Death by Boredom

And Then There Were None’s murder mystery kills.
by Andria Regan
Rating: 2 out of 5

If I were a superhero, and my power was to control time, I’d shorten my life by two weeks and donate it to The Dreamhouse Ensemble to prepare for their current production of And Then There Were None, by Agatha Christie. At first I was giddied by the idea of an old school whodunit, visions of Angela Lansbury dancing in my head. But the moment the play’s intermission came, and I realized it wasn’t over, something inside me died and I knew there was no way superheroes could exist in a world of such continued badness. Dramatics aside, it was terribly disappointing.

Mrs. Christie wastes no time in her set-up for obvious mischief and murder by assembling 10 strangers on a remote island, each arriving under suspicious invitation, and no host in sight or screaming distance. The characters are written to be awkward in their extreme differences, ranging from hired help (Adam Wasser, Jennifer Sindell and Bill Garnett) to undercover police (Stuart Barron) to cool, random party guy (Christopher Glenn Cannon) and prissy, God-fearing bitch (Sarah Zimmitti). It only takes a couple of murders and a creepy nursery rhyme hung on the mantle for the bunch to realize they’re in the midst of a madman’s game.

The plot is so completely improbable, however, there’s no point in wasting energy trying to make guesses as to the killer’s identity; the best indicator of guilt is survival, and so the audience is left to wait out each murder. Christie relies heavily on her players’ ability to create interesting characters and moody atmosphere, without which the play falls 10 stories flat. The first indication of catastrophe comes with the awkward combining of genres: the production dares to coordinate mammy shawls with hipster aviator glasses. WTF?

I never got a grasp of what style they were shooting for, exactly. Christie writes square pegs, whereas the production is a gaping, circular hole. Each character is none too distinctive, missing the easy ‘A’ for eccentric tendencies. Names were lost in the casts’ own confusion, several times improvising corrections as to who was who. If I wasn’t confused by the rambling twists and turns of the poor plot, I certainly was after the cast got their hands on it! And for the life of me, I don’t understand why kids these days don’t bother to cover up their tattoos when playing a character who has no business sporting a yin yang sign. (If you’re bruised up for any reason, you might want to slap some paint on that as well).

That said, there were distinct, if not short-lived, moments of triumph. Lorianne Hill works her ass off as the naïve yet scrappy secretary Vera Claythorne. She continues a heart-felt commitment till the end, never surrendering to the lacking production. And despite my disbelief in her love affair with Phillip Lombard (Jean-Phillipe Sassoli de Bianchi), Hill’s the closest I came to caring whether or not someone was bludgeoned to death. Carl J. Johnson delivers a genuine performance as the increasingly confused General MacKenzie, and I feel a sense of romantic tragedy when the geezer finally meets his willing death. As individuals, no one completely sucks, but this play requires a well-oiled ensemble to make any sort of run of it. Two more weeks might have made all the difference. No one seemed quite eager to be spending their Friday night on stage with the possible exception of Mr. Steve London, playing Judge Lawrence Wargrave, who at least gave it his voice, even if the words were thrown away. I dare any actor to declare they were never in a bad production (I especially dare The Dreamhouse Ensemble). But don’t take my word for it; as they say, one man’s trash is another man’s treasure. LAA

And Then There Were None at the Space, July 7 – August 20. $20, $15 online. (323) 465-7844. www.dreamhouseensemble.com