Death By Design

“Death By Design” by the American writer Rob Arbinati was billed as being a cross between Noel Coward and Agatha Christie. In truth it is probably closer to the absurd drama of Ionesco. Herein lies a problem for the audience, duly primed with this neat piece of marketing, are expecting something quite different from that with which they are presented. It took time for them to adjust to the strange goings on that seem to have only scant regard for the aforementioned giants of the stage. The characters have a tinge of Coward admittedly but I suspect the Master would be displeased with the comparison between this play and his “Design For Living '', nor would Agatha Christie have written such obviously ridiculous individuals. 

Set in an English drawing room in the decadent 1930s the plot concerns the goings on when playwright Edward Bennett and his wife Sorel are visited by a collection of strange guests. A murder ensues. But who has done the dastardly deed? We are presented with a series of ideas as to the identity of the culprit that lead us to conclude it could be anyone present despite the fact we think we have clearly seen the act carried out in front of our eyes. The script becomes tortuous and occasionally bizarre presenting difficulties for the actors to convince us of their rectitude.

Despite the flaws there was much to savour. Kelly Steed as the maid Brigit managed to rise above the nonsense and was a delight to watch. Her scenes with the chauffeur Jack, amiably played by Damian Marsh, were amusing and well targeted. Sorel, Lesey Haworth, was outstanding. Lesley created the part of a well to do grande dame with wit and style. Peter Lambert as Edward was given some very silly things to do. I would have liked to have seen more of that essential Cowardly attribute of bored detachment but for all that the audience warmed to him. The arrival of Eric, a bizarrely attired socialist firebrand, (whose reason for being there was never explained), added spice to the plot. Stephen Cooke has a wonderfully expressive face which he used to great effect. Poor Trevor Lord had to line supine on the sofa for some time before being shoved out of the way up the corner. When he was alive he gave us a spirited Walter Pearce. As eccentric (which of them were not?) Victoria Van Roth, Samantha Smith threw herself into the role with gay abandon drawing laughter and admiration for her antics. The final person to arrive, the erstwhile murderess, Alice, was played with determination by Wendy Watson. 

Director, Geralyn Lambert managed to muster her troops very well. The positioning around the stage was first class and her insistence on clear diction was impressive. Brian Haworth’s wonderful set added authenticity and the costumes reflected the characters’ idiosyncrasies beautifully,

Perhaps the audience did not whoop and laugh as much as the director had hoped, yet there was much to amuse in this highly innovative and entertaining production and oh boy, (and as Geralyn said in the programme), aren’t we glad to be back enjoying an evening out together again? 

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