Review: Murder, He Didn’t Write, Tobacco Factory Theatres – ‘A delightfully daring whodunnit knees-up romp’

Touring the UK, from the West End to the South West, and celebrating Bristol Pride with a flamboyant gender-flipped show that’s riddled with meta-comedy, Degrees of Error bring their Edinburgh Fringe sell-out show, Murder, He Didn’t Write to Tobacco Factory Theatres.

Usually presented as Murder, She Didn’t Write, this deliriously daft improvised production has one element that never changes: foul play is afoot, and the detective/narrator’s selected audience member as his incompetent assistant, Jerkins, is pivotal in deciding who kills who. Apart from that, every facet of plot and character is under question.

Questioning the audience, the overarching plot of tonight, ultimately chosen by Jerkins (the audience member, who is given a detective-like hat that instantly ‘Watsonises’ him) comes down to several popular options. One audience member suggests the uncovering of a new dinosaur, another a cycling race, and another a Tiddlywinks competition.

Already, these options seem absurdly unstageable. How on Earth could an improvisation, not planned, scripted or particularly directed, about a Tiddlywinks competition be at all entertaining? Yet somehow, it proves to be a night of non-stop laughter, owing to the incredibly quick-witted cast, with standout improvisational prowess and riffing rebuttals along the way.

Photo from a previous production of Murder, She Didn’t Write, Degrees of Error – photo: Pamela Raith

Worthy of a particular mention in this improvised narrative – and every show is, of course, unlike any other – are Rachel Proctor-Lane’s raunchy ‘Roger Red’ and Peter Baker’s Daisy – a German seductress and professional Tiddlywinker (from the side of the family that gives their children English names).

Two other components – chosen by the audience – are also woven into the plot, in this case a wide brimmed hat, with a dinosaur pattern.

One of the funniest components of this production is the cast’s constant stitching up of one another. When asked what the prize of the Tiddlywink’s competition, one replies “there are five, and written in German, Daisy why don’t you read them for us…”. Only for Baker to later get his own back when reminiscing on letters Daisy and another character, Eunice, have supposedly sent each other about Bristol. Daisy tells him to recite them, cunningly reminding him that they were written in rhyme.

Ensemble from a previous production of Murder, She Didn’t Write, Degrees of Error – photo: Pamela Raith

With costume malfunctions becoming accidentally fundamental to the plot, such as grandmother violet’s wonky breast explained by “arthritis of the boob”, and this feature later being pivotal evidence as to why she’s innocent of murder – the speed and sharpness of the wit of the cast are what keeps the show not just afloat, but hilarious and gripping.

One especially funny exchange unravels from the use of “Tiddly-stink”, which cascades into an endless chain of insults from the accusatory “you should go in the Tiddly-clink” and then “I don’t want to hear from your Tiddly-twink of a son”.

And don’t worry, arthritis of the boob won’t be pivotal to the next show, so you won’t find spoilers here. The proceedings end with our detective-narrator cleverly pointing out that, while they apologise if you didn’t enjoy the show, it’s different every time, imploring us all, lovers and haters alike, to come to the next one.

On top of the array of complex and farcical characters, the music and lighting are improvised too, becoming a performance in and of themselves. Some scenes end abruptly and unexpectedly, tickling both the audience and cast. Others are led by the piano score, steering the actors to more dramatic conclusions.

This perhaps explains the madcap array of murder weapons, the victim having fallen from Cabot Tower, their neck sliced open with a wide-brimmed-hat-made-tiddlywink, choked with the winning medal, shot in the abdomen, later crushed by a piano and the grass around the body having ‘suspiciously’ grown a millimetre taller.

Murder She (- and in this case – He) Didn’t Write is defined by its cast whose wit, slapstick movement and thespian expertise coalesce into this improvisational installation; a creation that affords audience members no more than 30 seconds without howling with laughter. Avoiding the cringey elements that improv can sometimes offer, the cast are perfectly poised to deliver a night of constant giggles, no matter the setting, event, or indeed array of murder weapons.

Who knows what the next mystery could be entail? A hot air balloon race? A snail petting zoo with suspicious discharge? An American mobster who drowned whilst climbing a tree? Anything is possible in this delightfully daring whodunnit knees-up romp. This gender-flipped extravaganza, pride month or not, is a great reason to be out, in more ways than one.

 

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Murder, He Didn’t Write is at Tobacco Factory Theatres on July 8-9 at 7.30pm, as part of Bristol Pride. Tickets are available at www.tobaccofactorytheatres.com.

Murder, She Didn’t Write is at Bristol Old Vic on November 12-15 at 7.30pm. Tickets are available at www.bristololdvic.org.uk. Follow @murderhedidnt for updates and future performances.

Main photo: Degrees of Error

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