This Bristol-based comedy experience is wholly improvisational, which rather makes reviewing it here a little pointless because, well, the show I saw on this, the opening night, will be completely different from the one you’ll see if you race off to The Gosling at Gluttony ASAP. But, nevertheless, here goes.
Our detective is sitting reading on the stage as the audience take their seats, and she hops up to reveal that she’s not Jessica Fletcher (as that title might suggest) but, in fact, Agatha Crusty, a renowned crime-solver who recounts a tale of murder, mayhem and much goofiness back in 1933. She also flings a deerstalker out into the crowd, and the recipient becomes her assistant Jerkins, who is occasionally addressed with amusingly shrill shrieks.
This particular evening’s audience participation led to an especially bizarre set of murderous circumstances: Agatha and the rest of the six-strong troupe play out a tale that took place at a barefoot-grape-crushing event (thanks to an improbable microclimate) at a family home on the Isle of Wight. Much-widowed sister Ruby is welcomed by her oh-so-nice sister Bluebell, their one-legged (actually two-legged) Dad is around, another guest is somehow revealed to be an experimental dancer, and there’s an outrrrrageously-accented Frenchman named François in there too.
This is all extremely silly, but the loopy humour is hugely enjoyable, and there’s much fun to be had from the tricks the cast play on each other, as they’re required to, for example, only speak in rhyme – and they just can’t. There are also a few priceless moments where the gang can scarcely hide the fact that they’re giggling at some sudden bit of absurdity.
And has anyone ever laughed so much at the repeated use of the word ‘guava’?
Rating: four stars!
For more information or to book, visit: adelaidefringe.com.au/fringetix/murder-she-didn-t-write-af2026
