Magic at Chichester Festival Theatre – review

David Haig’s new play explores the unlikely and ultimately doomed friendship of Sherlock Holmes creator Arthur Conan Doyle and the escapologist megastar of the era Harry Houdini. Their surprising union was formed over spiritualism, with Doyle being a firm believer in all things otherworldly and Houdini a confirmed sceptic and vociferous debunker.

Despite Houdini’s protestations to the contrary, Doyle believed that the illusionist himself had special powers and that his performances were “not merely artifice”. The contradictions of Doyle, though, were that he was not bound by his spiritualism and had not only a belief in God, but an admiration for the world of science, insisting that if sound and light can travel at speed through space, then why not our own thoughts and emotions – “electromagnetism is the way to contact the dead” according to Doyle.

It’s all a fascinating enough exploration and a topic that is highly emotive for anyone who has a particularly strong belief in either side of the spiritual argument. Sadly though, Haig’s writing and Lucy Bailey’s direction make for a largely inert two hours, and despite its title, this is a vaudevillian backdropped production that is mostly lacking in magic.

A promising opening sees Hadley Fraser’s Houdini hanging upside down high above the Chichester stage in a daredevil escape from a set of audience-tested handcuffs. The Vaudeville theme is underused, and Joanna Parker’s mostly empty staging is lacking in evocation despite being set within an impressive replica proscenium arch.

The team, including lighting designer Aideen Malone, work to create ethereal seances in which Doyle and Houdini can battle out their authenticity or otherwise. Tension is built nicely by Bailey until things all turn a little bit Blithe Spirit with lots of unearthly wailing and table banging by Jade Williams’ psychic Mina Crandon – part Madame Arcati and part Mystic Meg.

At the play’s core is Haig’s Doyle, a grief-stricken man in need of solace and so fixated with his belief that he is unable to see beyond it. Doyle and his wife Jean (Claire Price) conduct a daily séance – “you wouldn’t criticise a Christian for going to church every day” – by way of practising their “faith”. The loss of his son Kingsley in the First World War has shaped Doyle’s later life as he clings to the hope that someday he will make contact with his late son, along with a raft of other deceased relatives.

Haig has flashes of real brilliance as his grief overcomes him and as he despairs at his need for Houdini to believe as much as he does. He is convinced that the dead are “all thoroughly enjoying a better life now”. It’s his comfort.

The bravado of Fraser’s Houdini is that of a brash showman. Whilst his own grief at the loss of his mother is acute, he is committed to knowing the truth. He doesn’t want to be “popular”, but instead believes himself to be “universal”. His idolisation of Doyle makes his descent into scepticism all the more brutal in his attempts to rip Doyle’s beliefs to shreds. He readily admits to being a fake – “it’s what makes him so good at exposing them”.

The small company struggle to fill the vast Chichester stage, and one can’t help but think how much better this might have been in the intimacy of Chichester’s smaller Minerva space. The subject matter is intriguing, and performances are strong, particularly from Haig and Fraser, but its plodding pace and under-executed Vaudevillian concept leave you feeling short-changed.