Review: CRYBABIES: THE SCARING, Soho Theatre

Fresh from a run at the Edinburgh Fringe, the Crybabies trio creep into Soho Theatre with their comedy-horror offering The Scaring.

In a prologue, we meet two armed priests — crucifix in one hand, a Bible in the other — as they eagerly hunt down a demon. Their mission goes awry, their romantic feelings towards each other go unrequited and one meets their end. Having survived that close encounter, Arthur Holland departs the clergy to become the manager of an immersive stag do experience and a smash burger restaurant (as you do). Before long, though, he finds himself in a spooky hotel run by the mysterious Mr. Lyle. Aided by a ghost called Gerry, the ex-exorcist finds himself investigating the source of the supernatural mayhem. 

This surreal romp is saturated in film and TV references. Psycho, The Omen, The Shining, Ghosts and, of course, The Exorcist are all nodded to, some more vigorously than others. Other tropes feed through too: werewolves turn their victims into leather jacket-clad Shakespeareans, a poltergeist possesses the smart speaker and an unfeasibly tall child in Victorian clothing wanders the corridors. Fans of things that go bump in the night will find a treasure trove of genre easter eggs to spot throughout.

It has been three years since the Crybabies troupe (Michael Clarke, James Gault and Ed Jones who was recently seen as music shop robot Keith in BBC’s Ann Droid) last appeared here. In the time following their last appearance, the Radio 4 favorites have joined Francesca Moody’s roster of productions alongside Fleabag and Baby Reindeer. Helming this initial project for the company is Margaret, Queen of Soho’s Jon Brittain, who previously directed Kathy and Stella Solve a Murder! for FMP.   

Far and away the best thing about The Scaring is the impressive design. There are still echoes of the DIY aesthetic from earlier shows: like Bagbeard, cheap cardboard props, outlandish wigs and vintage outfits that appear to have been rescued from a West London charity shop play well with the scrappy, rough, improvised feel of the writing. 

The Moody connection has brought in several familiar faces. The set and costume designs from Celia Carey (Baby Reindeer) give off old-school horror vibes from the off while Kathy and Stella’s Bethany Gupwell provides lighting that does the seemingly impossible: terrifying the congregation even when everything is luminously lit despite occasionally having to resort to the schlocky technique of cutting to black on occasion. Illusions from John Bulleid (Harry Potter and The Cursed Child) efficiently pull the rug out from under us, Ed Lewis (Margaret, Queen Of Soho) has crafted a range of chilling compositions and scary sound effects and Nina Dunn’s video work brilliantly tugs us into the Crybabies’ mad scenarios. 

Also praiseworthy is the physicality on display. All three actors inhabit the space with dynamic movements, their frenetic pace matching the avalanche of verbal japery that constantly threatens to derail this whole night. Gaunt’s Gaulier training gives him a watchable presence that rises above the general tomfoolery.

From there, though, it’s all downhill. The premise itself doesn’t help: spoofs of classic horror flicks are hardly novel and the material has been mined to death, not least by Shaun Of The Dead, What We Do in the Shadows and the six (six!) Scary Movie outings since 2000. There is very little new to be said and - what there is - The Scaring doesn't say it.

Then there’s the humour, a marmite blend of scattershot gags that speak more of late-night improv sessions and throwing ideas up on a wall rather than a script that has been edited in the clear light of day. Weak puns abound: a running gag based on Arthur Holland being forced to call himself ArtHol limps along while a clerical copper announces himself as “the chief of P-riests”. You’re either groaning or giggling — no inbetween. There’s a fine line of silliness from beginning to end but too often the jokes fall flat, feel cheap or can be seen coming from the far end of Dean Street. 

When the humour and staging are stripped away, what remains is half a century of horror classics shoved through a shredder then taped back together as Fringe theatre. There’s an inevitable comparison to be made with Police Cops, another three-man team that specialises in high-speed costume/character switching within scenes and subverting genre parody through episodic and off-the-wall sketches rather than conventional plotting. Police Cops direct their DIY aesthetic towards space-opera, Crybabies towards horror but the outcomes are broadly similar. Despite their new backers, the latter have yet to find their own identity.

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