This stage retelling of Mary Shelley’s gothic novel from writer/directors Tristan Bernays and Eleanor Rhode is, appropriately enough, a bit of a strange beast. There’s a moment, about 15 minutes in, where it feels like something genuinely clever is about to unfold. The house lights come up, and with a bit of assistance from the audience, the titular professor’s lumbering monster hurtles through an intellectual transformation, from gormless animated corpse to eloquent, poetic charmer.
Sadly, this neat device is the show’s high-point in terms of invention, and what follows is an hour of frustratingly by-numbers theatre. George Fletcher plays both creator and monster, rarely operating with less than maximum energy as he jerks across the stage – featureless but for a trunk and a pair of lamps – like schizophrenia personified.
It’s a deft performance – ably abetted by Rowena Lennon as the chorus – but it’s all so stripped-back it feels like peering into the rehearsal room, the low-key staging failing to add intrigue to what’s essentially a protracted, under-punctuated monologue.