Reprinted from Dorchester News February 2025
In mid-November, as the chilly tendrils of winter began to worm their way into our bones, homes and moods, DADS once again came to the rescue with a veritable thermal blanket of spirit-raising entertainment.
For three nights a packed village hall was treated to ‘Lord Arthur Savile’s Crime’, Constance Cox’s stage adaptation of the short story by Oscar Wilde. Cox’s version, perhaps mercifully, is leavened with rather more humour than Wilde’s darker original.
As the lights went down we were transported into an upperclass Victorian London drawing-room, where its resident, Lord Arthur Savile, and his manservant, Baines, are discussing the young aristocrat’s imminent marriage. Arthur’s rosetinted, rhapsodic contemplation of a future of wedded bliss is, it is fair to say, not echoed by Baines.
Benoit Preece, lured back onto the boards after years of literally ‘playing the field’ (sporting distractions) launched his DADS career and inhabited the title role as if to the manner born – suave, urbane…. and frankly a bit airheaded. Mike Lord, deliciously supercilious as Baines, savoured the script’s rich gifts – the butler’s withering cynicism on the institution of marriage and much else – with a relish conspicuously shared by the audience.
The arrival of Sybil, Arthur’s fiancée, sets up the central plot. It seems all of London society is in the 
credulous thrall of a Mr Podgers – a chiromantist (that’s a palm-reader to you and me) – who is peddling his clairvoyant ‘insights’ into their lives. This has posed an unexpected snag to the young couple: Sybil’s redoubtable mother, Lady Merton, has decreed that Arthur must satisfactorily submit to Podgers’s examination before the marriage can proceed. Alice Hope, in the role of Sybil, painted a delightfully amusing portrait of a frothy ingénue with a somewhat narrow attention span who is nonetheless a shrewd manipulator of her betrothed.
Meanwhile, we are introduced to the Dean of Paddington – an amiable old duffer in a chronic state of bewilderment. He might just as soon bury you as marry you.
Booked to officiate at the upcoming nuptials, he greets Arthur: “Did you have a good honeymoon?” Ian Brace was remarkably convincing in his distracted, avuncular embodiment of the part. (Should we be worried?)
We also meet Arthur’s two aunts. Eileen Pinkarchevski revelled in the elderly Lady Clementina’s happy-go-lucky hedonism, breezily confessing her weakness for gambling, expensive confectionery and financial incontinence, in a performance of sparkling, natural comic flair. Rosemary Metcalfe – whose DADS tenure must be almost as longstanding as its venue, and no less distinguished – brought us Lady Windermere. Cast as the glamorous grande dame of the urban set, she dispatched classic Wildean witticisms and caustic gossip with mellifluous top-spin.
Integral to the comings and goings of Arthur’s visitors is Nellie, the maid. Debuting in both DADS and Dorchester (as a resident) – but clearly not in theatre – Róisín Barnfather animated the role with a luminous mischief and charisma of which we can only hope to see more in future.
Lady Merton arrives with Podgers in tow. She is plainly on a mission to expose skeletons in Arthur’s closet. Liz Mente-Bishop’s icy hauteur as this malevolent mother-in-law-to-be, oozing contempt for Arthur, established her effectively as the latter’s nemesis in the scene. Russell Bailey’s trademark voluble characterisation gave us
Podgers as an oleaginous trickster – his initial ingratiating manner later giving way to altogether more dastardly motives. Under the gaze of the foregathered guests, and fearing the worst, Arthur subjects himself to Podgers’s scrutiny. The spectacle completed, Podgers declares Arthur’s palm a mirror of a life without blemish – to the evident disappointment of Lady Merton – only then to confide to Arthur that he is in fact destined to commit a murder. Convinced, the despairing Arthur decides he must get on with it immediately, that he may then embark upon married life with this “shadow of infamy” firmly behind him.
Into the scenario, by an extraordinary coincidence, barges Frau Winkelkopf, an eavesdropping assassin eager to offer her services. Lucinda Kenrick’s barnstorming antics in the part proved an uproarious hit with the audience, her reappearances onstage provoking spontaneous outbursts of applause.
There ensues a succession of woefully botched ploys. Such is the conspirators’ fixation on the murder per se, the choice of victim appears to be immaterial. Abetted by Baines, whose hellbent
loyalty provides some of the scenes’ farcical gold, the targets variously considered fair game include: Aunt Clementina’s sweet tooth? (Poison!) Lady Windermere descending the stairs? (A tripwire!) The Dean’s beloved clock collection? (A disguised time-bomb!) Throw in, for good measure, a booby-trapped umbrella and other highexplosives that no one can keep track of… and the stage is set for a sequence of gaffes, petard-hoisting and general mayhem that is sustained with admirable directorial momentum. Indeed the only thing that seems absolutely dependable in the unfolding killing-spree is Frau Winkelkopf’s rank ineptitude, ensuring that, one after another, all attempted ‘hits’ go ludicrously awry. (One can’t help feeling that she really should question her career choices.)
Unwavering throughout it all is Arthur’s goofy moral insouciance about bumping off innocent relatives and clergy. And it is more than matched by Sybil’s untroubled complicity, once let in
on the scheme. Egging on every nefarious deed, this girl has the altar squarely in her sights and is not going to let a little thing like homicide get in the way. It eventually transpires that Podgers’s ‘prophecy’ is a lie confected to induce poor Arthur to incriminate himself. Podgers’s mission all along has been blackmail. In the end, the inevitability of his exposure as a fraud delivers his comeuppance – and Arthur’s salvation – in the form of a selfadministered bullet to the brain.
Tremendous credit must go to Mark Wilkin whose assured direction wrought together the many moving plot elements, staging challenges, and the interplay 
of his ensemble into an organic, pacy and above all entertaining audience experience. The whole team of offstage crew, managed by Jane Brooks, achieved a production that punched above DADS’s weight. Ed Metcalfe’s and James Pratt’s classy single set cleverly served the entire play, much to the benefit of its narrative flow. Simon Ratliff’s and Alexander Tilley’s deft lighting and effects provided dramatic – and indeed explosive – multisensory enhancements throughout.
The spectacular elegance of the female costumes in particular deserves mention: chapeau to Rosemary Metcalfe on secondary duty as wardrobe mistress. And so, thanks in no small part to the genial hospitality staff whose skills behind the bar might aptly be described as ‘well-oiled’, a thoroughly satisfied audience ventured back out into the cold night, musing appreciatively that, for such quality fare, you couldn’t stroll back home from Shaftesbury Avenue, and moreover still have
enough left in your pocket for a Sunday pub lunch.
David Gentleman