And Then There Were None

The Genesian Theatre
By Agatha Christie / Directed by Debbie Smith, Jenny Jacobs
Reviewed by Adam Norris

In the interest of journalistic integrity, I should probably mention that I’m on drugs as I write this.

It’s not as exciting as it sounds. I’m not indulging in the hedonism we all like to imagine the writer’s of Rolling Stone enjoy, no psychedelic colours or insight into the true nature of the universe; just hardcore painkillers and litres of orange juice after crippling my left foot in my sleep. Yes, not only are they totally unglamorous drugs, but I don’t even have an exciting story to go with my injury. You may wonder, and rightly so, why I would bother mentioning this at all given my subconscious desire to play Tiny Tim didn’t reveal itself until after the production of The Genesian Theatre’s And Then There Were None had occurred and the review had been written. Just prior to sending the piece away, you see, our house underwent an electrical surge and my computer died. Farewell creative writing; farewell reviews; farewell history of questionable websites. I had hoped the recovery process would be said and done by now, but alas it seems the gremlins in my machine haven’t had enough silly-buggers yet, and so I’m writing this again several days down the line through a lens of dulled responses and screaming tendons. Right! Now that we know where each other stands …


I have been an Agatha Christie fan ever since my grandmother would swap bedtime-story detail with my mother and supplement my reading of The Magic Far-Away Tree with gems like The Murder of Roger Ackroyd, The Mirror Crack’d From Side to Side, and of course, And Then There Were None, though back then the latter was still known by its original, less politically-correct title. In the Year Three book parade I dressed up as a miniature Hercule Poirot and proudly marched beside an armada of wizards, vampires, and Babysitters Club devotees. Even back then, and despite the absence of that renowned Belgian detective, ATTWN was one of my favourite stories. It took the locked-room mystery and transplanted it to a secluded island with enough eccentric characters to satisfy even the most die-hard of British whimsy aficionados: debonair adventurers, quick-witted secretaries, absent-minded military men, aloof doctors. Christie threw them all into the mash and created one of the most popular stories of all time, and it’s a real delight to see The Genesian Theatre undertake the story with such relish and creativity.

It seemed clear that the cast were enjoying themselves immensely. The array of characters is such an unlikely mix of archetypes that one would really have to struggle not to find each one endearing in their own fashion. The only general drawback to how these characters are framed is Christie’s heavily expositional dialogue - when her creations talk, it’s as though they are only really noticing the world for the first time and have to give each statement some kind of context. There are very unnatural rhythms to speech here, due in part to the era in which ATTWN is set and in part the overly-clarifying dialogue, but rather than try and contemporise the storyline the cast embraces the eccentricities of the play wholeheartedly to give a performance that is sheer escapism and sheer entertainment.

To be sure, there are occasions when the melodrama threatens to upset the tone of the play – Lizzie Petrie as secretary / love interest Vera Claythorne and Clare Martin as the aloof Dr Edwina Armstrong had moments of awkwardness when they seemed unsure of how a certain line was to be delivered, and some of the more credibility-stretching murders struggled not to disappear entirely into farce – but part of what makes this style of theatre such a treat is the ridiculousness of its pacing, the knowing winks to the audience about who will be bumped off next. Alec Hartnell, for instance, portrayed a hilariously exaggerated Anthony Marsden, the young gadabout emblematic of an age preoccupied with momentum and excess, extravagant in both habit and speech. The award for the most bizarre performance – and I mean this in a positive manner – must go to Jon Prowse for his role as Detective Blore. Before Blore’s identity is revealed he attempts to pass himself off as a South African gentleman, and Prowe’s accent hovers somewhere on the meridian of Johannesburg and Transylvania. Of course, such a curious accent helps to emphasise his role as outsider, but also serves to keep the audience suspicious, and it is here that the real strength of Debbie Smith’s direction comes to light. Given that ATTWN is the most popular murder-mystery of all time I feel it is safe to assume that many in the audience will be familiar with the plot, but the cast manage to keep the levels of suspicion towards their fellow houseguests sustained for the entirety of the performance and as such, one can’t help but be swept up in the fun and intrigue of what happens next. The crew does a superb job of maintaining the melodramatic illusion; the lighting and stage design work well, and the deliciously baroque score was employed magnificently.

This is not my favourite use of the source material, however. When Christie was first asked to adapt the novel she altered the ending to give a happier, more theatre-ready production. I have always felt that the revised finale tends to ruin what is otherwise a spectacularly structured mystery. Robert Drew excelled in the key role of Sir Lawrence Wargrave, yet by the end of the play his character arc has disintegrated into that of a cheap parlour magician. This is certainly through no fault of either Drew or Smith – after all, you work with what you are given – but still, it casts a pall on an otherwise engrossing character.

A note on the theatre itself: I had wandered past the theatre many times wondering what the interior would look like. From the outside there is something vaguely Masonic about the building; you expect to enter and find yourself illuminated by gaslight as an usher in a Herringbone suit leads you to an inner sanctum to perform some strange cabal beneath ancient chandeliers. The reality is not too far off the mark and serves as an astonishing venue to perform the weird and macabre. The Genesian is a renovated church, and the walls still bear stained-glass illustrations of Saints. In place of a pulpit a stage has been erected, and the ceiling is a remarkable sight that puts one in mind of an upturned ship, all intersecting wooden beams and concave roof. Indeed the similarity to being trapped inside an overturned boat (a kind of 19th Century Poseidon Adventure) serves the play well; the sense of claustrophobia these characters experience becomes something real, the soundtrack of screeching gulls and ocean swells enhancing the notion we are lost somewhere out at sea.

This is community theatre, which tends to be a byword for bombastic performances and unremarkable direction. Though of course The Genesian lacks the budget to stand alongside the plays on offer at, say, the STC, it nevertheless strives to present serious theatre arranged by people who are both professional and passionate about what they do. This can sometimes backfire; some of the props used were questionable, culminating in a plastic gun that accidentally shattered on the floor right at the climax. But then, this is theatre; this is what the imagination is for.

Cast: Stewart Stubbs, Paul Barbary, Jessica Mestre, Michael Faustmann, Lizzie Petrie, Alec Hartnell, Jon Prowse, Rod Stewart, Prudence Vindin, Robert Drew, Clare Martin, Paul Gilbert
Directors: Debbie Smith, Jenny Jacobs
Set Design: Debbie Smith
Costume Design: Nicola Griggs and Susan Carveth
Lighting & Sound Design: Michael Schell
Stage Manager: Chris Wood