Ghosts is probably my favourite Ibsen play and one of the most frequently-produced; both things may or may not be connected to it being comparatively short. In fact while watching Kwame Owusu's production at Jermyn Street I did think maybe I could do with a break from it for a while as I'm a bit
too familiar with every beat of the story to be surprised by any of it, although as with Shakespeare there's always the chance to see what particular angle each production will take. In this case the overwhelming feeling is one of sickness, of an atmosphere as steeped in disease as a Southern Rail service at rush hour. And not just because this is The Congenital Syphilis Play. Oswald (Joe Pitts) has returned from art school in Paris to his family's remote Norwegian home for the tenth anniversary of his father's death, to be marked with the opening of an orphanage in his honour.
