Other bits are a bit more guaranteed groany: the mispronunciations of Poirot’s name as Poy-rot by an Englishman, the mispronunciation of bunker as bunk-ay by a Frenchman, etc.) Silly, but effective, if you’re amenable. But gradually, the story’s labyrinthine plot places increasing demands on the cast, so that at one point, Mackey the suspected Englishman is forced to distinguish himself from Mackey the interrogating Frenchman by holding his dapper cardigan to his chest and switching from one outsized accent to another. (The play’s handling of that particular aspect gives a good sense of its sense of humor: at first, it’s content to let the change of costumes do its work on the imagination. His fellow Baskerville actor Brian Mackey is along for the ride - there, he was the master detective here, he joins three other actors in playing a whole bunch of parts. Now he’s acting again, this time in the starring role: Agatha Christie’s Hercule Poirot, the fastidious fellow with the Belgian accent, the fine moustache, and the deep faith in the little gray cells’ power to deduce (as opposed to say, grubby forensic work). Then it was down to Coronado for more Holmesian hijinks as the villain (and other characters) in Baskerville.
His Comical Mystery Tour rolls merrily along, circling back to where it started with last season’s The Remarkable Mister Holmes musical, for which he was the writer. Who knew murder was supposed to be an occasion for amusement? Omri Schein, that’s who.
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