Alasdair was very excited to see this again, and I won’t say no to a theatre trip, so off to Bath we pop (unfortunatley on a Saturday afternoon during Christmas market season, so we get the full train station kettling experience on our return). As with most horror theatre, it’s obviously on some level an exploration of grief, but doesn’t really manage to have its cake or indeed eat it. Not as scary as I thought it might be, either. It’s fascinating to note that every production for the last 30-odd years has been directed by the same person, which maybe explains a slight tired or dated feeling. One wonders what a fresh coat of paint and a reimagination of the core text could do.