Ghost the Musical

For the past decade, the West End has been suffering from an onslaught of movies turned into musicals – there are no less than six such productions currently running. Whilst some embrace their transfer to a new medium, others fall flat attempting to recreate their filmic predecessors. Ghost the Musical is a prime example of the latter.

Things start to go wrong from the opening credits; indeed that there are opening credits superimposed over the curtain, boldly exclaiming the title of the show, is the first sign that this production has been designed for audience members who have an attention span so short they may have forgotten what show they came to see somewhere between the box office and their seat. We are introduced to our protagonists, shirtless Sam (Mark Evans) and mawkish Molly (Siobhan Dillon), who seem to have the perfect life: lots of money, rippling biceps, and a designer loft apartment. They also have a great sex life, as evidenced by the extended video montage of them making love, again superimposed over the entire stage. Things are going so well until Sam is murdered by a thug in an alleyway. His ghost tries to find a way to reconnect with Molly, and after he finds he can speak to formerly fraudulent psychic, Oda Mae Brown (Sharon D Clarke), he uses her to track down his killer and let Molly know he still loves her.

The set is bizarrely constructed with large, moveable video screens, which continue to flash video-game-quality images of exactly where we are at any given point. We see lots of yellow taxicabs, New York subway signs, and then more video montages of Sam and Molly, now with their supposed friend, Carl. This is an awkward concept to begin with, but becomes significantly more uncomfortable when an understudy is performing. On this occasion, understudy Paul Ayres was forced to sing beneath an enormous video projection of Andrew Langtree, who was on holiday.  The costumes recall the neons of the early 90’s, and the flashing images support one’s assumption that the film’s setting in 1990 has been retained, only to be contradicted by references to today in the second act. There are some eye-catching special effects as Sam walks through walls, but overall the design concept is one of the tackiest the West End has ever seen. The whole thing looks and feels like a Vanilla Ice video, with similar artistic merit.

The songs by Glen Ballard and the Eurythmics’ Dave Stewart are mostly forgettable, though "With You" and "I Had a Life" are strong ballads.  The singers are frequently overpowered by the orchestra, and much of the music is synthesised and computerised to an overwhelming extent, a point highlighted by the MacBook Pro at the conductor’s right hand. Ashley Wallen’s embarrassingly simplistic choreography doesn’t help matters. Dillon and Evans are gifted singers, but both struggle with delivering their dialogue in a remotely believable manner. Dillon is particularly cringe-worthy, though to be fair, the script she’s been given by Bruce Joel Rubin (who won an Oscar for the screenplay) is so riddled with clichés, it would be difficult for anyone to pull off. Clarke makes a strong impression in her Olivier-nominated performance as Oda Mae, and the production finds some redemption in its final moments, which are moving despite being met with raucous laughter from some in the audience.  

The production overall comes across as cyncical and tasteless. Director Matthew Warchus gives the impression that theatre is on its last legs and can only survive by being pumped full of videos, flashing lights, and blaring technology. Theatre certainly has an ominous fate in store for it if more productions are staged like this one.

Recommended: Fans of the film might get something out of this, but you’re probably better off with the DVD.

Where I sat: The right-side of the Royal Circle, B3-4. Very comfortable seats with a good view of the stage, although I missed a few moments when actors moved far to the right.