Tag Archives: Freya Jackson

“The Haunting of Verity Evans” at the Hope Theatre

Freya Jackson’s play combines trauma, mental illness and ghosts. The writing is neat, the action intense and the twists original. It’s an intriguing premise from the start. Ellie ran away from an abusive home and, as an adult, has written about it. But her sister Verity stayed. It is a bold move to suggest that writing about trauma, a familiar therapeutic exercise, hasn’t helped Ellie to escape it.

She returns to meet a resentful Verity after many years and finds they have much to resolve. Their childhood home turns out to be, literally, haunted. And the sisters are inexplicably trapped in it by a locked door. There are some genuinely creepy moments that help to power the action along. There are also problems. The dialogue is too quirky too often. Yes, Verity is odd, and her sister is described as a “liability”, but their vocabulary is sometimes convoluted and the mind games they play too transparent.

Perhaps Ellie’s efforts to be sincere constrain the character? The performances – from Alex Dickson and Liberty Jackson – might also be more confident. The production would benefit from greater variety. The depictions of the sisters being cruel to or consoling each other need more time to develop.

In fairness, there is a point to Verity’s often muted delivery. Even when she explains that she is “cursed”, she does so calmly, which makes it scarier. And Ellie’s anxiety makes sense, too. But the short scenes in which the sisters “switch” roles don’t convince. Introducing these so clearly makes them easy to follow, but also takes away tension. They need more time and greater nuance to justify their inclusion.

Jackson has interesting ideas about the haunting, and the way the past can feel alive to those who have experienced trauma is intelligently explored. For a short piece that raises a lot of issues, she manages a strong conclusion that is neither predictable nor pat – and that is impressive.

Until 26 August 2026

www.camdenfringe.com