Review: GHOSTS, Lyric Hammersmith Theatre

Photo credit: Helen Murray

Ghosts, originally written by Henrik Ibsen in 1881 and reimagined by Gary Owen, is a brooding, uneasy meditation on families, their mess, and that age-old question — are we doomed to become products of where we come from, or do we ever really get a say in who we turn into?

Directed with sharp precision by Rachel O’Riordan, Ghosts opens on a rain-soaked evening, a few days before the unveiling of a new children’s hospital. Widow Helena Alving (Victoria Smurfit) is visited by her old friend Andersen (Rhashan Stone), who’s growing uneasy about naming the hospital after Helena’s late husband, now that ugly allegations of sexual assault have surfaced. As Helena fights tooth and nail to protect Carl’s legacy, her son Oz (Callum Scott Howells) — home for one of his rare, awkward visits — stirs up long-buried family secrets while fumbling his way through a fragile relationship with the family’s helper, Reggie (Patricia Allison).

Merle Hensel’s stripped-back set, with a heavy brown sofa at its centre and wallpaper that seems to swallow people whole, creates a world that’s tense, claustrophobic and permanently on edge. Characters disappear into the walls just as easily as they disappear into their own history. Simisola Majekodunmi’s lighting cleverly mirrors these dynamics — cold and sharp when it needs to be, warm in fleeting, fragile moments.

At the heart of Ghosts is a tough, often murky conversation about consent — and how it’s handled, denied, or twisted by each character. From Helena’s admission of once ‘throwing herself’ at Andersen, to Oz’s sickening attempts to pressure Reggie into intimacy even after discovering their horrifying connection, Owen’s writing doesn’t flinch. In a post-#MeToo world, it feels deeply unsettling to watch these blurred lines play out, forcing us to reckon with how crystal clear things are for some, and how others will justify anything when it suits them.

There’s also a constant tug-of-war between nature and nurture here. As Helena scrambles to pick up the pieces of a life wrecked by Carl’s abuse, we can’t help but wonder if Andersen’s right — that the damage done to her has turned her into both victim and enabler. In trying so hard to shield Oz from his father’s sins, she’s built something so cold and brittle that it ends up breaking him anyway. It’s proper Greek tragedy territory: layer after layer of secrets, lies, and ugly truths being slowly dragged out into the light.

Even with all its bleakness, Ghosts finds flashes of dark humour and dry, biting wit. The jokes land naturally — moments of lightness in all the murk. Performances across the board feel rooted and unshowy, especially Callum Scott Howells’, whose Oz is twitchy, volatile and heartbreakingly human. Victoria Smurfit gives a complex, weighty performance as Helena, though her arc in the second half starts to feel a bit laboured — more to do with the script’s unrelenting pace than her delivery.

The tension never really drops. Owen’s writing leaves no stone unturned — shame, generational trauma, grief and guilt are all laid out, messy and unresolved. From Jacob’s (Deka Walmsley) careful and conveniently edited version of the past to Oz and Reggie’s twisted, incestuous connection and Helena and Andersen’s manipulative history, this is a story about what people will do to survive. It’s a play about what people bury and what inevitably claws its way back up.

Ghosts won’t give you any simple, tidy answers — just a creeping sense of unease and a head full of complicated, uncomfortable questions about who we are, and whether we ever really outrun the things we’ve inherited.

**** Four stars

Reviewed by: Aleeza Humranwala

Ghosts plays at London’s Lyric Hammersmith Theatre until 10 May, with further info here.