i saw
Black Coffee last night.
Agatha Christie: hackneyed three act melodrama in a drawing room with three entrances where a woman with a hidden past is not the murderer and the revelation of the plot depends on something annoyingly improbable but not impossible. i don't like her plays.
it was absolutely delightful. the cast was fully committed; they chewed up the scenery without commenting on themselves or mugging. the manners and the dramatic sound cues brought gales of laughter from the audience, yet we all still held on to see whodunnit. the best part for me was that Lawrence Ballard was remarkably restrained, AND THEN HE DIED.
excellent ensemble work, a fun forced-prospective set, solid directing. i had a delightful time, and i don't think it was all just the bourbon and Junior Mints.
we were out of coffee at work this morning. it was just as well.