2:22 achieves the most impressive feat in the horror genre: a satisfying ending.
As applause subsides, I ask around “Did you guess the ending?” From hushed near whispers to bursts of enthusiasm, the answer is unanimously “no.”
Further impressive, audiences are still surprised in this, 2:22’s 5th West End run.
(I conducted the same informal poll after experiencing the shock myself in its first run starring Lily Allen.)
The writing is excellent. Danny Robins carefully crafts a narrative that is an engrossing ghost story, a meditative psychological exploration, and a test of human relationships. Watching a second time, I appreciate the clever clues even more. (No spoilers here, but DM me to chat dead giveaways.)
At its core, 2:22 is, ironically, human.
Jenny invites her husband’s old uni friend and new boyfriend to a dinner party with an ulterior motive. She’s been hearing a ghost in her newborn’s nursery every night exactly at 2:22. Jenny is intent on convincing her husband and the skeptical couple to stay awake with her to witness the ghost. As the clock ticks, bold and red onstage, will their wits last until 2:22?
The ghost story itself is very nearly a supporting character to this daring double date. The story is most engrossing as the relationships splinter. Robins mixes pairs with scenes that expertly unravel the nuances between the husband and the old flame-cum-life-long-friend, between Jenny and the friend, between the skeptical male characters, and between two female characters in search of emotional certainty. The writing interrogates how we put build and express trust in relationships, old and new.
Ghost stories have always been a push and pull between science and emotion. These relationship tug at this tension, pulling the knot of doubt tighter.
Cheryl impressively holds the duality of these emotions throughout her performance. She is scared but stubborn. She is unsure but confident. She is calm but frayed.
Cheryl delivers a solid and consistent performance. Her characterisation is relatable and draws the audience in.
For an acting debut, Cheryl delivers. But one critique stays with me in the room.
Cheryl is a better solo artist than an ensemble performer. Cheryl delivers her lines and characters convincingly, but is missing that spark of chemistry between her husband and her fellow cast mates. At the beginning of its run, this chilly foursome still has time to warm up.
Even so, 2:22 is a durable piece of writing that breaths anew with each new West End rebirth. See it once—or twice—if you can.
All images are promotional photos from 2:22 and Helen Murray.
London Show Cap 
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