One way that the advent of cinema changed the face of live entertainment was to acclimate us to visual immediacy. Literature demands that our imaginations construct scenarios based on verbal descriptions, but 'moving pictures' reduced the cognitive lag inherent in mentally processing the written word. But in doing so, it likewise diminished our appreciation of the contemplative depths, unimpeded by the necessity of external manifestations, facilitated by the slower comprehension time of information absorbed through reading.
City Lit Theater's page-to-stage projects have always been savvily selected to take advantage of their intimate quarters. And can you get any more intimate than what Mary Roberts Rinehart's heroine calls "a study in terror," its setting an isolated country mansion harboring family secrets? Oh, there are the expected locked closets, telephones ringing in the night, ghostly prowlers and hidden missives - but the focus is less on action than on the responses of the personnel affected.
We begin with the elderly Mrs. Agnes Blakiston and her maidservant, who no sooner arrive at the house they have rented for the summer when mysterious events give rise to disturbing questions: Was it really the scene of a murder in the recent past, as a concealed letter confessing to the deed claims? What is frightening the owner of the estate so terribly that she prefers to have strangers live there? Who is harassing the new occupants? Most important - what is to be done when the answers come to light?
Rinehart's prolific canon of thrillers has dubbed her "The American Agatha Christie," and, as with her English counterpart, the neo-gothic motifs in vogue circa 1921 could easily come off as quaintly camp today. Cameron Feagin's adaptation, however, reflects cognizance of the distinctions between Brits bound by social class and Yankees constrained only by filial piety. The results make for the requisite shivers but emerge refreshingly free of sexist clichés. No screaming habdabs for these ladies, thank you!
So don't be lulled by the leisurely pace of the first scenes. However gradually the narrative might unfold (while still finishing in a tidy two hours, including intermission), the unfaltering conviction exhibited in the performances of Mary Poole, Kay Schmitt and the aforementioned Feagin, playing the intrepid women determined to forge ahead in their queries (assisted by Thad Anzur and Mike Postilion as assorted baffled males) will soon have you waiting breathlessly for the final revelation that will explain all.
