Review: THE WITCHING HOUR, Bridewell Theatre

We love a summer horror, but it’s rare for stages to be treated to one. No, you’re not having deja-vu, you might have seen a version of this article earlier in the week. The Woman in Black - indubitably the scariest play in the repertoire - left a huge gaping hole when it closed last year, but, fear not, celebrity-bait 2:22 has become the new Macbeth, always coming out at the right time to fill a space and delight some audience with its ghostly occurrences. The fringe, however, rarely carries any spine-chilling hits. The Witching Hour promises to be the right indie spooky story to spice up these miserably mercurial days, but does it really deliver?

It’s haunted by a script that’s as creaky as the house investigated by the characters, but it’s captivating enough here and there. After a fascinating lecture held by Professor Dubois, Erin sets off to find out why people keep disappearing at Torhill Wood. The plot, initially propped up by rationality, becomes sillier and sillier as it winds down. There are plenty of delicious jump-scares alongside valid theories, namely how the witch-hunts were a byproduct of the weaponisation of ignorance as a tool for oppression and control. The conversation at the heart is enthralling, but the interesting turns are, unfortunately, engulfed by more subpar material.

James Williams writes and directs a play that has lots to say. Steeped in history and denoting a profound passion for the subject, it’s surprisingly informative and carefully researched for something that’s sold as a scary night out. While the dialogues are relatively stale and predictable, the longer addresses describing the mob mentality that led to the death of innocent women are thoroughly stimulating and thought-provoking.

The banter between the siblings is a bit wooden and too scripted to feel natural, it also points at a strain that exploits female pain. Erin and her brother Sam disagree over how they should deal with their father’s bouts of domestic violence, but talk it out in a heart-to-heart that happens right in the middle of danger. The story would easily fall apart multiple times if prodded.

Still, Jessica Porter and Saul Bache are a solid duo, sharing a bittersweet push-and-pull that sours when needed. Mark Kitto completes the main cast with a compelling performance as the Professor. He regales the audience with an intriguing slice of history and returns later as the selfish, evil Reverend that singled out Elspeth as a witch (sporting a better, more serious wig than he did the last time we saw the show).

They’re joined by Eleanor May Blackburn as the surprisingly eloquent and pitiful healer, another victim of patriarchal abuse and religious violence. Porter’s passionate vein is reflected in Blackburn: in a different production, this affinity of theirs would have been expanded in a way that touches the heartstrings. Here, it’s used to lean into the feminist supernatural horror side forcefully. 

The direction is slightly unpredictable. It fluctuates according to the pace of the writing, with more sluggish moments suddenly clearing away the tension prematurely. Williams, however, possesses an eye for evocative imagery and the second act features excellent visuals against Alex Johnston’s set. As it's custom, sound, lighting, and set design are crucial to the outcome. Dan Clarkson and Johnson toy with the atmosphere, single-handedly strengthening even the blandest of twists. The classical staging, curated by Johnson, consists of a combination of what looks like papier-mâché and wood that allows flickering lights and shadow-play (also by Johnson) to complement Clarkson’s sound effects.

All in all, the project could still do with a bit of reshaping. Erin suffers from woman-written-by-a-man syndrome and Sam is an inconsequential character. The background is engaging and the ending is a clever punch that reveals who the cruel real-life villains are. A bit more development in the right places followed by the disposal of a few plotlines could lift this project to cult standard.

The Witching Hour runs at the Bridewell Theatre until 20 July.

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