Off beat

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This article was published 04/04/2025 (549 days ago), so information in it may no longer be current.

Joe Kinosian and Kellen Blair’s Murder for Two begins with a surprise party thrown for renowned author Arthur Whitney, whose birthday present is a bullet through the forehead.

Who would do such a thing to “everybody’s favourite local patriarch?”

Could it have been Whitney’s wife, a prima donna once-removed from Macon, Ga. (Melanie Whyte)? His true-crime-obsessed niece Steph (Melanie Whyte)? His snippety neighbours Murray and Barb (Melanie Whyte and Melanie Whyte)? His mucousy psychiatrist (Melanie Whyte)? Or perhaps the impish members of a boys’ choir, hired as the evening’s entertainment (Melanie Whyte, Melanie Whyte and Melanie Whyte)?

That’s what Marcus Moscovitz (Duncan Cox) wants to know. But Moscovitz — whose own case history is blurry, bloodied and underdeveloped — is just a small-time New England police officer: the ring tethered to his belt jangles with only two very minor keys.

Written in 2010, Murder for Two predates more contemporary fare like Knives Out and Only Murders in the Building, which might explain why a show Charles Isherwood of the New York Times called in 2013 “an ingenious miniature musical in the form of a snazzy vaudevillian double act” seems a tad short on intrigue in more modern times.

Kelly Thornton, Royal Manitoba Theatre Centre’s artistic director, told the audience on opening night that she likes to bracket her seasons — the most recent of which began with the inspired comic performance of The Play That Goes Wrong — with “stupid-funny.”

Despite Cox and Whyte’s adroit character work and admirable fulfilment of double duty as their own grand-piano accompanists, enjoyment of this light-hearted, energetic musical will likely depend on how much “stupid-funny” audience members can take before the laughs reach the point of diminished returns.

However, to be fair, this balagan — a Hebrew word translating roughly to disorder — is chaotic by design, and the barrage of script gags can either nip at audience patience or astonish through starry-eyed commitment to the silliest of bits.

Kinosian and Blair’s book, directed with campy flair by Chase Winnicky, frequently pokes fun at the ridiculousness of the two-hander conceit, often deployed more in service of theatre economics than of story, as well as the murder-mystery category. Both subgenres follow a seemingly immutable set of standard protocols, and Winnicky has a ball setting Cox and Whyte into conversation with the audience, warning about cellphone ringers and encouraging applause.

The original script calls for simplicity, with the piano as the sole piece of furniture; however, set designer Adam Parboosingh elects here to elongate the territory outwards and upwards, stretching the action across the stage at the Warehouse.

This choice expands the playground for Cox and Whyte, whose movements were directed by Rebekah Jones. However, some areas of the set, notably the outdoor lamp-post and mailbox, feel underutilized, while others are at times severely underlit, given the audience’s extra-wide field of vision.

It’s a smart decision to situate the central action on a riser, giving audience members a frequent, visually accessible reminder that the performers are indeed the ones pumping the pedals and tickling the ivories. Directed by Paul Rodermond, the music is buzzy and serves the actors’ kineticism.

The performers are given every opportunity to share their prodigious vocal talents, especially when Cox is called on to sing the higher notes overtop of Whyte’s lower ones. It’s indisputable that these actors have impressive range, and to their credit, they keep the energy in the Warehouse sky-high throughout the 105-minute (no intermission) runtime.

Whyte in particular brings it when playing the nine-year-old Timmy and his whistling colleague Yonkers, pronounced “Yonkaz,” a pair of children from nearby Badonkaville who’ve lived through grotesquery after hilarious grotesquery.

Kinosian and Blair’s script, however, is paradoxically slowed down by its own frantic pace, stuffed with as much filler as it is killer.

But one thing you can’t accuse this production of doing is pretending to be something it isn’t. The motive here is guileless farce and harmless diversion, nothing more and nothing less.

ben.waldman@winnipegfreepress.com