Killing joke

Ira Levin’s name isn’t nearly as well known as his titles.

Ira Levin’s name isn’t nearly as well known as his titles. Rosemary’s Baby and The Stepford Wives, both originally novels, are his most celebrated works. He also wrote quite a few Broadway hits. In his 1970s play Deathtrap he tries to imagine how an author of murder mysteries might fare as a real-life killer. This idea is entirely preposterous or, if one were being ungenerous, entirely insane, but never mind. It might be fun.

We open with Sidney Bruhl, a famous playwright whose best work is behind him, discovering a great new play by an unknown dramatist. It’s a surefire hit. He feels it in his bones. ‘Even a gifted director couldn’t ruin it.’ He decides to kill the writer and claim the play as his own. With the help of his reluctant wife, he invites the young man to their home on the pretext of offering him writing tips. After tricking him into wearing a pair of handcuffs, he throttles him with a cheesewire and buries him in the garden. All this occurs in the first 20 minutes. Numerous twists and turns follow as Bruhl finds that his deadly scheme has furnished him with the materials for a new play.

The comic-horror genre is a peculiar hybrid, like a revolver that also blows bubbles, and this slick production fulfils both functions extremely well. The comedy is easy to like and Levin’s gift is gratifyingly cerebral. ‘Nothing recedes like success,’ says Bruhl, in an absent moment, as he ponders his recent run of flops. He realises he’s just improvised a good line and rushes to write it down. Simon Russell Beale is eminently suited to this sort of cardie-and-slippers role and he captures every note and nuance of Bruhl without appearing to try too hard.