Murder Most Mediocre
Phoenix Theatre's "The Mousetrap"
** (out of *****)
Mark S.P. Turvin
(w) 965-1021  (h) 894-5443
I can be reached for comment via e-mail at: mspt@asu.edu

	On November 25, 1952, Agatha Christie's "The Mousetrap" 
opened at the Ambassador's Theatre in London to rave reviews. It 
has been playing continuously since that day, and is now the 
world's longest running play. Filled with Agatha Christie's 
typical gimmickry and plot twists, this play was, according to the 
author, her most "conventional play." It's surprise twists and 
ending made it great fun for audiences at the time. 
	Now, more than thirty-three years later, some of the luster 
and surprise has worn off the piece. That doesn't stop those balmy 
Brits from going to see what is their equivalent of America's "Oh, 
Calcutta," or smaller theatres around our country from mounting 
the show. And so, Phoenix Theatre has jumped onto the bandwagon, 
offering a production that can't decide whether it's a comedy or a 
mystery, and winds up failing at both in the process.
	The play takes place in 1948 at the newly-opened guest house 
of the Ralston's, who are taking a first crack at running a 
hostelry. Their first set of guests are an odd assortment, from a 
nit-picky former barrister to a flighty, foppish architect, with 
all other sorts in between. Each seems to have a strange 
connection to a recent murder, and an even nastier case of child 
neglect and homicide a few years prior. Upon the arrival of a 
police sergeant, everyone begins to act even more suspicious, and 
the body count grows. Revealing any more would be a spoiler, but 
the play is filled with Agatha Christie's trademark plottiness and 
implied connectedness, and offers an interesting and unexpected 
twist ending.
	The script itself hasn't aged well, though. We've seen a lot 
of this done in homages and ripoffs, so the play that started it 
all now seems stale. It may be the fault of the imitators, but 
that doesn't stop the fact that everything seems uncannily 
familiar. Even worse, Gary Griffin's direction of the piece seems 
indecisive, shifting between the ever-present comedy and the all-
encompassing suspense without allowing both to coexist in a given 
scene. The production is further undermined by half-hearted acting 
and generally wretched accents that fade in and out like a bad 
telephone connection. 
	The best of the actors is undoubtedly Michael Tassoni, whose 
portrayal of the foppish and off-kilter Christopher Wren never 
ceases to be funny. Mr. Tassoni's trademark laugh, a bit too 
reminiscent of Tom Hulce's in "Amadeus," and his flightiness would 
work well in the show if others were there to interact and react, 
but he winds up stealing the show from the others, though through 
no fault of his own. Shana Bousard's proper inn keeper, Mollie 
Ralston, gives a solid, though unremarkable performance, as does 
Sylvia Amundsen as the former barrister Mrs. Boyle, and Sally Jo 
Bannow as the androgynous Miss Casewell. 
	Sadly off were two normally solid actors, Bob Sorenson as 
Detective Sergeant Trotter, sent to figure out the mystery, and 
Gerald Burgess as the stuffy Major Metcalf. Mr. Sorenson seemed 
preoccupied in his portrayal of the inquisitive policeman, never 
taking command of the show. Mr. Burgess seemed very restrained in 
a role that afforded him the chance to play the stuffy old fool. 
	As the mysterious, uninvited guest Mr. Paravincini, whose 
name implied Italian, but whose accent inexplicably implied India, 
Mike Lawlor played his character at one level, and his accent 
unnecessarily confounded an already confused audience. Mr. Lawlor 
sounded more like the manager of a Circle K than a mysterious 
international figure. Just plain bad was Jason Kuykendall as 
Mollie Ralston's mysterious husband Giles, whose accent shifted 
from English to Scottish to Irish as easily as if he'd bought a 
ferry ticket. 
	Kudos go to Geof Eroe, whose set was absolutely marvelous, 
recreating a great hall at a British ancestral home in a way that 
wound up being a letdown when compared to the rest of the show. 
The magisterial room seemed empty most of the time, even when 
actors were onstage. Also great was Paul Black's lighting, which 
set mood and mystery even when the plot and actors were unable to. 
	Alot of the blame for this off performance seems to lead back 
to Gary Griffin. The first act punched the comedy of the 
situation, and then, without warning, the show's second act 
dropped the comedy completely to concentrate on the suspense. Mr. 
Griffin handled the blocking well, but seemed to have forgotten 
about script interpretation, pacing and character study. How he 
could have let Mr. Lawlor confuse the audience about his 
character's origins, or Mr. Tassoni brightly outshine the rest of 
the cast is the real mystery. 

Production Details:
"The Mousetrap" by Agatha Christie
Phoenix Theatre, Phoenix
254-2151
March 29-April 14, 1996

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