A NIGHT of stylish bedazzlement seems assured when the curtain rises on an impressive art deco set and female characters waft on stage in beautiful period clothes, but despite the best efforts of the cast and injections of comedy, this revival of one of Agatha Christie’s earliest plays becomes bogged down in tedious dialogue.
The post-dinner murder by poisoning of a physicist engaged in nuclear research happens in view of the audience, after some confusing switching of coffee cups among guests assembled in his library where it transpires that a scientific formula is missing. Poirot, already summoned to deal with the theft, arrives to find the body slumped in a chair.
Jason Durr adopts the Belgian detective’s characteristic mannerisms, but beneath the trademark moustache and dapper suit looks too young and fit to be entirely convincing.
Best performances come from Deborah Grant, as the dead Sir Claud’s gracefully ageing sister, a mix of Edwardian charm and witty faux pas; Felicity Houlbrooke, as his forthright and flirtatious niece; and Robin McCallum, an uptight Hastings unwinding at the latter’s come hither remarks.
Pru Farrier
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