The Accidental Death of an Accordionist

The clue’s in the title; prepare to have your tongue firmly placed in your cheek from the second you arrive at, er, Glengirnie Hall. This intrepid reviewer literally walked into the far too jovial laird of said village as I made my way to the box office, and had my hand liberally pumped for my trouble; the performers are just far too enthusiastic to wait till the doors actually open to begin, mingling with the crowd as they wait. Forget the fourth wall (and occasionally possibly even the third), the line between audience and performer is not so much blurred as liberally stamped on, rolled up and chucked over the shoulder whilst laughing heartily; when a doctor was needed to pronounce on the various dead bodies, he was yanked out of the seated crowd. Not to mention the fact that, yep, you will be asked to ceilidh every so often as the plot progresses, whilst almost every murder mystery cliché in the book is being employed around you. It’s slightly unfair to mark them down for it, as it’s not strictly the theatre company’s fault, but the layout of the room did make it slightly awkward for a chunk of the audience to see properly (I ended up sitting on the floor to get a decent view), and for those whose who don’t wish to dance find themselves getting up and down to let others past. But the cast are quite obviously having fun with it, the melodramatic sillyness is lovely, and gosh darn it if I didn’t actually find myself holding my breath for the big reveal.