‘Murder, ReWrote’ thru Hell in a Handbag Productions: Chocolate, frenemies, and the theater
L to R: Ed Jones; Grant Drager; Britain Gebhardt; David Cerda; and Tyler Anthony Smith. Photo by Rick Aguilar Studios.
Before the digital proliferation of true crime made the notion of homicide as inviting as afternoon tea, the analog days had Murder, She Wrote, starring Angela Lansbury as Jessica Fletcher, the mystery writer/amateur sleuth/Angel of Death. Apparently constitutionally unable to go anywhere without finding a stiff at her feet and a mystery to solve, Fletcher’s television adventures are ripe for ribbing.
A natural thing, then, for Hell in a Handbag, in league with Ed Rutherford (book and lyrics) and George Howe (music and lyrics), to whip up the musical spoof Murder, ReWrote.
The scenario is very much in Handbag’s wheelhouse. That is, they plunk Jessica Fletcher Bessica Feltcher (Britain Gebhardt) in the middle of a negligee-thin gloss on Mommie Dearest. Unlike in that cutthroat camp classic, though, someone does end up dead here: the shrill brat Christina Crawford Crayfish (Tyler Anthony Smith). Bessica draws up a list of suspects, all of whom would want Christina dead, yadda yadda yadda.
Then the audience votes for the perp. That’s right—as Bessica says, “We’re Edwin Drood-ing this m—————r!”
So, murder aside, it’s light as a bonbon, and Rutherford and Howe manage to ingratiate both the original show’s die-hard fans as well as the uninitiated. However, its lightness doesn’t really seem to support a two-act structure, and, even with a brief intermission, the whole shebang’s about ninety minutes long. And in keeping with a TV spoof, time is given over to archly macabre parodies of otherwise innocent daytime commercials. These are very much in keeping with Rutherford’s archly macabre Black Button Eyes productions, but these are accompanied by clunky rolling walls, the maneuvering of which can’t help but sag the pace. (Those walls also block off Rose Johnson’s outrageously ruffled and fluffled manse set.) But other TV-centric gags, like a live “freeze-frame”, are more successful.
Time spent here is time not spent on Gebhardt’s on-point and forthright Lansbury impersonation, reincarnated all the way down to the star’s post-Broadway warble.
And, naturallement, David Cerda plays Joan Crawford June Crayfish; it’s always nice to see a lady back where she belongs, and with an oversized vodka straight in hand, too. Shout-out, too, to Caroline Kidwell’s Detective Marigold, who herself has overdosed on TV police procedurals, or at least the “cool” ones.
Much like Handbag’s series of Golden Girls parodies, there’s ample opportunity, I think, to keep Murder, ReWrote around as a series in its own right. Camp isn’t starved for devious scenarios, so whip up a new mystery for each edition, as well as a clutch of song truffles to go with it, keep picking up on those cues, and they’d be in business.
Bring back Gebhardt, though, whatever that takes. Leaving her out would be a crime.
Murder, ReWrote runs through September 18th at the Den Theatre, 1331 N. Milwaukee Ave. For tickets or more information, please call (773) 697-3830 or click here.
For more reviews on this or other shows, please visit theatreinchicago.com.