See How They Run

Agatha Christie's The Mousetrap.

In my opinion, a second-rate murder mystery.

Not that I've seen it, you understand.

But it's a whodunnit.

You've seen one, you've seen 'em all.

You know the drill.

An interminable prologue

in which all the key players are introduced.

You get a sense of the world they inhabit,

and then the most unlikable character gets bumped off.

There's been a murder?

Cue the entrance of a world-weary detective,

who comes in and pokes his nose around.

Talks to witnesses. Takes a couple of wrong turns.

And then gathers all the suspects in the drawing room

and points the finger at the least likely chump

because of the way the guy,

I don't know,

ties his shoelaces.

Now you've seen our play, you're an accomplice to murder.

And so, we ask you to remember

that it is very much in your interests

not to tell a soul outside of this theater who done it.

But what do I know?

The Limeys, they just lap it up.

The play's a smash hit.

Not to mention a cash cow.

Right there is the milkmaid in chief, Petula Spencer.

This lavish affair is a party to celebrate the 100th performance.

No wonder film producer John Woolf

wants to turn the play into a major motion picture.

Here he is now in the arms of his slightly paranoid wife.

I sense that death is close at hand.

It's probably just a draft.

This is where I come in.

Leo Kopernick's the name.

Big-shot Hollywood director.

Hired to make the film adaptation

marginally less boring than the play.

Easier said than done when the writer's a giant pompous ass.

Mervyn Cocker-Norris.

I say, you're rather tall.

Am I? Haven't really thought about it, to be honest.

Is that what happened here?

Sort of. I had a bit of an accident backstage.

Sure, he's educated and he knows a lot of $10 words,

but it's like he's never seen a film before,

let alone try to write one.

Oh, ma vattinne!

Chi e chistu?

No one important.

Omm, femmina o bestia, basta che respira!

You know, at times you do rather overdo the temperamental Neapolitan.

That's a nice jacket.

Say, why don't you scare me up a real drink, will you, kid?

Like a pint of rye or bourbon or motor oil, if you have to.

Yeah. Hop to it, now, huh?

In England, that actually counts as good service.

I was stationed here during the war

and, if anything, the locals are more uptight now

than when they had the Luftwaffe overhead.

Mervyn?

Shouldn't you be home?

I thought we had a deadline.

I thought so too.

But then our esteemed director tore up the screenplay

and told me to start all over again.

He's of the opinion that a modern audience will walk out in protest

if they're not served at least one violent death in the opening frames.

Suffice to say, we are no longer on speaking terms.

Merv!

London's most sensitive writer.

How is The Mousetrap, huh?

Did they catch the guy who did it?

I will not stand here and be insulted.

Well, I guess he's gonna go over there and be insulted.

Huh.

What passes for glamour in these parts.

Sheila Sim and Dickie Attenborough.

Kid likes the sound of his own voice.

Even money, he makes a speech.

I suppose I ought to say a few words.

Not too many.

And when have I ever? Our wedding, remember?

We almost missed the honeymoon.

Yes.

Darlings, you're ever so kind.

I'd like to ask you all to raise a metaphorical bat

to the old pavilion.

The Mousetrapis 100, not out.

Cheers! ALL: Cheers!

I tell you what else is 100 not out.

Petula's mother.

The old kook's just crazy about seafood.

They just brought out more langoustines.

Excuse me, I just need to deal with that.

Mother! Please,

you've had quite enough.Hi.

Now, I'm not one to tell tales out of school,

but the girls over here,

they go wild for an American accent

and the promise of a pair of nylons.

But the husbands...

Right. I think it's time someone taught you a lesson.

They're not so easily won over.

It's only fair to warn you that I learned to box in the RAF.

Yeah? Well, I learned to fly a plane in Gleason's Gym.

All of which explains, in an admittedly roundabout fashion,

how I come to be in the theater's backstage area

in need of a change of clothes.

Hello?

Hello?

Aw, jeez.

I guess I should have seen this coming.

It's always the most unlikable character who gets bumped off.

It's a whodunnit.

You've seen one, you've seen 'em all.

We're closed.

Clear off.

Honestly.

Oh, I'm so sorry, sir. Inspector, uh, Stoppard, sir.

Sorry, I was under strict instructions not to let anyone in.

Just open the door.

Yes, sir. Of course. Sorry, I didn't recognize you, sir.

I've actually, uh, just been transferred myself.

Thought it was Leeke and Priestley on rotation tonight.

Careful, sir.

In you come.

Constable. Stalker, sir.

God, you're all wet through, sir.

Hope you don't catch a cold after that.

Yep, after you, sir.

Victim's name is Leo Kopernick, sir. The film director.

Suspected Communist, blacklisted in Hollywood,

so he came out here to work on a picture for John Woolf.

You know John Woolf, the film producer.

He made The African Queen with Humphrey Bogart.

"Nature, Mr. Allnut",

"is what we are put in this world to rise above."

That didn't sound anything like Bogart.

No, that was Katharine Hepburn, sir. She's in it too.

Wonderful actress.

I go to the pictures quite a lot, actually.

It's the escape, I suppose.

The romance of the silver screen.

Yes, thank you, Constable.

Yes, sir.

Eh, signs of a struggle.

Actually, sir, I believe that happened

when Mrs. Boyle was killed.

Mrs. Boyle? Who's...

Yes, sir. Um...

She's that woman in the front row there.

Well, she seems to have bounced back.

Oh.

Sorry, sir. No, she was killed in the play. Also strangled.

Not that I've seen it, although I would like to.

It's an Agatha Christie, and I do like a good murder.

Yes, thank you, Constable.

Yes, sir.

A ski did that, sir.

They use it in the play, apparently.

As I said, I haven't seen it.

And then the large dent in the cranium is a sewing machine.

Seems he was killed in the costume store initially,

and then he was deposited here.

Staged, so to speak.

Sorry, sir.

Yeah, that's the ski that he took in the face, sir.

And, uh, I'm afraid it was downhill from there.

Oh. Sorry, sir.

That one just came out on its own.

Seems he came down here

for a change of clothes.

Why?

It was a party to celebrate the 100th performance, sir.

The other nought must have...

When the victim upset the sponge.

Um, and he then proceeded to sit in the assortment of crustaceans.