The trigger warnings at The Enfield Haunting are misleading. They alert audiences to bright lights and big noises. They should have braced them against a feeble script and a production that quavers along as if afraid of its own ghost.
It is almost impressive. Dramatist Paul Unwin and director Angus Jackson have gathered so many promising ingredients, summoned so shiny a cast – and come up with something completely flat. This investigation of the celebrated case of a north London poltergeist fills the air with more speculations than levitating bodies or flying furniture. Catarrhal rasps, blackouts, fizzing lamps and upturned sofas are the main frighteners in an evening unlikely to give anyone nightmares – unless they are phobic about armchairs.
