Murder and mystery
plays have become more complex since the days of Agatha
Christie, when the important thing was just to keep the
audience puzzled and to hell with the characterisation.
Now thriller writers are not only heavily into
characterisation but abnormal psychology, and Richard
Harris is no exception as he goes about The Business of Murder at
the Duchess. He does of course observe the
Christie ground rules of keeping the audience guessing
and he does take an awfully long time to set the whole
thing up in the first act, when we are far from certain
about the connection between his three characters - the
creepy, slimy Stone, the lady television playwright whom
he has persuaded to visit his flat to give advice about
his dying wife’s own writing capabilities, and the
jovial but cynical police superintendent who has
likewise called by request to investigate a drug’s
matter connected with Stone’s son.
But after the interval matters perk up and
considerably, spurred by our realisation that there is
no wife, no son, that the relationship between
playwright and policeman is very close indeed and that
both of them have an even darker relationship with
Stone, who turns out to be a man broken by his arrest
for a murder of which he was innocent, the event being
dramatised for all the nation to see by the playwright.
What we are observing is Stone’s revenge, an
elaborate framing of his two enemies, and Francis
Matthews makes an excellent job of depicting Stone’s
concealed glee at his own cleverness, with Lynette
Davies as the writer gradually losing her cool and
George Sewell as the tough copper who refuses to get
rattled. It is a play with some disturbing
moral undertones beneath its surface trickery, tightly
directed by Hugh Goldie in John Page’s humdrum suburban
setting.