Metro Pulse/Backstage/The Mousetrap

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What:
The Mousetrap

When:
Thursday through Saturday at 8 p.m. until Jan. 20.

Where:
Theatre Central, 141 S. Gay Street

$10 Friday and Saturday, $5 Thursdays and for seniors and students with I.D. Call 546-3926 for more information.

Theatre Central's take on a Christie classic is engaging

by Paige M. Travis

First of all, any professional theater that's been around as long as Mark Moffett's Theatre Central (13 years and still going strong) deserves a big round of applause. This town is fickle about the arts, and if Theatre Central can survive as long as it has, either somebody has deep pockets or they're doing a pretty darn good job. My guess is the latter; deep pockets don't stay that way for long in the theater business.

Having witnessed only a handful of shows at T.C., I can't say for sure whether their latest offering, The Mousetrap, is typical or telling. I do know the small stage doesn't change much from play to play. The one room tends to be either a parlor, bedroom or apartment. The setting lends itself to murder mysteries like Agatha Christie's 1952 play that takes place in the parlor of Monkswell Manor, a newly opened bed and breakfast. Mollie and Giles Ralston are first-time hosts, and they seem prepared for the challenge. Little do they know that a murder will take place in their midst and the killer will be one of their guests. I won't give away too much of the plot, which, like any murder mystery worth its salt, leads us in all directions with hints, red herrings and well-timed epiphanies.

The play is engrossing because we want to figure out who done it and why. Was it Giles, who lied to his wife about his trip to London the day before? Could it be the squirrelly Christopher Wren, who went AWOL from the Army? What about the strange Miss Casewell, who dresses like a man and answers every question with another question?

The most clever and entertaining aspect of the play is Christie's knowledge of the murder mystery genre and its necessary ingredients. Mr. Paravicini, played by Robby Griffith, is amusingly aware of his role; he points out (to viewers and his fellow guests) that he is the "uninvited guest," the suspicious character that no one knows anything about. Maybe that kind of post-modern self-awareness isn't cool anymore since Scream played upon the horror film archetypes, but I still enjoyed it. With his maniacal laugh and knowing smile, Griffith seemed to be enjoying himself as well.

Most of the actors fare tolerably with the fast-paced dialogue, although in an effort to be quick, they occasionally tripped on their own tongues. Margy Ragsdale is convincing as the manic Wren, who delights in the macabre and loves the nursery rhyme "Three Blind Mice" that the killer has used to foretell his (or her) crimes. Lisa Slagle plays Mrs. Boyle as a crotchety but almost lovable old biddy. Rick Patton, last seen as the creepy professor in the Bijou's Bus Stop, plays a raving Detective Sergeant Trotter, charged with figuring out the crime. His beady eyes and constant questioning remind us that no one in the inn is beyond suspicion (although—note to wardrobe—he would have been a more convincing authority figure if his double-breasted suit had fit better).

Agatha Christie was English; her play takes place in the English countryside. Her characters, unless their nationalities are specified otherwise, are English. So I can see how any director would ask/suggest/require that his actors assume English accents. But why, oh, why, must directors insist that an actor speak in an accent that makes Kevin Costner seem Shakespearean? When an accent is bad enough to be distracting, I say lose it. In this case it's the accent of Kristin Greene, who plays Miss Casewell. She assumes a sort of sing-songy guttural tone that I guess was supposed to bring to mind a stuffy Englishwoman. But when even she is distracted by her fake voice, it's a liability. I for one wouldn't care if the play had been spoken in American dialect. We're already using our imaginations to believe this is a collection of strangers stranded in an English guest house during a snowstorm. It won't tax our brains any more to imagine they're English. And just so you don't think I'm being unfair to local productions, my criticism goes for Hollywood too; I hate hearing Americans try and fail at foreign accents.

It's a small detail, but one of my favorite things about Theatre Central plays is their use of sound. In The Mousetrap, the inn's only connection with the outside world is through the phone and the radio, one of which rings loudly or blares classical music on cue. It's nice to be reminded that live entertainment doesn't have to be dazzling with smoke and lights and deafening sound systems. Live actors accompanied by a tape recorder can effectively tell a story, hold your attention and keep you guessing until the very end—which is how The Mousetrap succeeds.