Arts > Theatre

The Mousetrap

Norwich Theatre Royal

09/07/19

Agatha Christie’s best-known whodunnit is famously the longest running play in the history of theatre, its longevity now largely a circular result of being the longest running play in the history of theatre. The artistic merit of the play has long since become irrelevant when set beside the need to satisfy curiosity and I was surely not alone in the Theatre Royal’s audience, keen to find out how things got to be that way. No obvious answer emerged, but then Christie herself was reportedly perplexed at the play success. Taken at face value, it’s a very ordinary murder mystery, requiring that its audience suspend disbelief to breaking point, with the reveal at the end that is inventive but unconvincing. Fortunately, Gareth Armstrong’s brisk production takes all of that on board, and positively delights in the creaking absurdity of the play that has been continuously performed since the early 50s, yet still holds its big secret close to its chest.
 
Armstrong’s ensemble cast looked to be having enormous fun chattering their way through acres of exposition in clipped, received pronunciation, delivering their lines with exactly the right degree of knowing humour, without ever quite lapsing into parody. Newcomer Lewis Chandler was particularly strong as the fey Christopher Wren, camping it up to hilarious effect yet managing to flesh out his role surprisingly effectively. Harriet Hare and Nick Biadon similarly injected life into what could easily have been a lifeless central couple, while David Alcock let loose a pleasingly ludicrous caricature of Mr Paravinci. Even Sgt Trotter, the token investigating officer who is so often a cipher for plot exposition, was invested with life and personality through Geoff Arnold’s quirky interpretation. Of all the performers, it was Gwyneth Strong’s star billing (notwithstanding that she is the best-known actor on stage) that felt a little odd given the even distribution of lines, but perhaps even this was just one more misdirection in a play full of twisty, turny red herrings. With the action taking place on a lovingly fashioned set bolstered by discreet well-judged sound design, this felt like a proper night out the theatre, knowingly old-fashioned and archly delivered. There were some lovely directorial touches – the description of the murderer’s clothes synchronised with the very same items being handled by the cast. The cheeky nods to anachronistic dialogue, thankfully retained while tacitly mocked. Most of all, the straightforward silliness of much of what was going on, to the extent that  Armstrong had me wondering along the way if the original text could really have said all that.
 
To say much more about the plot would only serve to diminish the pleasure of watching the play unfold, and I am conscious of inadvertently giving anything away that is best left unsaid. It is, in any case, not the narrative we should be focusing on, but the telling of it. Without taking liberties, the company had great fun playing at detectives in a way that was both infectious and beguiling. After the curtain call, and after the cast took their well-deserved applause, the murderer stepped forward, as I understand is traditional after all performances, and asked that the audience keep the ending a secret. In an age when that information is there for all to see, only a click of a mouse or a swipe of the phone away, this was one last conceit in an evening that felt more like immersive theatre than a straightforward play.