2:22 A Ghost Story is scarier than Paranormal Activity (review)
Frightening theater thrives in New York City, but you better go downtown for the best — "2:22 A Ghost Story." Review.
I love being scared in a theater. That ripple of goosebumps that travels up your arms and then seemingly across the body of the audience as a whole. In movie theaters this year, I was spoiled for choice with frightening and mind-bending films like The Bone Temple, Hokum, and Leviticus. But in playhouses, the pickings have been thinner.
Undeniably, I was giddy over The Lost Boys: A New Musical for its refreshing blend of fun and fright. However, after much buzz out of the West End, Paranormal Activity's transfer to Broadway left me underwhelmed. Sure, it had some solid jump scares. But the play as a whole wasn't as haunting as its playwright Levi Holloway's previous Broadway offering, 2023's chilling Grey House.
So, it was with some reluctance that I sat down for 2:22 A Ghost Story. Like Paranormal Activity, it's also a West End transfer, having debuted in London in 2021 with Lily Allen in a lead role. (IYKYK.) 2:22 A Ghost Story even earned a Laurence Olivier Award nomination for Best New Play. But The Curious Case of Benjamin Button won the Olivier for Best New Musical from its West End debut, and yet its transfer to Off-Broadway left me more annoyed than moved.
All this to say, I was pleasantly surprised by how satisfying and scary 2:22 A Ghost Story is Off-Broadway. This spooky production offers way less in stage spectacle than The Lost Boys or Paranormal Activity. However, bolstered by a small and staunch cast, it's a terrifically chilling theatrical experience.
What does 2:22 A Ghost Story has in common with Paranormal Activity?
Both plays center on a married couple dealing with a possible paranormal infestation in their home. Both are set entirely in these homes, which are in London, England. In each, the wife believes a ghost is among them, while the husband is the skeptic, who will endure some serious shocks on the path to believing. Plus, both plays employ jump scares.
What sets 2:22 A Ghost Story apart out the gate is a clever device. Writer Danny Robins takes tropes of a haunted house story, including mysterious noises, objects moving seemingly on their own, and activity tied to a particular time. And he sets them within the uniquely stressful situation of a dinner party.
The brilliance of 2:22 A Ghost Story begins with a dinner party.
New mom Jenny (Jasmine Cephas Jones) and husband/co-parent Sam (Finn Jones) are eager to show off their new home and baby girl, Phoebe. So, they invite over Sam's best friend, Lauren (Anna Camp), and her boyfriend, Ben (Martin Marquez).
The simple set on the Off-Broadway stage is a living room/kitchen area, with exits to an offstage bathroom, a view to the stairs that lead to an unseen second floor, and glass doors that give a peek of a backyard that's often obscured by fog. This is a smaller setting than Paranormal Activity and The Lost Boys, which includes a view of the home's second story and bathroom. But 2:22 A Ghost Story is enhanced by what we can't see.
For instance, something sinister happens in the bathroom. A child's toy is sullied in a dangerous way. Because we the audience were not witness to how it happened, we are encouraged to join in the debate as the dinner party devolves into arguments about the possibility of paranormal involvement.
Within this discussion, playwright Danny Robins builds in tensions through personal relationships and class conflict. In Paranormal Activity, the play's commitment to sticking mostly with the husband and wife led to some gratingly repetitive couples arguments. 2:22 A Ghost Story adds heat and variety by complicating that dynamic through the dinner guests.
For starters, Sam and Lauren have been friends since college. Now, she's a successful therapist and he's an astronomer working on a kind of Idiot's Guide to the Stars. Yet, she fawns over him like a schoolgirl as he lectures on about stars, science, and logic. And Jenny's not blind to it, nor is Ben. More tension sparks as Sam snootily suggests that Ben, a blue-collar builder, is too lowbrow for the educated and elegant Lauren.
The tension of this class conflict is reflected in the set itself. Jenny and Sam admit they've moved into a gentrified area, purchasing the house from an old widow who'd lived there for decades with only the memory of her late husband to keep her company. The widow's gaudy wallpaper still lingers on some walls, marked by photo frames, while others are painted a modern white, inlaid with cold glass doors and dark gray kitchen cabinets. Beyond that, the layers of the house and its history are a part of the play from the moment the lights go up, notably on Jenny painting the walls in the middle of the night. And all of it matters.
2:22 A Ghost Story delivers scares and laughs.
The dinner party gets tense before the mention of ghosts. Soon, Jenny reveals she wants witnesses. For three nights in a row, while Sam was away for work, she's heard someone in their child's bedroom at 2:22 in the morning. Sam doesn't believe her, so she practically begs their guests to stick around and see for themselves. Lauren, a messy drunk giddy for a reason to linger near Sam, is quick to agree — with the caveat more wine be procured. And Ben is a big believer in the paranormal, unveiling a personal story of his own brush with a ghost.
Camp, who is perhaps best known for her comedic turns in the Pitch Perfect movies, is the comic relief for much of the play. She plays drunken Lauren perhaps a bit too broadly. But in the play, Lauren is the only American, so brashness and brazenness are baked into the role. However, between Sam and Ben's bickering, Marquez lands a few zingers that scored chuckles and even cheers from the audience.
The scares come in two forms. The first is an ear-piercingly loud sound design, which punctuates the play with screams and music (including Massive Attack's "Angel," which is always an ominous sign). Sometimes, it feels a bit of a cheap trick. Like when directors Matthew Dunster and Gabriel Vega Weissman need to establish a passage of time, the stage lights go black, so things might be arranged in the dark (the curtain open).
Accompanying the blackout is a blinding red light that rims the stage and a recording of a sharp scream that made the audience flinch communally every time. Other screams sound during the dinner scenes as well, explained away by horny foxes plaguing the new homeowners. The back porch light might kick on due to its motion sensor at any moment, and with it might be the horrid shriek of a wild animal. And over all of it hangs a digital clock with bright red letters, ticking ever closer to the haunting hour.
2:22 A Ghost Story has a frightfully great cast.
The more stirring scares came from the cast's performances. In an opening scene, the audience witnesses one of Jenny's potentially paranormal incidents. Then, we see her unravel as the hour grows late, closer to 2:22. As Jenny, Jones is riveting. She's not just scared, but furious. Something has invaded their home. AND her husband doesn't believe her about the danger. Her seething is not the soul of Jenny, but informs much of her behavior on this pivotal night. But so does love. Looking at Lauren flirting shamelessly with Sam, Jenny is not just angry, but also compassionate, because she loves him too — even when he's driving her mad.
To his credit, Finn Jones is perfectly infuriating as Sam. Costume designer Cindy Lin offers a shorthand that Sam is a bit of a self-aggrandizing prat by putting him in the self-imposed uniform of tech bros: jeans, long-sleeve t-shirt, and a puffer vest. But Jones, with a sneering smile and condescending tone, makes for a sensationally aggravating antagonist. As the others marvel and fret at the possibilities of the paranormal, Sam demands to be the voice of reason. But because his tone is so patronizing and elitist, it's deliciously easy to loathe him. If this were a murder mystery play, I'd be rooting for his death!
Then, there's Ben. The oldest and least educated in the group of young, wealthy, and privileged intellectuals, he is swiftly established as an outsider. But proud as he is, Ben doesn't balk at Sam's snide attacks. Instead, he is vulnerable, sharing his understanding of spirits and this very neighborhood in a way that is an earnest invitation. Whether he's revealing a story of a long-ago haunting, speculating on the ways of the dead, or hosting an impromptu séance, Ben grounds 2:22 A Ghost Story's reality, making anything feel possible as the clock ticks down.
I won't dare reveal what happens in the play's final moments. Instead, I'll share this: Minutes into 2:22 A Ghost Story, I was rattled. At intermission, my mind throbbed with possibilities and half-remembered ghost stories, both fictional and purportedly true. By the curtain call, my heart was pounding, rallied by the magic of theater and a terrific climax. So be warned, if you miss 2:22 A Ghost Story, you're missing out. (But if you do go, maybe consider some earplugs.)
2:22 A Ghost Story is now playing at the Lucille Lortel Theatre in New York City.
