SEVENTY YEARS OF AGATHA CHRISTIE'S THE MOUSETRAP

 by Korina Moss

If you’re a mystery reader, you’re surely familiar with Agatha Christie. She is the best-selling novelist of all time, having written 66 detective novels and 14 short story collections. She also wrote several plays—the most famous of which, The Mousetrap, has since become the world’s longest-running show.

This year The Mousetrap celebrates 70 years onstage. First performed on November 25th, 1952 at the Ambassador theater, it had a continuous run until all UK theaters went dark in 2020 during the pandemic. However, it re-opened fifteen months later and is still going strong. Because of its historic 70th anniversary, The Mousetrap was licensed to 70 theaters across the world, and I was able to see an original production of it in Hartford, Connecticut a few weeks ago. 

Agatha Christie has played a large role in my love of mysteries and has had a great influence on me as a writer. I picked up my first Christie book, The ABC Murders, as a child from a box of used books in my family’s basement. Now, I’d read all the Nancy Drew books by then and Encyclopedia Brown, so I thought, at twelve years old, that I was a pretty savvy mystery reader. Of course, I was not prepared for Agatha Christie, and I was certainly no match for Poirot. When I finished the book, I was giddy that she’d stumped me, so I went back and read it again so I could look for the clues I’d missed. Sure enough, she’d laid them all out right in front of me and then proceeded so eloquently to misdirect me. She played fair with the reader, which was my first lesson in writing a good mystery. I was hooked and went on to read every Inspector Poirot and Miss Marple book she wrote. 

When I had an opportunity to visit London in 1990, I knew my first theater experience there would be to see The Mousetrap in the iconic St. Martin’s theater in London’s West End, where it’s been showing since 1974. Since I was a Christie aficionado by then, I assumed I’d be able to figure out the play’s culprit. Just as I had when I was twelve, I underestimated Christie’s ingenuity. 

Dame Agatha's wax likeness at Madame Tussaud's in London,
along with the program and tickets from the West End production, 1990

When I went to see the play again a few weeks ago at Hartford Stage, I wondered if it would still hold my interest since I already knew whodunit. I needn’t have been concerned—in the intimate theater, the cozy set design, colorful costumes, and amusing production made for an enjoyable show. And Dame Agatha struck again—the friend I attended with, cunning fellow mystery author, Shari Randall (who won an Agatha Award for best first mystery novel in 2019), didn’t guess whodunit either. 

The set of The Mousetrap at Hartford Stage

Thanks to serendipity, I enjoyed one more encounter with The Mousetrap this fall. I went to see the movie See How They Run because it looked like a fun Knives Out type of murder mystery. Indeed, it was, but what I hadn’t realized beforehand was that the film centers around Christie’s play. This explains the movie’s title (taken from the nursery rhyme, “Three Blind Mice,” which also plays a role in The Mousetrap). It’s a fictionalized account taking place as The Mousetrap is celebrating its 100th performance. The actors who were in the actual play during that time—Richard Attenborough and Sheila Sim—are portrayed, as well as famous filmmaker John Woolf. When a murder occurs in the theater, everyone on set is a suspect. It’s cleverly done, with the final reveal taking place at Agatha Christie’s home. It manages to incorporate Christie’s play but doesn’t dare give it away. After all, the final words of See How They Run are directed to the audience and pay homage to the final line spoken in every performance of The Mousetrap, beseeching the audience to never reveal who the murderer is.

Here are some fun facts about The Mousetrap from the official Agatha Christie website (©Agatha Christie Limited 2022, The Home of Agatha Christie, https://www.agathachristie.com/ ):

• When The Mousetrap opened Mr. Winston Churchill was Prime Minister, much essential food was rationed, and television programmes ended at 10:30pm.

• The Mousetrap first entered the record books on April 12th, 1958 when it became the longest running show of any kind in the history of British theatre.

• In 1959 the cast of The Mousetrap, armed with various props, gave a special performance at Wormwood Scrubs prison. During the performance two prisoners escaped.

• Originally produced in Nottingham at the Theatre Royal, it toured England before embarking on a 32-year run at The New Ambassadors Theatre in London.

• In March 1974 the play moved from The Ambassadors Theatre to the St. Martin’s Theatre without missing a single show!

• In 2000, the set was replaced for the first time during the run at St Martin's Theatre, still to the same design as the original. This task was completed over a weekend without the loss of a performance.

• Her Majesty Queen Elizabeth II attended the 50th anniversary performance on November 25th, 2002.

• On November 18, 2012 for one performance only, The Mousetrap celebrated its 25,000th performance (60th anniversary) with a celebrity-filled cast including Hugh Bonneville, Nicholas Farrell, Iain Glen, Tamsin Greig, Miranda Hart, Harry Lloyd, Sir Patrick Stewart and Dame Julie Walters. The Agatha Christie memorial statue was unveiled for this occasion.

• The 28,000 performance in the West End took place on 12th of October 2019.

• On an occasion such as cast changes or milestone anniversary performances, a cake is ceremoniously cut with a sword. The cake is in the shape of a ticker counter that keeps track of the amount of performances.

• Every performance of The Mousetrap sets a new world record for the number of performances and after each performance the audience is asked 'to preserve the tradition of The Mousetrap by keeping the secret locked in their hearts.'

• The contract terms of the play state that no film version can be made until the West End show has been closed for at least six months, and since it is still running—no official film has been made!

Are you a fan of Agatha Christie's work?

What I'm Watching: Mystery Edition

By Shari Randall

 

A few years ago, my kids gave me a subscription to Acorn TV, which I used to watch the Agatha Raisin TV show. As a tiny drop of rain can turn into a mighty flood, this small taste of streaming television has led to me trying the offerings of many different streaming services. Thank goodness most give a one-week free trial. Here are a few shows that I discovered – with trigger warnings for the discerning mystery viewer.

 

Agatha Raisin: If you’re a fan of the books, where Agatha is an insecure brunette former PR executive with little bear eyes who retires to the Cotswolds and tries, with little luck, to fit in, you might be disappointed in the new version. Ashley Jensen, who plays our Aggie, is a gorgeous blonde who is much more adept at navigating the social waters of Carsley than M. C. Beaton’s character. But if you simply pretend that it’s a new show called “Ashley Raisin” you’ll enjoy the talented cast, Cotswolds scenery, and snappy banter.

TRIGGER WARNING: Blonde Aggie.

 

Mallorca Files: The scenery is the only thing prettier than the two leads. The mysteries, alas, aren’t nearly as attractive.

TRIGGER WARNING: I didn’t watch enough episodes to find any overarching problems, except that you may empty your bank account to buy tickets to this stunning island.

 

New Tricks: Following a drug bust disaster videotaped and shown on TV, a disgraced, but ambitious and talented female detective is given a last chance to save her career: run a cold case program staffed by similarly problematic police officers called back from retirement. The Unsolved Crime and Open Cases files offer meaty problems for the underrated crew of Sandra Pullman and “the boys” to unravel. This well-written BBC show was so popular it ran for 13 seasons.

TRIGGER WARNING: Occasional mature images, themes, and lots of British swearing. Often subtitles don’t help with the very entertaining, but occasionally opaque, slang.

 

Lupin: Quelle surprise! I had a few complaints as plot holes and storyline issues you could drive a bateau mouche through popped up, but in the end I stuck with the show and am so glad I did. Inspired by the adventures of Maurice LeBlanc’s Arsene Lupin novels, gentleman thief Assane Diop takes on a French billionaire in an attempt to avenge his father’s death. (I can’t say more – no spoilers!) The actors’ charm and panache, the Parisian setting, and the way elements of the classic Lupin books are woven into the story are as delightful as an airy mousse au chocolat. It’s all a bit over the top, the characters have plenty of TDTL (Too Dumb To Live) moments, but there’s so much style and warmth on screen, you’ll be hooked. 

TRIGGER WARNING: Those plot holes may have you tearing your hair out. Plus, my French is rusty, but I want to watch the untranslated version to see if all the F bombs are in the original. If this is a trigger for you, prenez-garde.

 

Brokenwood: My new favorite show. Some have called Brokenwood “Midsomer Murders transported to New Zealand,” but there’s a special charm to this show and its lead, Senior Detective Mike Shepherd, a laid back, country music loving wine aficionado. The New Zealand setting and culture are spectacular, and the mysteries are top notch. The special sauce for Brokenwood is the way supporting characters, even very minor ones, pop up in episode after episode. Trudy, Jean, Frodo…you’ll see what I mean.

TRIGGER WARNING: Only seven seasons.

 

What new shows are you watching?

 

 

Where Should a Mystery Begin? by Susan Van Kirk

Where Should a Mystery Begin? by Susan Van Kirk

 

My research is done, and I’m organizing the plot and scenes for a second book about the small town of Sweet Iron, Illinois, with my historical researcher/genealogist protagonist, Beth Russell. This means it’s time for me to deal with what I consider the hardest part of writing a mystery—the first chapter. Where does my story begin? My track record is all about getting that question completely wrong. Multiple times. That is why I have an editor and beta readers.

Consider the first book in the series, A Death at Tippitt Pond.

I first began this mystery with a chase across New York City. Exciting, right? Beth lives in the small town of Sea Cliff on Long Island. One evening she leaves the New York City Public Library, where she’d been researching, and becomes aware of a man following her from a distance. Since I’ve never lived in New York City, I relied on a former student who lives in Sea Cliff and works in the financial district. She gave me all kinds of help. I studied videos of Bryant Park at Christmas time, and perused the subway and train systems, studiously figuring out how to make Beth’s connections accurate. It was an exciting race, culminating with the stranger ringing the doorbell at Beth’s apartment. My editor nixed that one.

 

Plan Two. Beth is researching at the Rose Room in the New York City Public Library. Once again, I studied pictures and the organization of the library and made sure I could describe the Rose Room down to the last detail. I even knew that in real life the Rose Room was under construction during Beth’s fictional research, so Beth would have had to work somewhere else at times. In this scene the stranger approaches Beth, telling her an impossible story about how she might be the heir to an inheritance from a wealthy family named Tippitt. He gives her a plane ticket, a bed-and-breakfast reservation, and a date and time to meet the lawyer who wants to discuss this in Sweet Iron. She is skeptical, but it would cost her nothing to go there between research projects. My readers nixed that one. Need more excitement.

Plan Three. Beth meets her best friend, Gabrielle Martinez, at a posh restaurant in Manhattan. I researched restaurants and menus. She tells Gabby about an investigator who accosted her at the New York Public Library concerning an inheritance she was supposedly in line for in a small town called Sweet Iron. Gabby urges her to go and check it out. What would it hurt? They discuss Gabby leaving for Florida with her family for Christmas and how Beth will be alone—once again—for the holidays. This one was big-time nixed. Too much backstory.

 Plan Four. Beth has landed in the Quad Cities and rented a car to drive to Sweet Iron. She muses about her meeting in New York City with an investigator and is anxious about what she will find in Sweet Iron. She stays at a bed-and-breakfast and hears a lot of gossip about the Tippitt family (a la The Great Gatsby.) The next morning, she goes to the lawyer’s office to find out about this crazy story. Everyone nixed that one. Too much backstory. My editor said, “Begin in the small town.” That means weeks of research about NYC down the drain.

Final plan. Beth Russell crosses the street in the small town of Sweet Iron after gazing at the lovely Queen Anne Tudor home known as Tippitt House. She is admitted by a young woman who says Remington Hatcher, the lawyer, is on his way but will be a few minutes late. She seats Beth in a beautiful room and brings her tea. While Beth is waiting for the lawyer, she remembers her interview with him the previous day, which resulted in a DNA test. Through her mind go the impossible details about the Tippitt family and the mysterious death of her—maybe—biological mother. The family has a great deal of money, enough to order a DNA test from a private lab that can process DNA in four hours. She hears the front door open, the lawyer’s voice, and realizes her hands are shaking. Will his news change her life?

 

And we have the winner. I haven’t yet figured out a way to do this process backward so I can start with the winner. In fact, consider how much time I wasted researching so many places about New York City. I’m starting on a new book. This will give me a new opportunity to start in the wrong place once again.  

Catastrophe Kit by Carla Damron

I’ve written before about my excellent catastrophizing genes. Our DNA carries a “expect the worst and plan for it” marker. It seems to be tied to the X chromosome, though my brother has some of this trait. If there’s a hurricane that is predicted to hit anywhere near SC, I assume it will hit us directly, so my “hurricane survival kit” is always kept up-to-date. It includes flashlights, power banks, water containers, battery operated fans …. The list is lengthy. I even fill our tubs for toilet flushing, in case we lose water.

When meteorologists predict we’ll get a half- inch of snow, I make sure the cupboards are full and we have plenty of batteries, in case ice brings down a tree limb that knocks out our power. You never know when the “big one” will hit us (we had a blizzard in the 1970s).

My catastrophizing genes let me down this year. I did not, in my wildest imaginings, predict a pandemic. Not until February, when word of an outbreak in China made the news. By March, the gene was in overdrive. The pandemic was imminent, and I was behind in my preparations. Though a little late, I began assembling my pandemic kit. I bought gloves. I scored a few masks and started reading about how to make my own (a project that never went well). I bought medicines we needed and medicines we might need. I emptied freezer space so that we could stock-up, in case getting groceries became impossible.

By April, I was obsessive in my assemblage. Toilet paper? Check, though I didn’t overdo it. There’s a difference between “preparing” and “hording”. Hand sanitizer? Some, but I also had the ingredients needed to make my own. Lysol? Yep, but I wish, to this day, I’d bought more. Bleach? Definitely, but not for drinking. Wipes? Of course. Dog poop bags? Plenty.

You’re probably wondering about that last item. I didn’t want to run out of rubber gloves, so we used them on our hands when touching possibly contaminated surfaces, like ATMs and credit card devices. 

Our pandemic groceries included enough coffee to last till the next Ice Age, milk (we freeze it), rice, beans, and, just in case, wine. I bought plenty of flour and yeast, in case I turn into a colonial prairie woman and have to make my own bread. Dog and cat food aplenty.

Whenever info came out about something that might be useful to prevent/combat the coronavirus, I was likely to get it. So I have zinc, Vitamin C, Vitamin D3. I’d get a voodoo doll if I thought that would help.

Now that we’re five months into pandemic life, I’ve made adjustments to our kit. Dog poop bags are less necessary—keeping hand sanitizer with us always works just as well. I’ve added face shields and have collected quite the range of masks in lots of different colors. Yep, that kit is loaded. I am prepared.

Except… there is one aspect of this crisis for which I wasn’t prepared. Not at all. I wasn’t ready for the most inevitable effect of the pandemic: what to do about the sameness of my days—the boredom? How do I manage the feelings of unreality and grief for the way life used to be? How do I take care of my emotional health? Trust me, there’s nothing in my kit that helps with this.

Through trial and error, I’ve figured out how to manage. I need routine. I get up, read for an hour or so, dress in clothes that aren’t pajamas, then get to writing. I touch base with friends and my family. I get out of the house when the weather allows it. I make sure to exercise every day. 

And then I read some more. I’ve also been careful about the books I choose. I can’t seem to handle ultra-serious or too-sad stories. I put aside a few literary novels and picked up some wonderful mysteries—the perfect escapism literature. Lately, I’m plowing through Louise Penny’s Inspector Gamache series. I imagine that I live in Three Pines, Quebec, and that the quirky residents are my neighbors. There’s a fluffy blanket of snow in front of my house and I’m sipping cider at the bistro. While the real world may not be a fair place, I can trust that the culprits in Penny’s novels will not escape Gamache’s justice. This is my much-needed sanctuary in a world spun off its axis.

As a writer, I want my work to be a sanctuary. I want readers to embrace my characters the way I embrace Gamache. Maybe that’s grandiose thinking—I’m nowhere near her caliber or popularity, but we writers need to have goals.

My goal is this: may my words be a refuge, my settings an escape. May I take you away from the hard reality of today and give you a few hours of respite. May the adventures in my pages help you forget our new dystopian reality and perhaps even give you hope.

Better times will come. We must be patient.

One last thing: this is my last regular blog on this site. Thank you for taking the time to read my ramblings. If you want to stay in touch, my website is www.carladamron.com and my email is carladamronwriter@gmail.com.

Peace and be well.

           

Life Imitates Art

Martha Reed is the author of the John and Sarah Jarad Nantucket Mystery series. This is her first post for WWK since joining our staff last year. Welcome, Martha.

E. B. Davis

I grew up in north central Ohio, where the lake effect winters are cruel and the snow gets waist deep. Being more of a lizard lazing on a hot rock type of personality, I spent six months a year buried in books to escape the bone-cracking climate. The grade school librarian became my best friend. I’m dating myself, but she put me to work sorting Dewey Decimal System cards for the catalog and manually revising the date on the return slip rubber time stamp. It was a heavy responsibility for a fifth grader, but I loved it.

On weekends, I created imaginary worlds. I distinctly remember sitting at my mother’s desk and writing a story about captaining a clipper ship. To this day I have no idea why or even how that particular idea generated. Growing up in Middle America, I certainly had no idea of ever living a coastal life.

Life moved on, and I made my choices. Occasionally, when I was forced to do so by random chance, I experienced a burst of creative possibility and imagined an alternate reality or choice, but it never occurred to me to actually use my imagination as a “life changing” tool. I went about imagining all of these life-changing possibilities for my characters, and I never considered using it on myself.

Decades passed, and then - suddenly - I neared retirement age. I’d taken care of the kids, and my parents, and funding my 401(k). What was my next personal plot point going to be?

I knew I wanted to live somewhere warmer; that was a given. I considered North Carolina. Charlotte was trendy and fun, but too small. Charleston, SC was charming, but too expensive. I crossed another state line and toured Savannah, but no. Still not right.

And then my writer’s life offered up an idea. On Day Two of Bouchercon 2018 in St. Petersburg, Florida, I stepped out of the gorgeous Vinoy hotel for a breath of fresh air, since the crime fiction authors were stacked three deep at the bar and the oxygen supply was running low. I stood in the park studying the marina, a salty breeze tickled my ears, and it clicked.

This. This is where I want to live.

My next thought was: ‘I’ll move here when I retire.’ And the little voice inside my head that I’ve been trained to listen to, said: Why wait? If this is what you really want, do it now.

I alternated between hope, wonder, and fear on the ride back to Pittsburgh. I want to do this. Do I dare? I gave the idea a solid week to burn off. You know the drill. Of course I want to move to St. Pete! I had a great time. It’s vacation head. I wasn’t sure I trusted the feeling. I wasn’t sure I trusted myself.

It didn’t burn off. So then, I thought: Okay. How do I do this? How do I uproot my whole life, because I’ve never ever imagined that my Book of Life would have a Florida chapter in it?

And my imagination stepped in. Instead of focusing on why it couldn’t happen, I started to imagine how it could. I needed a job; LinkedIn helped me find one. I needed a place to live; AirBnB offered weekly rental apartments until I got a permanent address. I needed a car. Crown Honda was delighted to lease me one.

For every objection that I raised, for every roadblock I built, my wily imagination found a way to prop the door open, if I was bold enough to step through. On January 7th, I celebrated my one-year anniversary of St. Pete Gulf Coast living. It’s been splendid.

Turnabout is fair play. My imagination is now challenging me to use this new attitude on my writing. Each morning when I sit down to my manuscript, I’m pushing my imagination into deeper and darker possibilities, pursuing my quest for the light, trying to make the story more fearlessly meaningful. I used to work at making things pretty. Now I want to make them true. I love what I see coming up in my editing draft, and I’m hoping my readers will love the new me, too.

What’s the short answer? Sometimes, the only person stopping you, is you.

Do you have a similar tale to tell?