‘Ten Little Indians’ offers cinematic climax

Tom Titus

Agatha Christie gave new meaning to the phrase “process of

elimination” when she wrote the novel that eventually became the

stage play “Ten Little Indians” back in the 1930s. She eliminated her

characters one by one until -- as suggested by the title of the 1940s

movie version -- and then there were none.

Christie’s original plot (which contained a decidedly un-PC title

that can’t be repeated here) called for the gradual demise of all

involved, but she conjured up a more pleasing, romantic ending for

the stage version and the movie. The latter work maintains a great

influence over the production of “Ten Little Indians” now on stage at

the Costa Mesa Civic Playhouse.

Director David Colwell has borrowed liberally from the movie

script for his Costa Mesa production, resulting in a climactic

sequence markedly different (except for the identity of the guilty

party) from the more traditional version simultaneously being offered

a few miles away at the Huntington Beach Playhouse.

The core of the story remains: Ten people are summoned to a remote

island off the coast of England for an ostensibly festive occasion

only to learn (via a pre-recorded message) that they’re all guilty of

assorted crimes and have been sentenced to death. With no available

transportation or telephone communication available, they’re picked

off like fish in a barrel.

Getting into the spirit of the show takes some adjustment, since

designer Julia Moreno’s black and white setting more resembles a Cole

Porter musical or a Noel Coward drawing room comedy than a Christie

mystery. Beyond that, however, the lighting design of Ryan Hood and

Jessica Tran’s ominous sound effects contribute in large measure to

the eerie occurrences on stage.

This being an ensemble production, there are naturally

performances that stand out and others that tend to fade into the

shadows. Among the finest interpretations are Robin Field’s

silver-haired judge, who tries to bring order out of the unexpected

chaos, and Wes C. Martin’s easygoing, pistol-packing soldier of

fortune, the epitome of a 1930s movie hero.

Abigail Kinnahan comes across much too softly to firmly establish

her character, a secretary summoned by the prospect of employment.

Tony Grande enlivens the proceedings as a pushy police officer,

briefly working under cover, who grills the unusual suspects.

The doddering retired general pining for his late wife is given an

unusually robust performance by Joe Schulein. Trish Mastro could do

more with her cliched role of a fervently religious spinster, while

Marc Davila is properly callow as a young playboy.

Roger Mandel and Ann Ross play the just-hired servants with the

proper deference in company and defiance in private. David Van Patten

is fine, if a trifle stiff, as a conscience-stricken doctor and Paul

L. Arnold adds some Cockney color as a transport boat operator who

doesn’t stick around for the carnage.

For theater historians, the playhouse offers a lobby placard

detailing the life of Agatha Christie (on which you’ll discover her

original, now-offensive title for the novel that became the play and

movie). The Civic Playhouse production is a lively dismantling of

this old English museum piece.

* TOM TITUS reviews local theater for the Daily Pilot. His reviews

appear Fridays.