Review: The Woman in Black
LOTTIE UNWIN will be sleeping with the light on for a few days.
Monday 1st – Saturday 6th March, 7.45 with matinees at 2.30 on Thursday and Saturday. £10-27.
Directed by Robin Herford.
The Woman in Black has been on at the Fortune Theatre in London’s West End since 7th June 1989, a year, to the day, before I was born. That I am still alive is good though not really to my credit, but the fact that the show still sells out is remarkable.
Reputation evidently preceded the production on tour; the Arts Theatre was completely packed and the anticipation of the giggly audience tangible. Stupidly, I sat down really thinking that more than seven million people were being wet and it wouldn’t fool me. I was categorically wrong.
The Woman in Black does not claim to be revolutionary or profound, it solely seeks to entertain and does a phenomenal job. It demonstrates the brilliant capacity of theatre to hold you on the edge of your seat, embraced by the illusion that what is going on is real. There are only two names on the cast list, some clever set and a smoke machine but I still had sweat dripping down my back in the second half. I jumped out of my seat, gasped and threw my hand to my mouth at every sound effect, completely stripped of my swagger as I left. I just wanted someone to hold my hand.
The Woman in Black will distract you from dissertation disasters with the efficiency of a bottle of wine in The Bun Shop. And, it has the added advantage that you feel great the day after. Although, on second thoughts, I would recommend you arrange for someone to sleep in your bed. I regret not having done so and have just sent a pathetic version of a booty call text. The scary woman in the rocking chair might come and get me otherwise.