MIDSOMER MURDERS: THE KILLINGS AT BADGER’S DRIFT

Richmond Theatre

★★★★

“it is a joy to mingle with these quirky characters, brought to thrilling life by a talented band of actors”

Back in 1997, the body of Emily Simpson, a gentle, orchid-loving, older lady was found in her cottage in the rural, sleepy, chocolate-box village of Badger’s Drift. Her friend, eccentric spinster Lucy Bellringer, was adamant – despite the doctor’s diagnosis – that she was murdered. When proven right, the village descended into panic, the murderer strikes again, and millions of television viewers across the UK watched in delight and fascination as the quirky villagers spun their bizarre secrets around the mind of DCI Tom Barnaby (and his sidekick Sergeant Gavin Troy). The end of the millennium was in sight, but this could have been the forties or fifties. The wit and charm and appeal of the television series secured itself in the nation’s hearts within that first hour, and it is still going strong.

Based on the series of novels by Caroline Graham, that first episode has finally reached the stage, adapted and directed by Guy Unsworth. Murder mystery has always been an engrossing genre for theatre, inviting the audience to participate in their own minds and become one of the lead players trying to solve the puzzles. “Midsomer Murders: The Killings at Badger’s Drift” is no exception as it recreates the original, keeping the light-hearted, whimsy spirit. At times it almost seems like a spoof. It is often absurd, occasionally surreal, and invariably funny. The veiled shadows that supposedly lie beneath the surface are glimpsed, although they are not quite so deep and dark as we have been led to believe. Suspense may be lacking, but wit and silliness thrive, and it is a joy to mingle with these quirky characters, brought to thrilling life by a talented band of actors.

Daniel Casey has been promoted. Having played Sergeant Troy on the small screen, he now takes the helm as DCI Barnaby. A cool presence, he is unfazed by the craziness that surrounds him. James Bradwell’s Troy quietly and comically misreads the situations that Barnaby sees straight through, until he truly comes into his own, well and truly grabbing hold of all the wrong ends of all the sticks. But you can’t really blame him. These villagers are a secretive lot, and it is no surprise that each and every one is the main suspect at some point. Lucy Bellringer further embodies the confusion when she dramatically declares that “I am not what I am”. Julie Legrand brilliantly portrays this offbeat oddball, alternately guiding and then tripping up the investigation. We could all do with a bit of guidance, but we need no help in being tripped up as we come face to face with the subjects of Barnaby’s investigation. Alibis are like cockroaches that disappear as soon as any light is shed on them. First up is local GP, Trevor Lessiter, (a marvellous John Dougall) whose false defence hides a shady secret that Dougall expertly reveals later with a deadpan humour. His wife (Nathalie Barclay) is just as weighed down with whispered secrets that arrive as so-called ‘wrong numbers’ on the telephone. Dougall amazingly, and unrecognisably, reappears as local busybody, Iris Rainbird, who keeps a scrapbook of all the goings-on. Her son Dennis, the local undertaker (Rupert Sadler), is deliciously camp with a sinister sneer. For reasons that you must discover for yourself they are both struck off the suspect list fairly early on.

It is a surprise, at curtain call, to see how small the cast is. Doubling and trebling abound. Nathalie Barclay also convincingly and sassily plays gold digger Katherine Lacey, betrothed to rich widower Henry Trace (yes… Dougall again). Rupert Sadler re-emerges as Katherine’s artist brother, Michael, who opposes his sister’s ambitions. Or does he? You need to be on your toes to keep up. David Woodhead’s various sets certainly help matters, slickly sliding on and off, stage left and right and up into the wings. The sense of location is precisely signposted, as is the sense of foreboding, triggered by Matt Haskins’ lighting. Max Pappenheim’s filmic music adds further to the atmosphere, orchestrally lush, complete with the recognisable theremin sound that creates the necessary menace.

Yet what stands out above the slender menace is the mischievous humour. I have barely touched on the various plot twists, for obvious reasons, but it is safe to say that at each turn there are the joint hazards of a surprise and a laugh. Caroline Graham’s wonderfully eccentric characters have travelled from the novels to the television screen – but the theatre is where they truly flourish. And where they come to life in this fast paced, witty and bizarre setting. Never has murder been more fun.