complicated set-up is handled with such continuing grace and lucidity thanks to Herford’s structured direction which remains as fresh as ever.

Much of the brilliance in the genuine scares lies in the hands of the more ‘plain’ or built upon ambiguities of Kevin Sleep’s exceptional lighting; or Sebastian Frost’s sound design (from Rod Mead’s original) which follows you around the theatre. A fright or two now finds itself edging into the territories of silly and outwardly camp, a step away from the production’s more intensive atmospheric control and storytelling. Often, the mere suggestion of something else in the room, a footstep or whistling wind, does more to unnerve than any leap onto the stage, impacted by the influx of cinematic jump-scares and the flourishing murder-thriller theatre (2:22, Murder in the Dark).

But the illusion and hidden corners of Michael Holt’s stage design retains its ability to trick and demonstrate how to turn little into something enormous. It turns the claustrophobic nature of the space and the limited use of props into nothing but a strength; the fear is at its best when it is potential and imaginative, though that’s not to say even those nerves of steel may fray after a few of the more obvious scares.

In a script in which not a single word is wasted, making its two-hour runtime all the more impressive – an emptiness sits in the gut along with that tightening chest in alarm, a genuine feeling of isolation and sorrow, of loss. That beneath the guise of ghostly tales is a quandary of piety, remorse and hypocrisy. Much is to be attributed to Hawkin’s chipping away of his initial naïve charm, gradually fading the closer they come to Kipp’s truth. The chemistry they share with James is outstanding, bouncing off one another to conjure plenty of humour which exists to counter the gloom, and also to remind audiences of just how ‘normal’ and human these characters are meant to be.

Oh, and a final cautionary piece of advice. Make sure your applause is extra audible for those who may not be present for the curtain call, for fear they may take offence and follow you home. In a time punctuated with fidgets and rumpled whispers and beeps, there are few better sounds than that of silence in a theatre – that of anticipation. And none do it better than the thrilling sensation that is Hill’s storytelling: pure and haunting, with such an obvious love for theatre.

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