It had a frame story of an Edwardian Music Hall, with a Master of Ceremonies using extravagantly alliterative language, which meant that the company could do a couple of song and dance numbers (and we all know how theatrical types love the opportunity to sing and dance). Then the story itself was introduced by the narrator, Marvel, the tramp of the original story. The purpose of this frame device seemed to be solely so that the singing and dancing could occur.
Otherwise the story was remarkably like the story in the original short novel by H G Wells (see my blog post here for a review). Set in the (real) Sussex village of Iping, a mysterious and much-bandaged stranger demands rooms at a local inn. He keeps himself to himself; inevitably rumours fly. His money runs out, at which point thefts occur at the local vicarage and then at the Post Office. Then it is revealed that he is ... invisible. Needing a confederate (though he is invisible, anything he steals is still visible, so he can be captured if people see, for example, banknotes apparently flying through the air) he recruits a reluctant Marvel the tramp as his first disciple. It transpires that he has megalomaniacal dreams of ruling the world in a reign of terror. Plans are made to capture him using a local GP, against whom he has a grudge, as bait.
The joy of the play on stage is, of course, the magic tricks that create the illusion of an invisible man. Thus, when the vicarage is robbed, drawers are opened, their contents rustle, pages are turned over, and, when the night-gowned Vicar comes to investigate, he is assaulted and a heavy bust is only just prevented from crashing down on his head. Just before the interval there is a wonderful moment when the invisible man, sitting (rather like the Phantom towards the end of Phantom of the Opera) in an armchair, unwinds the bandage from his head to show ... nothing. And near the end, when the IM dies, what seems to be an empty chair is covered with a cloth that clearly shows the outline of a man. And the final moment when the tramp drinks the invisibility potion and goes into a cabinet and slowly, before our eyes, dissolves into mist and then nothingness. Pure brilliance.
These moments of magic were well balanced by a comedy script, with ad libs. A woman in the audience was addressed and asked her name. Judy. “Where are you from, Judy?” “California.” “Sorry?” “California.” “No, I heard you the first time, I’m just sorry.” A really old joke but delivered with panache it still raises a laugh (and, of course, Judy was then referred to throughout the play).
Full marks to the theatre team for a very enjoyable afternoon’s entertainment.
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