Review: In The Ahmansons ‘2:22 A Ghost Story, Poltergeists Are More Believable Than People
Horror rarely appears in the best films. This genre is much more appropriate in black movie theaters, where audiences can shout anonymously while enjoying buttery popcorn.
But the scene is quite capable of scaring the audience. (And no, I'm not talking about the recent deconstruction in Oklahoma, which disappointed many Ahmanson customers.)
Centuries before The Exorcist, Shakespeare created an evil spirit in Macbeth. While Night Must Fall and Wait Until Dark irritated moviegoers, they performed popular dramas.
And history is almost dead and buried. Conor MacPherson, the modern master of ghost drama, revealed poetic truth in such inexplicable phenomena as The Whirlwind, The Shining City and The Sailor.
2:22 - Ghost Story, which premieres Friday at the Ahmanson Theater, doesn't just follow that tradition. Directed by Matthew Dunster, the production attempts to compete with sophisticated modern horror for its money.
The sound and light effects are designed to annoy you. The perfect dream house turned living nightmare unfolds in style. An ominously illuminated digital clock counts down the minutes until an inevitable collision with the impending unknown.
2:22 a.m. – The US premiere of Ghost Story, which premiered last year in London’s West End, seems determined to bring spooky nights back into fashion. Such a modern and sensational performance attracted a new, possibly younger demographic, people who may not have found Ahmanson's picnic on their own.
The show's obvious scare tactics might be a little silly, but laughter doesn't match fear. Indeed, it could be a much-needed relief valve.
Sometimes the over-staging isn't what holds the stage in the end. The problem is written. The invisible world seems very natural, but the everyday reality is so amazing.
The script by Danny Robbins, creator of the Battersea Poltergeist podcast, showcases the vast talent amassed by the American cast. It's a waste of acting resources to catch Constance Wu (Crazy Rich Asians, Fresh off the ship), Finn Wittrock (Broadway revival of Mike Nichols' Death of a Salesman, great work by Ryan Murphy), Anna. Camp (True Blood and the Pitch Perfect trilogy) and Adam Rothenberg (Mel Sattem in the final two seasons of Ozark) for the Downtown Theater Group's suggestions that are more superficial than meaningful.
The characters in the play, modern types whose personalities have been hastily formed like erroneous Wikipedia entries, are portrayed with television charm. But they speak and act in ways that often go unnoticed. Psychological coherence takes a back seat to the complex plot structure.
The action takes place in a restored house in a newly gentrified area of Boston. Jenny (Wu) was finishing the paint job when we first met her. He tilts an ear to the baby monitor when he hears the sound of a sleeping baby cooing.
Time flies and Jenny and Sam (Vitrok), her husband, a physics teacher, are having fun with another couple. Lauren (Camp), who went to college with Sam, and her love partner Ben (Rothenberg), who grew up around glitz and proves it with a heavy Boston accent, come to see new Jenny and Sam live and drink as much alcohol as the characters in Edward Albee's plays.
Jenny looks sullen with Sam. She was angry that he didn't call to explain why she was so late, but angrier that he left her home alone. That night, at 2:22 a.m., something happened in the nursery that convinced her the house was haunted.
Sam doesn't believe in the idea of ghosts. But his haughty rationalism feels like a betrayal from Jenny, who hates living in the haunted house she suspected from the start.
As glass after glass of wine is drunk, supernatural stories are exchanged. Opinions are divided on this issue, but the conflict is fueled by male ego, class hatred and dark jealousy.
There's a certain romantic backstory between Sam and Lauren, but neither character is drawn convincingly. Sam wrote Astronomy for Idiots, but the science he covered seemed to be read by a potential reader. Lauren is apparently a mental health professional, but her friends' "professional psychiatric expertise" requires everyone to be beaten, a series of laughs befitting a character who acts more like a lone patient than a doctor.
Jenny and Sam share closeness to tired passengers on rush hour trains. Lauren and Ben have an argument which degenerates very disagreeably, fortunately the spectators do not have access to the remote control.
Human interaction doesn't have to be the hardest part of a drama where the furniture moves on its own.
I try very hard not to spoil the surprises, of which there are several. I'm afraid? Not true, but I was blown away by Ian Dickinson's tense soundscape (baby monitors only) and Lucy Carter's unexpected lighting, recreated here by Sean Gleason.
Anna Fleischl's landscaping succeeded in making the house one of the main characters in the production. But the size of Ahmanson's stage is so huge that it seems cocktail jokes are circulating all over the Valley.
The ending is smart, but I roll my eyes, partly perplexed, partly chronologically bewildered. The moments before the last lap, in my opinion, are more original. But if I said any other word, I'd be haunted by countless readers complaining that I spoiled the fun.
Where: Ahmanson Theater, 135 N. Grand Avenue, Los Angeles.
Opening hours: Tuesday to Friday: 8 p.m., Saturday: 2 p.m. and 8 p.m., Sunday: 1 p.m. and 6:30 p.m. Ends December 4 (exemption required)
Tickets: $40 to $175 (subject to change)
Information: (213) 972-4400 or visit centertheatregroup.org.
Duration: 2 hours including a break
COVID protocol . Masks are highly recommended.
This story originally appeared in the Los Angeles Times.
