2:22 a Ghost Story at the Theatre Royal

I imagine like many people, I was first introduced to Danny Robins via his excellent podcast The Battersea Poltergeist, and was initially surprised, to say the least, that he had written a smash hit, award laden, West End show as a consequence. In fact, I had it the wrong way round - his dalliance with the supernatural began with research for the play, which only subsequently turned into podcasts, such was the wealth of material gathered. Either way, his familiarity with the genre is evident throughout 2:22, a ghost story that is indebted to classics of the form, while managing to put a pleasingly new spin on an age-old old formula.

After a couple of years in the West End, boasting a headline grabbing cast that threatened to eclipse the play itself, it was refreshing to sample this touring company without the distraction of Lily Allen or Cheryl muddying the waters. What quickly became apparent is that the play benefits from an even handed division of labour amongst the cast. Louisa Lytton acquits herself perfectly well in the role previously taken by Lily, then Cheryl, but does so in a way that reveals the beleaguered mother Jenny to be the least interesting character on stage. Charlene Boyd fares better, as the progressively drunken university friend, but both female characters feel a little underwritten. Robins not only gives the best lines to the men, but has the men move much of the plot on. On the one hand, Nathaniel Curtis is authentically obnoxious as Sam, the smug sceptic blind to the weirdness closing in on the group. On the other hand, Joe Absolom wrestles with the character of Ben, a builder and a believer, never quite seeming to be at ease with Ben's eccentricities. The two of them verbally joust as the eponymous time of reckoning creeps ever closer, while their respective partners despair at their fracturing relationships. They may be little more than archetypes, but Robbins nonetheless deserves full credit for carving out four individual personalities, each of them reacting to the situation they find themselves in a way that is credible and distinct.

So just what is that situation? At the end of the play the audience is asked to keep the ending a secret, but to my mind the same restriction should apply to much that has gone before. The greatest pleasure to be gained from the play is its ability to take the audience by surprise, and that's not something to be lightly squandered. It's fair to say - as it happens in the first few minutes - that a disturbing sound of footsteps are heard by Jenny in the middle of the night. Frustrated that her husband refuses to take her seriously, she convinces him, and their dinner guests, to hang around long enough to hear a repeat performance. What happens next is what one might expect from a group of people waiting to be scared out of their wits - bickering, home-truths, disagreements, the odd laugh, and the occasional inexplicable phenomenon.

What you don't get, and shouldn't expect, is a terrifying experience. In its structure, tone and denouement, the play follows the classic template forged by the likes of MR James and Robert Aickman. As it says on the tin, this is a ghost story, not a horror story, and therefore anyone expecting to be continually fearful will be sorely disappointed. Rather, there is an uneasy atmosphere of impending doom in this shaggy dog story that the audience are willing to indulge so long as there's a payoff. The play is handsomely staged, with subtle but effective use of sound and lighting, but that won't excuse a lame finish. Along the way, we get red herrings, misdirection and tension busting humour, and Robins even lobs some class-conscious social commentary into the mix, but none of that will count for much if the play doesn't deliver its knockout punch.

It's a notoriously difficult thing to pull off in these stories, and notoriously difficult to discuss without giving the game away. It obviously needs to be a surprise, but without seeming a cheat - an ending we haven’t worked out beforehand, but one we really think we should have. To that extend, Robins does well. I certainly didn’t work out the big twist beforehand, but on the way home brought to mind half a dozen clues that should have tipped me off. I've thought of more since, proving the text was far more exactly defined than I initially credited. It's Best New Play award and Olivier nominations speak more of the parlous state of a West End suffocated by juke box musicals than the play's brilliance, but it was hugely entertaining. I don't think I can recently recall seeing a play that so exactly matched my expectations, which was for a jolly night out watching hokey nonsense delivered with style and brio. If the run at the Theatre Royal hadn't already all but sold out, I'd be sorely tempted to nip back for a second sitting to tick off all the clues I missed first time around.