Stepping into Theatre Royal Nottingham for Murder, She Didn’t Write feels a little like checking into an Agatha Christie novel that’s been rewritten by Monty Python after too much coffee. The show’s concept is dazzlingly simple: the audience provides the raw ingredients—location, murder weapon, and even victim—while the cast spins these suggestions into a completely original murder mystery right before your eyes. On the night I attended, the Nottingham crowd gleefully chose a mortuary as our setting, with the curious detail of a bald sheep at the crime scene. The absurdity began there, and only escalated.
It’s not easy to keep an improvised show on the rails, especially one that leans so heavily into audience participation. The Degrees of Error cast, however, are as slick as they are silly. Peter Baker leads proceedings as detective/host, perfectly balancing authority with an infectious sense of playfulness. He guides the narrative and ensures the plot, however outlandish, retains some semblance of sense.
Rachael Procter-Lane’s Gloria Gold brings a warmth and ease that immediately puts both cast and audience at ease—she’s quick-witted, charming, and entirely unflappable even when the plot spirals into the surreal. Sylvia Bishop (as Betty/Bella Blue) is a force of nature, diving into the most eccentric lines and choices with wild-eyed enthusiasm and total commitment to the ridiculous.
Each cast member finds a way to shine. Stephen Clements as Dr Plum, Harry Allmark’s Farmer Red, and Emily Brady as Cecilia Green all make the most of their multiple roles, jumping between accents and characters with dizzying speed and energy. Not a single comic opportunity is wasted, whether it’s a visual gag, a pun, or a knowing nod to murder mystery clichés.
What truly sets Murder, She Didn’t Write apart is how it welcomes the audience into the chaos. Not content with simply shouting out suggestions, the team invites a volunteer to play “Jerkins,” an audience avatar with real power over the unfolding story. This isn’t a token gesture—Jerkins is called upon at crucial moments to make split-second decisions that determine the direction of the plot.
Adding another level to the performance is the live pianist, who deserves a standing ovation of their own. Their ability to match the mood, pace, and punchlines of the actors is genuinely impressive, providing both atmosphere and spontaneous comedic punctuation throughout. Whether heightening tension during an interrogative standoff or jumping in with an old-timey motif, the music knits the improvisation together seamlessly.
Despite the riotous unpredictability, the cast somehow manages to pull together a coherent story with a satisfying conclusion—there’s always a reveal, a motive, and the gasp-inducing unmasking of the culprit. It’s a testament to the group’s experience and trust in one another; they’re always ready to support each other’s wildest ideas, and they know exactly how to bring things full circle. Even if the mystery involves a suspiciously hairless sheep.
With tickets priced very reasonably, Murder, She Didn’t Write offers exceptional value for a night out. The two-hour runtime (including interval) feels perfectly judged: you leave wanting more, not checking your watch.
Murder, She Didn’t Write is a celebration of theatre’s ability to surprise, delight, and bring audiences together in laughter. The cast’s sheer skill, the inspired use of live music, and the genuine sense of fun that permeates every moment make this one of the best nights out you’ll find on the UK stage right now. Nottingham was lucky to host such a talented, mischievous company—and if you get the chance, don’t miss them on tour.
For tickets, dates, and more, visit murdershedidntwrite.com.
Photography throughout from Pamela Raith.
Leave a Reply