Theatre review: And Then There Were None serves up solid, classic mystery in atmospheric Metro Theatre
Well-realized characters help Agatha Christie tale slowly build suspense
And Then There Were None. Photo by Andrés Alvarez
And Then There Were None is at Metro Theatre until March 22
THERE’S SOMETHING ABOUT Metro Theatre’s stage that feels well-suited to mysteries. Maybe it’s the way its location feels a little isolated, with its marquee glowing like a beacon in the dark. The intimacy of its small stage adds to the claustrophobia—fit for a locked-room whodunit like And Then There Were None.
Agatha Christie’s 1939 novel-turned-play, one of the best-selling murder mysteries of all time, has had many adaptations. Though its first couple of problematic titles have long been abandoned, the story remains one of her darkest—a queasy exploration of guilt, justice, and paranoia.
In it, a group of 10 strangers are invited to a secluded island under vague pretenses—some under the promise of employment, others expecting a holiday. Upon arrival, they discover their mysterious host is present only through a gramophone recording, with a creepy, crackling, disembodied voice (which was a little hard to hear clearly on opening night) accusing each of them of their involvement in a past murder for which they were never held accountable. Then, one by one, the guests start dropping like flies, following the pattern of the “10 Little Soldiers” nursery rhyme displayed above the mantle in the drawing room where this all unfolds. As the death count mounts, it becomes clear that the killer is among them.
Before the mystery unravels, Mr. and Mrs. Rogers (Roger Monk and Emma Greenhalgh), the housekeeper and cook, prepare the old manor, dusting, sweeping, and pulling sheets off the furniture. Their back-and-forth brings some well-timed humour that’s a welcome cut to the tension throughout the show. The guests arrive, each one an entertaining archetype: a strict, no-nonsense judge, a reserved doctor, an ambitious secretary, a gruff old general, a hedonistic playboy, a holier-than-thou religious spinster, a shifty ex-detective, and a cynical but oddly charming mercenary.
The ensemble leans into the campy old-fashionedness of the play, playing up the tropes with British accents and stiffly polite interactions that highlight the rigid social structures of the time. From the get-go there’s a lot of posturing, being judgmental, and clinging to authority from all of the characters that tightens its grip as things hit the fan.
There’s Rosemary Schuster’s religious Emily Brent, delivering her self-righteous diatribes with delightfully deadpan nastiness even as her guilt in the death of a young woman is uncovered, or Connor Hawkins’s suave Philip Lombard, staying smug around Adrian Shaffer’s increasingly and poignantly fearful Vera through to the end. Elsewhere, Mr. Rogers unceremoniously keeps to his domestic tasks even as his wife is lying dead in the next room. Some keep it together for most of the play, while others start cracking a little earlier, but by the end, nearly every player gets a chance to unravel—perhaps most memorably with the surprising killer among them.
The show takes a little while to find its rhythm in the first half before intermission, as the genre tends to be exposition-heavy. It’s kind of like dusting off the house before the real action starts—except, in this case, the action is everyone getting killed off in creative ways. The cast mostly keeps things engaging, balancing the slower early scenes with good character work.
The set is pretty much what you’d expect: Art Deco furniture, a chandelier, a creaky wooden staircase. Nothing too eerie, just a bright, ordinary space where horrible things happen, which is unsettling in its own way. The production design leans more into psychological horror than flashy theatrics, but sometimes it feels like a missed opportunity to amp up the thrills.
With so many deaths happening offstage, a lot of the suspense comes from the audience trying to piece things together themselves. That can be fun, but at times it also makes the pacing feel a little flat. Luckily, things ramp up in the final stretch. The lighting and sound finally play into the paranoia; candlelight flickers and the storm outside grows, making everything feel more claustrophobic.
This rendition of And Then There Were None is a classic murder mystery done in a solid, straightforward way. It doesn’t reinvent the wheel, but it doesn’t really have to. Sometimes, watching well-realized characters try (and fail) to keep their cool while trapped in a well-oiled mystery is enough. 
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