The Enfield Haunting evaluate: Catherine Tate’s ghostly tale is epically, almost thrillingly bad

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Telly star Catherine Tate should be rueing the day she signed as much as The Enfield Haunting. On paper, it in all probability seemed like a terrific thought. Playwright and Casualty co-creator Paul Unwin dramatising an intriguing real-life Seventies London poltergeist case within the atmospheric confines of the West End’s Ambassadors Theatre: what’s to not like? But within the flesh, it’s epically, almost thrillingly bad.

Here, Tate performs Peggy, an Enfield single mum who’s beset by supernatural goings on, the actor’s pure sense of humour visibly combating towards a script that’s almost definitely meant to be performed straight. “It’s a bleedin’ poltergeist!” she exclaims in horror, clutching her chest, starring in an inadvertent recreation of what Eastenders could be like if it did Halloween specials.

She’s not the one one: many of the forged are stricken with instances of accidentally-hilarious-itis. Her tormented youthful daughter Janet (Ella Schrey-Yeats) is barely seen beneath a The Thing-esque mass of tangled blonde hair, whereas her older sister Margaret (Grace Molony) stomps round swearing and always disappearing to the bathroom, which she bafflingly, and more and more hilariously, calls the “Pardonnez-moi”. Interfering neighbour Rey (Mo Sesay) is suspicious that this lady is behind the spooky, bumps and crashes besetting this family, however his oddly-pitched interventions solely find yourself making issues worse: he can’t even take care of his cat Spider (which delivers appropriately haunted mewls on cue).

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