Two kinds of mysteries dominate the literary world. In every medium, we encounter stories of crime and detection — a dead body in the library; an old woman who deduces the murderer; the kind of thing Sherlock Holmes investigates, declaring, “The game is afoot!”
But another sense of mystery involves manifestations of the inconceivable — manifestations as varied as a Houdini underwater escape and the resurrection of Christ. This is the kind of thing St. Paul refers to when he writes, “Behold! I tell you a mystery. We shall not all sleep, but we shall all be changed….” Both mysteries–and more–put in an appearance in a gem of a production currently on stage at Houston’s Alley Theatre: Agatha Christie’s “And Then There Were None.”
Christie is most usually linked to the first kind of mystery: one where Hercule Poirot solves the “Murder on the Orient Express.” But in her 1939 novel that is the source for this play, a book published just two months after England entered World War II, she manages to take up mystery in both forms. In the book and the theatrical adaptation made by Christie herself in 1943, plenty of corpses litter the stage; almost every weapon in a “Clue” game does its work, and the audience tries to find “who-dun-it.” The plot set-up is devilishly simple: ten strangers are brought together on an isolated island only to find themselves falling prey one-by-one to an unknown killer.
But within her crime plot, Christie sets off another mystery: the realization that subtraction leads to addition. The more the victims succumb to their grisly fates, the more the play adds to the suspense and anxiety of the characters and the audience, the deeper it plunges into the psyche and history, mirroring — the war anxiety that British subjects on their island in 1939 must have felt as the invisible threat of the Luftwaffe began to manifest itself in nightly terror from the skies. This plunge into mystery leads to another: how could this writer’s imagination be so prescient?
Such thoughts may seem strained and overly abstract for a play that the Alley is using to celebrate the 30th anniversary of its “Summer Chills” productions, but in achieving a multiple immersion into mystery this production and the Alley’s cast and crew merit unambiguous praise. We are given our cake and something of substance to chew on, too. This happens because the production sticks closely to the script, returning to the original story line of Christie’s plot that is marked by bleakness and despair for an England trembling on the edge of World War II. It gives us a killer-thriller, a psychological portrait of living at the margins of national disaster, and also reminds us of the depths that can lurk in popular entertainment.
Director Elizabeth Williamson deserves a huge slice of the credit. She allows the play to have its slow, wooden start — the arrival of stereotyped characters the audience can’t help but give twitters of laughter. She keeps the exposition simple, using Christie’s device of a mysterious phonograph recording to explain the “crimes” that lie behind the stereotypes: the greedy servants, the careless surgeon, the reckless driver, the unethical judge, the self-righteous biddy, the cad of a military man, the jealous old general. And she gets the murders started, staging the action to give the audience no clue of who the killer is, slowly strangling the play’s early giggles and using sound and lighting effects for maximum benefit.
The large cast, mostly Alley regulars, play their roles well, and whether their characters are fated to be on stage for most of the show or make early “unplanned” departures, they make them breathe with life. Susan Koozin as the spinster Emily Brent is a prime example. She makes her every moment on stage matter, even if she’s only yawning and knitting in the background. She doesn’t eat the scenery; she defines it, enriches it —something her fellow cast members echo as they bicker, debate, drink, and wonder who will die next; “how can I avoid the victim being me?”
It’s an intentional plainness that the production pulls off at every turn. Nick Vaughan’s scenic design stresses this. At first look, it appears boringly art deco: uncomfortable furniture, concrete walls and banks of windows looking out on a vague horizon. But eventually, audience eyes will notice a startlingly white bear rug, splayed in front of a dead fireplace like the chalk outline of a murder victim — an ever-present reminder of what this place is all about. Similarly, Isabella Byrd’s lighting grows richer and darker as the play progresses, ending in Rembrandt-like blacks and shadows — the perfect arrival point for this plot.
Go to “And Then There Were None” for the usual escape of an intriguing murder mystery, but don’t be surprised if something more sneaks up on you. This is a delightful summer show none should miss.
“And Then There Were None” is at Houston’s Alley Theatre through Sept. 1.
Robert Donahoo is a professor at Sam Houston State University and writes theater reviews for The Courier.
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