The Hollow Review: Agatha Christie’s Unusual Murder Drama at Richmond Theatre – ★★★★☆
Who killed Dr John Christow? That’s the question at the centre of The Hollow, Agatha Christie’s murder mystery currently playing at Richmond Theatre before embarking on its UK tour.
Sir Henry and Lady Lucy Angkatell invite relatives and friends to spend a weekend at their country estate, The Hollow. Lucy takes particular pleasure in arranging the seating plan around personal dislikes and existing dramas. With Poirot among the guests, however, the outcome is hardly a surprise: a murder is practically guaranteed. Beneath the surface of polite smiles and enthusiastic conversation runs a torrent of jealousy, infidelity, unrequited love, old flames and, of course, inheritance and wealth.
Like every other murder mystery, The Hollow weaves a clever web of truth and lies, with all the familiar devices of the whodunnit. The novel was published in 1946, under the title Murder After Hours in the United States. It was Christie’s sixteenth full-length Poirot novel.
By this stage of her career, the queen of detective fiction was becoming increasingly tired of her famous Belgian nosybody. She introduces Poirot only partway through the novel, leaving considerable room for the other characters to develop. When she adapted the story for the stage in 1951, she went one step further and removed Poirot altogether, replacing him with a Scotland Yard inspector, Inspector Colquhoun. Christie evidently thought this particular Poirot novel worked better without Poirot.
And here lies The Hollow‘s dilemma. Fans of the classic murder-mystery genre may find themselves somewhat short-changed: there is no conventional gathering of suspects at the end, followed by a clever unravelling of clues. Conversely, those looking for a serious psychological drama may find Christie’s attempt to venture into Chekhov’s territory a little baffling.
But Christie was getting serious about being a “serious writer”. She spent a good deal of time developing her characters, who emerge not as mere stand-ins but as recognisable people, with complex personalities and motives. There are witty observations on the manners and mores of British upper-class society, and plenty of fun poked at Lords and Ladies and the English aversion to straight talking: everyone knows everything, yet nobody quite manages to spit it out. So much so that eliminating an inconvenient person with a gun, poison or whatever other criminal means necessary becomes an easier, albeit more radical, solution. Impractical in real life, perhaps; rather useful for a crime novelist.
Tamsin Oglesby’s new adaptation makes good use of the novel’s humour. There is plenty of banter, snide commentary and a particular variety of rich people’s laughter. Unlike Christie, however, Oglesby brings Poirot back on stage, introducing him right at the opening. So far, so good.
Oglesby has assembled a strong ensemble to fulfil her stage ambitions. Peter Polycarpou has clearly immersed himself in the character, but has ended up delivering a rather wonderful copy of David Suchet. His Belgian accent and fastidious, almost OCD-style mannerisms are spot on, and a delight for the audience.
Michael Praed is very convincing as Sir Henry Angkatell, a tall, lean aristocrat and collector of small arms who glides smoothly through life. Sarah Moyle, as his wife Lucy and hostess of the weekend, is deliciously borderline bonkers. Not your tight-lipped lady of the manor, she seems to have such limited memory bandwidth that one begins to wonder whether she really is that eccentric or whether it is all an act. After all, people with sufficient eccentricity and no apparent convictions can be afforded a surprising number of excuses. She walks out of the kitchen carrying a half-cooked red lobster, attempting to match it to the pattern on a cushion. She also rather incriminatingly speaks of her inability to inherit the family estate of Ainswick because of certain matrimonial complications. This, as it turns out, is a red herring.
The current owner of Ainswick is Lucy’s distant cousin Edward, a role played by James Sheldon. He does an excellent job of portraying a well-bred, wealthy romantic who has inherited privilege but never quite developed a character to match it, resulting in a mixture of impulsiveness and possessiveness.
The strongest characters in the play, however, are the women. Alongside Lucy Angkatell, there is Midge Hardcastle (deliciously mischievous Grace Darling), a young cousin who refuses an allowance, works in retail and arrives at the estate by bus. Then there is Henrietta Angkatell, another distant cousin, an independent sculptress and one of John’s lovers. Played by Victoria Blunt, she comes across as perceptive and emotionally intelligent, equally capable of sincerity and of concealing her own feelings.
At the centre of the drama, meanwhile, is a deliberately frumpy Gerda Christow, finally someone from outside the Angkatell family: the victim’s wife, and the woman found holding the smoking gun. Tilly Steele is perfectly cast as this adoring, self-effacing wife, although the adaptation rather confines her to the stereotype of a worshipful, emotionally overwrought woman.
In the opposite corner is glamorous Hollywood star Veronica Craye, one of John’s more serious former flames. She makes an unexpected entrance asking for matches – a seemingly innocent request that reignites an old passion and sets the household ablaze emotionally. Kemi-Bo Jacobs is a steady actress, but is unfortunately directed to overact throughout, taking Veronica to the very brink of the grotesque.
The victim himself, John Christow, is an abysmal character – and could have been given more stage time, if only to establish more fully just how much Christie despised men of his kind. A Harley Street doctor, professionally distinguished but deeply self-important, he is also dabbling in the mental health of his patients, an area in which his apparent confidence seems considerably greater than his emotional insight. There is something particularly unpleasant about his combination of professional authority and personal arrogance.
There is, however, a more personal dimension to this story. In December 1926, following her husband Archie’s affair with Nancy Neele and his announcement that he wanted a divorce, Agatha Christie disappeared. Her car was found abandoned at Newlands Corner in Surrey. Eleven days later, she was discovered at the Swan Hydro Hotel in Harrogate, registered under the name Teresa Neele – her husband’s lover’s surname. She subsequently received medical and psychiatric attention for her memory loss, although the precise nature of her treatment remains uncertain.
Twenty years later, The Hollow reads almost as an act of catharsis. Henrietta, the artist and John’s lover, is an independent woman occupying a rather different position from the abandoned wife. Is it too fanciful to see her as Christie’s alter ego? Christie was herself creative, but within the conventions and social expectations of her class. Henrietta seems to inhabit a freer, less constrained world. Perhaps, in writing her, Christie was allowing herself to explore another version of her own identity.
If anything, this adaptation of The Hollow is satisfyingly stylish, with character-defining costumes and luscious set design by Joanna Parker. If anybody asks how to create a moneyed but distinctively aristocratic mid-century garden room in all shades of green, you know whom to call. Keep lighting designer Chris Davey on your books, too, because his sublime work brings it to life.
Whatever problems there were with Christie’s less conventional Poirot novel, this adaptation faces its own: it swings between genres, occasionally bordering on vaudeville. If Christie was trying to venture into Chekhov’s territory, Oglesby presents the story almost as a comedy of manners, only to veer towards serious drama in the final scenes, before Peter Polycarpou delivers an all-knowing wink to the audience.
It is easier to understand why Christie wrote the play than why anyone would attempt to adapt this rather uneven material for the stage. But perhaps someone has their reasons, mon ami.
Production photography: Johan Persson.
Agatha Christie’s The Hollow
2 hours 30 minutes incl. interval
Richmond Theatre
Tuesday 27 – Saturday 31 October 2026
Tickets: https://www.atgtickets.com/shows/agatha-christies-the-hollow/richmond-theatre/
Continues on tour until 29 May 2027. Tickets from https://thehollowplay.com/
Elena Leo is the Culture & Lifestyle Editor of Ikon London Magazine.
