Ghosts

Henrik Ibsen's Ghosts is notoriously dry and trying but the aim is not to live up to that notoriety. Unfortunately, The Depot Theatre did. Pushing 150 minutes including interval, the show dragged itself through thick, unabridged exposition. The 19th century play presented itself as vegetative and without variety. Instead of a steady rain followed by moments of storm, we watched sleet that congealed along the road.

The set was befuddling. A stylishly minimal plasterboard set the back but clashed with the naturalistic main stage. The dining table was barely used and thus served only to designate dead space. The flowers were beautiful and a 'nice' metonymic distraction but they acted like a lamp to moths, the actors drifting towards them repeatedly, touching them, admiring them, and fluttering aimlessly back to try and pour their hearts out about love, duty, family and syphilis.

The commitment of the cast to their roles was sincere but misplaced. A wringing of hands characterised Pastor Manders (Dave Jeffreys) and Helene Alving (Julie Baz) more than their acting. Zac McKay's Jakob Engstrand brought moments of pantomime-esque buzz to the stage but it didn't redeem the show.

Ibsen's play is dark, dank and dreary. It is archaic if not manipulated carefully. Through its murkiness, though, it references constantly "the joy of life". Undeniably tragic, there are moments of hope and of love. Regrettably, the action was as unfamiliar to joy as the production was to the 21st century.