The Cat and the Canary, which closes the Chichester Summer Festival for 2024, is a co-production with Told By An Idiot, whose previous work has always specialised in the wackier forms of comedy but with a serious underlying message. This popular old story, that first came to light over a hundred years ago, ought to be the perfect vehicle for the company, with its combination of humour, shock horror and downright silliness. But does it work?
Carl Grose’s adaptation transports the setting to somewhere near Bodmin Moor, but otherwise keeps the basics of the original, with a scary old house miles from anywhere, a diverse bunch of extraordinary house guests, eccentric old retainers, and the obligatory filthy weather outside. It’s time to read the will of Cyrus West who died ten or twenty years ago (not sure when – nor do we know why it wasn’t read when he died, but, hey ho) and to discover which of his money-grabbing relatives is going to get all the dosh. It is revealed that the inheritance all goes to one person, unless they are not of sound mind, in which case there is an alternative arrangement. However, before the will is read, solicitor Crosby discovers that it had already been discovered in its secret hiding place and opened and read by a person or persons unknown. It’s just not cricket.
I should point out that the performance I saw was the final preview, but I can’t imagine much will have changed between then and the press night. There are plenty of things that this production does well, and quite a few where it most surprisingly doesn’t. Let’s start with the positives.
It’s a very funny script, including one line which made me laugh possibly more than any other line in a play all year: the set-up is the housekeeper asking the pompous actor if he was scared of finding himself in a big, gloomy house – I won’t spoilt it with the punchline, but the production gets an extra star for that. The cast all give fully charged, committed performances including a few examples of tremendous physical comedy. Nick Haverson’s flipping between the two roles of Crosby and Hendricks is done tremendously well, and I did enjoy Lena Kaur’s Susan Sillsby’s outrageous drunk routine. And there are some inspired pieces of comic invention, such as Mr Haverson abandoning his drum set and descending to the stage using a fireman’s pole, for absolutely no reason other than the fact that he can.
But there’s the rub; there are several comic interventions and directorial decisions that are done just because they can, and with no relevance that I could make out to the play or story itself. There is an occasional appearance of a Red Riding Hood type puppet that looks and feels spooky but doesn’t seem to have any connection to the rest of the plot. The final scene involves a red curtain being brought across the back of the stage and a character going behind it and popping her head through the curtains for some comic business. Then, lights out, finita la comedia. Not the remotest clue what that was about.
The play is only about two hours long including a twenty minute interval, so it feels very uneven to have a first act that’s over an hour and a second act that’s all done and dusted in thirty-five minutes – shades of Glengarry Glen Ross there. The denouement, if you can call it that, feels very rushed in that brief second act. It comes on you unexpectedly and totally lacking suspense, so that the whodunit revelation makes you think – is that all?
Technically, it’s an odd decision to make the offstage cast members getting into place at the back of the stage so visible to the audience; as a result, no appearance coming through the door is ever a surprise. But perhaps the biggest fault of all is that the blocking is terrible. We had fairly central seats in Row C and so many of the scenes were rendered invisible by actors standing immobile in our sightline.
Truly a curate’s egg. A lovely sense of the ridiculous – that’s undeniable, and with some excellent spooky effects and a script that sometimes sparkles sensationally. But less is often more, and throwing the kitchen sink at this production devoids it of any sense of danger or tension. This tale told by an idiot really does signify nothing, unfortunately. That said, I did laugh a lot, so it does something right!
Three-sy Does It!