Words by Melissa Blease | Production Images by Manuel Harlan
Blockbuster crime writer Agatha Christie’s Death on the Nile: the 17th of 33 to feature the undisputed master of the art of methodic abductive reasoning Hercule Poirot, set on a steamer tour along the River Nile from Shallal to Wadi Halfa and regularly topping multiple ‘Top Ten Poirot Yarns of All Time’ since its publication in 1937.
But now that we’re all armchair experts on the grubby, gritty, ‘real-life reality’ of gory Netflix crime dramas and the people who solve them, can a good old-fashioned stage version murder-mystery feed our fascination for felony? If you get on board with Fiery Angel’s deluxe new production of this grand old dame of thrillers, directed by Lucy Bailey and adapted for the stage by Ken Ludwig, that particular conundrum is very speedily solved in the affirmative.
For those who don’t know the plot, a collection of well-heeled individuals gather in the British Museum to celebrate the return of a precious sarcophagus to the Egyptian government before taking to a luxury paddle steamer to escort said sarcophagus on its return journey down the Nile. But what with Hercule Poirot on the guest list and his fellow cruise companions being laden with all manner of complicated inter-personal wranglings, we know that we’re setting sail for troubled waters.
It can’t be easy to take on the role of Christie’s most eminent leading man when an illustrious roll call of actors including Albert Finney, Peter Ustinov, Orson Wells, John Malkovich, Kenneth Branagh and, of course, David Suchet have all been there and done that before you; in a similar fashion to how actors offered the role of James Bond must feel, there must be a sense of walking in somebody else’s shoes and hoping you can fit them to your feet.
But Mark Hadfield has slipped into Poirot’s shiny patent spats very comfortably indeed, putting his own subtle spin on all the peculiar foibles and mannerisms that Christie so carefully imbued into a character that so many of us know and love today despite Christie, towards the end of her career, referring to him as an “insufferable, detestable, bombastic, tiresome, ego-centric little creep”. Hadfield’s Poirot kicks the smug arrogance to the kerb in favour of a more benign, affable character that you could easily befriend over drinks on an an all-inclusive cruise: articulate and clever, for sure, but gently self-deprecating and not in the least bit egotistical.
In Ludwig/Bailey’s adaptation, Glynis Barber’s Salome Otterbourne is less of the harpy that moved Poirot, in Christie’s original yarn, to refer to her as “that odious woman” and more of an eccentric, rich and rather charming flighty-arty, setting her sights from the get-go on Terence Wilton’s over-the-hill classical actor Septimus Troy. Between them, the pair create several deliciously lighthearted little sub-plots of their own.
Elsewhere, Libby Alexandra-Cooper shimmers (literally! Oh, those frocks!) as wealthy, entitled aristo-philanthropist Linnet Ridgeway, leaving her new husband Simon (Nye Occomore, who subtly channels Another Country-era Rupert Everett throughout) in her shadows. As Linnet’s former best friend (and Simon’s former fiancée) Jacqueline de Bellefort, Esme Hough brings the drama and then some, skipping between incensed spurned lover and vulnerable victim on the turn of a silk-strapped high heel.
The list of name checks could go on and on as each member of the flawlessly tight ensemble contribute character and intrigue to the complicated plot in equal measure, presenting a united front of a bevy of glamorous, impeccably-dressed characters toying, tantalising and trifling with our own suppositions as a dastardly deed is committed (of course!) and Poirot pulls every last tiny scrap of evidence together to reach his dazzling denouement – and the fact that the resolution still moves to astonish even if you know whodunnit all along is further testament to the Ludwig/Bailey/Hadfield magic.
Talking of magic, full credit must also be given to designer Mike Britton’s elegantly understated split-level set, a tad more claustrophobic and dimly-lit than one would expect of a depiction of a paddle steamer cruising a majestic landscape but which gives us plenty of sliding louvre doors behind which key moments are overhead, concealed and revealed as the plot steams along. As for Sarah Holland’s costumes: if you want to lose yourself in a leading lady’s glitter, glamour, sequins and sparkles, you’ve come to the right place, while clever little Christie/Poirot-centric in-jokes dotted hither and thither across Ludwig’s witty, fast-paced script adds further frolics to proceedings even as we sail into distinctly dark waters.
For those of us who still don’t know who actually dunnit, there be no spoilers here; let’s just say that this production offers a gripping, up-close-and-personal analysis of the sorry circumstances surrounding a suspicious death that easily competes with a Netflix box set binge – with no better conquering hero to guide you along the journey.
Death on the Nile is showing at Theatre Royal Bath until 25 October