Review of ‘Death On The Nile’: “New stage adaptation of Agatha Christie’s classic stays afloat despite added plot hole rocking the boat”

Following last year’s staging of one of her most prominent works, playwright Ken Ludwig and director Lucy Bailey team up again to revive another of Christie’s masterpieces. Guillermo Nazara shares his views on the show to let us know if their latest collaboration is slaying it, or instead just good enough to kill time.

There’s no mystery about the undying popularity of Agatha Christie’s murderous acts. I can’t say I’ve been fooled by most of them — the-least-unlikely-person-to-have-done-it-definitely-did-it rule applies in most cases, or at least the ones I’ve come across. Yet, there’s something fairly addictive about her work. Predictable or not, no one can deny her ability to craft an engaging plot. And even if you know what’s happening, you’re still enticed to see how it goes.

Maybe that’s the reason why people keep coming back. We don’t care that much about the twist, but more about the way the narrative unfolds. And so, a new production of her exotic killer of a story, Death On The Nile, is currently docked at the Richmond Theatre, as part of an extensive tour across the UK.

Reviving probably one of Christie’s most gripping and well-known executions of the genre, the production reunites the two lead criminal minds that gave us the latest staging of Murder On The Orient Express. It would be harsh to say that their previous iteration was a train wreck, but certainly a few things went off the rails with that version. One would think that this new attempt would constitute a repeat offence. Gladly, though, we can’t accuse them of butchering on this occasion. And the only true killing viewers will witness has been limited to the one in the recount — almost.

If you’re familiar with the title, you may be aware of its two major translations into the silver screen. First, we were captivated by John Guillermin’s (why does it seem like someone’s taking the piss out of my name?) glorious 1978 film. And a few years ago, Kenneth Branagh made every possible effort to show us how difficult it is to direct a film — and how easy it is to ruin an audience favourite, too.

The reason for that blatant fiasco was, primarily, his absurdly slow pacing combined with a signature sloppy use of overworked CGI shots — sacrificing the imperative intimacy of a whodunit for something that was not even pleasant to look at. Fortunately, director Lucy Bailey and playwright Ken Ludwig have restored the novel’s former grandeur — at least, partially.

Although the piece verges on camp more than desired, the performance’s overall feeling remains satisfactory. It may not be as uncanny as some might hope for, but its enigmatic aura prevails despite some decaffeinated acting. There’s no question that Ludwig has done his homework with this adaptation — and that it’s paid off on several levels. Thoroughly entertaining, the show honours Christie’s legacy by delivering a well-structured and sharply written script, maintaining all the key elements that made the book a classic in its own right.

The play opens with a reflective Poirot welcoming audiences into his next adventure. After the unsettling events uncovered in his latest trip from Istanbul, we are taken into the glitz and glamour of 1930s London, as the characters (and future suspects) gather around a Tutankhamun-like sarcophagus during a private soiree at the British Museum. The priceless item is soon to be returned to its country of origin (no hints intended), and with it, a lavish excursion across the Egyptian waters will follow.

Ludwig does a decent job of constructing the roles. All of them exhibit sufficient personality to go beyond the archetype, while also serving a clear purpose within the traditional framework of an ensemble thriller. There’s the annoying soon-to-be victim whose death nobody laments, to the point that the culprit could even be somebody sitting in the stalls (she did get to my nerves). There are the usual comic-relief parts, whose droll remarks counterbalance the account’s otherwise bleak undertone. And finally, his take on the iconic Hercule Poirot encapsulates some of the original character’s sass, still exuding wit despite a not-so-inviting tendency to dad humour.

Surprisingly, there’s only one homicide featured in this version. And with it, a plot hole almost as big as the one found in the corpse’s head. The absence of extra killings is not a problem per se. It’s true that some of that air of danger and disconcert evaporates when the sense of risk is no longer there, but on the whole, the story works.

What’s unforgivable, however, is to see the victim struggling with her assailant while crying out his name several times. We are supposed to think nobody heard it (unless, of course, everyone intentionally turned a deaf ear). And yet, he was careful enough to silence another shot in case he got caught. One may argue that the purpose of that sequence is to accentuate the drama. But then again, what’s more dramatic than shooting an innocent person in their most defenseless moment?

Despite these flaws, the production still comes off strong. Mike Britton’s extremely clever design seamlessly transports us throughout the recount’s universe with absolute deftness. A multi-functional two-storey structure transitions from a train station to the foyer of the British Museum’s Egyptian wing through the use of sliding panels and curtains — the same ones that later on take us across the boat’s many ambiences, securing the illusion with the addition of a few scattered props and the inclusion of a handrail descending from the rafters.

The company delivers its roles with adequate chemistry and ease. Mark Hadfield portrays a charming Poirot that exudes warmth and playfulness, while Occomore gives a convincing rendition of the double-faced Simon. Some performances, nonetheless, feel incomplete — technically correct but devoid of layering and organicness. Glynis Barber’s Salome lacks the eccentric allure that Angela Lansbury so masterfully flaunted in the original film, while Helen Katamba’s flat Annabelle Pennington is further flawed by a hardly credible American accent.

Despite deserting a few storytelling devices, much to the dismay of the most diehard Agatha Christie fans, Ken Ludwig’s adaptation of Death On The Nile doesn’t lose too much canon, essence, or narrative effectiveness. Although the show is unlikely to have the most favourable Horus-cope in the current theatrical landscape, its ability to regale audiences with a fun, hooking evening is guaranteed. And though you may not lose your marples about it, this is not a bullet crime fiction lovers will want to dodge.

All pictures credit to Manuel Harlan.

Death On The Nile is currently on tour across the UK. Tickets and venue information are available on the following link.

By Guillermo Nazara