I write this review somewhat guiltily. A common criticism of student journalists writing about student drama is that they’re too nice. They can be, perhaps understandably, scared of generating ire from their peers. I feel guilty, therefore, because I am afraid that this review will add to the stereotype – not because I plan to be too kind, but because Ghost Quartet blew me away.
Ghost Quartet (made by Cartesian productions and directed by Ted Fussell) sets itself up as a concert, in which four performers sing us through the track list of an album, each song introduced with a corresponding ‘Side 1, Track 4’ (varying, of course, with each number). I characterize them as performers because to simply say ‘actors’ or ‘singers’, ‘instrumentalists’ or ‘dancers’ would diminish their talents. This cast, made up of Henry Nurse, Chloe Cameron, Wally McCabe, and Beth Caygill (and John Skeen and Maria Copley as Musical Directors), were true multi-hyphenates. They did everything – and what’s more surprising, they did everything exceptionally.
In its beginning, Ghost Quartet has no apparent plot. Its hook is atmospheric: the play is set in the round, with cushioned seats provided around the edge of the stage. The actors would sit, and lie, next to and among audience members. At points we were handed instruments, encouraged to play, given shots, encouraged to drink, told to sing along. As it progressed, what might loosely be termed a plot began to take shape. Characters we were introduced to at the start popped up again, refrains repeated, moments referenced.
If my descriptions sound vague it is because they have to be. The play is constructed in several layers of fictionality: a band putting on a show, in which characters tell stories, whose characters break out of said stories as each episode slowly collides with the others. We are told at the beginning that we will hear 101 stories, none of them true. Though the show is no doubt fictional, the lines between fiction and non-fiction, between story and reality, between past and future, are blurred within the play. A repeating motif is stars. We can see a star that died hundreds of years ago. Is it real, is it not? It’s a ghost of itself that we see as it was when it was alive.
The atmosphere within this play is cultivated by impeccable sound, lighting and stage design. Intimate staging could very quickly become claustrophobic, haunting songs become screeching, warm lights become flashing and jarring. This is a show that is rested on the familiar, on déjà vu, on ghosts and ‘haunting’ memories. Rested, so that the switches it makes to horror are all the more effective.
This ‘liminality’ within the play, that I have attempted to capture across this review, is best seen in its final moments. One by one, the instruments that the cast are playing are passed off to members of the audience, with small demonstrations of how to keep the rhythm going. One by one, they leave, and the audience is left playing, wondering if this is the end and if they will come back. They don’t. The ‘ghost’ of their music is left, and the audience must decide when to stop, and give up on these memories. The audience is made a part of the play, and it becomes theirs. They choose when this fictional world ends or if it becomes reality.
The world of this play was funny, beautiful, terrifying and truly impressive. As Wally McCabe sang ‘I just wanna be a ghost and go woooo all night long.’ This play will haunt me.