THE MOUSETRAP

New Zealand Listener, Volume 37, Issue 937, 26 July 1957, Page 8

THE MOUSETRAP

N a little piece he wrote about the horrors of full-time reviewing, George Orwell said that it involves constantly inventing reactions towards books about which one has no spontaneous reactions

whatever. Faced with the need to say something about The Mousetrap, the Agatha Christie play which is being toured by the New Zealand Players, I begin to feel a little like Mr Orwell’s

reviewer-even though I quite enjoyed the play and thought it was well produced. What is The Mousetrap about? Giles and Mollie Ralston are a young couple who have started a guest house in an old manor. As the guests arrive, soon to be snowbound, one of the topics of conversation is the news from London: a woman has been murdered and the

killer is still at large. The guests are odd types -I think "types" is the word-and in_ isolation their reactions to one another™ and to their hosts are interesting enough. Then out of the snow comes a police officer with a warning that at least one of them may be in danger from the murderer. Who is he? Will he strike again? With everyone suspect, there’s plenty of tension, especially just before the denouement. Undoubtedly Richard Campion has handled the Play with skill. Whether on reflection you will find it credible is an-

other matter, but he shouldn’t be blamed for that. All round, the cast is as competent as any I have seen the Players assemble. Mollie Ralston is not as demanding a part as some Brigid Lenihan had with the Commonwealth Players, but it calls for a fairly subtle range of emotions, Miss Lenihan covers this range with impressive ease and has a particularly good stage presence. In the florid part of an Italian (an unexpected guest), Basil Clarke shows a considerable talent for impersonation, though he sometimes yields to the temptations of a role of rather extravagant sinuosity. Kenneth Adams, another genuine character actor, is completely convincing as a fellow we've all met, arty, scatty, on the run from life. Michael Cotterill, Bernard Shine and Paddy Frost turn in their usual competent performances, and two newcomers, Terence Bayler and Freda Wilson, are also adequate. Several of the characters come close to caricature, but they do develop, and to some extent, expose themselves under the stress of the central situation; and up to a point they are interesting in themselves. The final impression, how-ever-and this is the cause of my fit of Reviewer’s Dismay-is that they have been used by the author in a mental exercise of no more lasting interest than a riddle or a jigsaw puzzle. It’s no criticism of the Players-except for choosing The Mousetrap-that the further I get away from this play the louder the clank of its bare bones becomes. I imagine that only the confirmed thriller addict, at home and happy with all the tricks and conventions of this type of entertainment, is likely to be really satisfied; and it astonishes-and de-presses-me to hear that in London The Mousetrap has been running for five

years.

F.A.

J.