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Ten little
thriller boys
And then there were none
Coventry Belgrade
**** IF
you want to catch a good thriller, even today you can scarcely do
better than ever-reliable Agatha Christie. And if you
want to catch that authentic Christie feel, then who better today than
the authentic Agatha Christie Company? The versatile touring ensemble
was devised nearly a decade ago by Bill Kenright. Directed on each occasion by
the masterful Joe Harmston, a seasoned Christie expert, this is surely
the ensemble to give you the real, traditional flavour of the good
dame’s wily, elusive, and intriguing plots. Simon Scullion’s partly Art
Deco set places the action comfortably in the end 1930s, which is when
this reading of And Then There Were None (the company also toured
this play in 2008, before Witness for the Prosecution, Murder
on the Nile and several others) is set. Harmston’s director’s notes
are exemplary in giving the appropriate historical feel, and laying out
how the play, which Agatha Christie scripted herself based on her 1939
novel, hit the London stage (St. James’s, then the heftier Cambridge
Theatre) in 1943, with one or two major changes (a love finale) to allow
for wartime sensitivities; others are necessary today; then reached New
York’s Broadway within weeks of the 1944 Normandy landings. And was
thrice filmed (1945/65/75), with varying levels of success. Having taken so much trouble
over her text, Christie rightly saw it as one of her most successful
plots, in which ten characters in an isolated venue are wiped out one by
one: a kind of reversal of Murder on the Orient Express: here the
personnel are extinguished one after another; in the former, almost all
the characters are the perpetrators. Joe Harmston’s production,
like the set, is deliberately relatively straightforward, amusing,
periodically fast-moving and fun. Several of the demises of the hapless
guilty victims are played as frankly comic and lightweight. Possibly
here and there, it lightens the drama too much. The moments Harmston rightly
and highly successfully saves for the greatest tension centres on two
cogently played characters, Paul Nicholas as the High Court judge, Sir
Lawrence Wargrave, and former soldier Captain Philip Lombard (Ben Nealon).
Both give hugely vivid, confident performances from start to finish. As Christies aficionados and readers of the novel will know, each of the ten disparate characters, including the villain/villainess (insomuch as there can be said to be one), is personally and historically flawed; each has already effected, with whatever degree of malignity, a crime that amounts actually or virtually to causing death, though the degree of culpability varies. Each gives some kind of
summary of his or her fault, and either expresses, or does not express,
guilt. There are arguably a few
drawbacks: the ‘And then there were none’ poem, though visible to the
ten characters on a shabby wall hanging (facing an equ Since each sinister line holds
clues to the often grisly method of death, that’s a crucial detail for
us and for them. Arguably the sinister proclaimed mode of death should
be built up to, artfully designed and prefaced, in every case. The white statuettes (soldierettes)
which crumble one by one – ‘and then there were five’, etc.) are too
small, so their removal brings little tension and is understated. Thus
two key aspects of the drama are treated casually, even slightly
apologetically. The tension is inexplicably played down. Apart from the impressive grand window at the rear of Act One, which serves mainly as a first entrance for the characters, there is no visually significant or imposing entrance. Simon Scullion’s partly Art Deco set places the action comfortably in the end 1930s. All three other routes are
side entrances, with nothing distinguishing. So the chances for the
discovery of the bodies, or the last chokings of the doomed character
him (or her) self, several times pale into insignificance. Are we
intended by Christie to find the first death (Paul Hassall’s Anthony
Marston, poisoned at the close of Act I) or the third (Eric Carte’s
General MacKenzie) just a bit of a hoot? I doubt it. Susan Penhaligon’s demise (the
aged Miss Emily Brent, thought to be dead, then clearly not, then
quickly excised by hypodermic) is a good one, precisely because of this
unpleasant paradox (is she, isn’t she?), and because her character is so
unpleasant and judgmental; the most bizarre, the Judge, is played as a
piece of pure Expressionism, swathed in garish scarlet and very
effective – and relevant – too. But the executions of Ethel
Rogers (Judith Rae) or her hapless husband, the temporary butler Rogers
(Frazer Hines), which offer scope for a modern-style ekkuklema
(wheeling out the body, Athens style) or even more the ‘discovery’ of
Rogers’s corpse (felled gruesomely by an axe) surely deserved more
impact than mere announcement by a third part. The offstage (drowned)
Doctor effectively disappears. William Blore, the (as it turns out)
ill-fated detective, has been a central figure in the dialogue and
remains one of the (seemingly) last three candidates for the killer; yet
he too simply disappears. Some of this seems a little lazily conceived;
too easy-going.
Such less convincing efforts
contrast with the very alive and well managed buildup which Harmston
manages at the end: it centres on three characters (though not the
policeman), and culminates in three deaths. The dialogue, with elements
of monologue, is beautifully managed and delivered. The tension here,
partly because of the patent vulnerability of Verity Rushworth (as the
attractive young Vera Claythorne), is palpable and dramatic. With
elements of the unexpected, and all grippingly directed, these exchanges
work tremendously well. So there at last we were
really on the edge of our seats. And enough now of reservations: this
was a vividly enjoyable, fun-infused production, given the good,
old-fashioned Mousetrap treatment. The packed first night
audience at the Why? Harmston’s carefully
handled, well-rehearsed, often inventive cast delivers admirably. Quick
cues at the outset from the It has to be said that easily
the most strikingly presented sequence early on is the monologue where
Paul Nicholas’s shrewd Judge Wargrave seeks to unravel the likely
thought behind the terrifying goings-on, and the map out the rationale
of the killer. Because the Judge has a
similar unravelling role to play later on, this creates a kind of
balance in the drama – a particularly strong matching feature round
which the action more or less centres. Each of the dramatic scenes is
both inspiring and chilling: wisdom and uncanny insight fused with
unease. I’d like to have seen more of
Jan Knightley (here in the affable small role of Fred Narracott), here a
kind of glorified delivery boy - possibly understudy - but who has a
distinct presence and strong speech. Mark Curry produced a slightly
dotty, clearly conscience-ridden Doctor Armstrong. More forcible was
Colin Buchanan’s blunt detective, unearthed early on and particularly
strong on terse one- or two-liners as the action builds up. But it is the splendid
doggedness of Ben Nealon’s Philip Lombard, determined to penetrate the
truth and unlucky narrowly to fail in his quest, whose clarity of
delivery and patient searching makes him one of the most
attention-deserving characters.
Which leaves Vera. We are so
nearly persuaded that the well-meaning, honest-hearted, supportive Vera
may, against all expectations, be the secret executioner. And Verity
Rushworth’s playing of her – one of a handful of characters memorably
well dressed by Costume Designer Roberto Surace – does let us believe
she could kill, in the most graphic of ways. The finale, for whatever
reason, is hers, and she carries it off winningly and superbly. To
21-02-15 Roderic Dunnett
16-02-15
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ally
crinkly painting), is not readable by the audience.