This is the stage version of Agatha Christie’s novel, Ten Little Niggers, and makes for superb theatre: ten people are brought to an island by a mysterious U. N. Owen (‘Unknown’, sic), and isolated there. They are all apparently guilty of murder, though in circumstances such that the law cannot touch them. They themselves and the island will serve as the court of justice. One by one, and somewhat obtusely, according to the words of the rhyme, ‘Ten Little Indians’, the guilty characters are murdered, in a playful and self-consciously dramatic scenario.
The stage - theatre-in-the-round style - represents the island. It is one room, furnished only with chairs, whiskey and reminders of the rhyme about the Indians and their peril. Its words, plastered everywhere, cannot escape the imagination; and on the mantle piece there are figurines of the Indians, who one by one get broken. The set reflects the unity of time, place and action, which makes the story such effective theatre, and underlines the psychological tension, paranoia and claustrophobic atmosphere between the characters.
Relations between the characters, thrown together, and who must at the same time live with, and suspect one another, translate into the dramatic tension. They are forced to discuss their intertwining cases and the responsibility for the delivery of justice remains in their hands. The play gathers momentum until a situation evolves where only a small number remain, some emotionally close - two prove to be lovers - and yet mutually accuse one another for being the murderer of the rest. But the murderer is, of course, not an uninteresting outsider or mad psychopath, rather one amongst themselves.
The play is beautifully executed in this ambitious production with which it is difficult to find fault. The richness and quirkiness of characterization, and deep understanding of human psychology and motivation in all its complexity - for which Agatha Christie is renowned - is conveyed well. There are strong performances on all sides and Lombard (Nic Piachaud), Vera (Saskia de Groot) and Blore (George Norton) deserve particular credit. They are also impeccable in conveying Christie’s sharp eye for the dramatic and the humorous. We get it all: poison, booby traps ‘suicide’, and finally a slickly executed staged shooting and double twist, delaying the truth until the very last moment (- have you ever managed to guess one of Christie’s murderers correctly?).
I would warmly recommend this play as a great evening’s entertainment. It certainly beats most mediocre television attempts at psychological experiment or ‘reality/real life’ television as drama, and proves, if you are in any doubt, that Agatha Christie is still the queen of the genre.

Stephanie Kitchen