THE REAL INSPECTOR HOUND
Midemax Players
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The only thing worse than reviewing an Agatha Christie-type whodunit is reviewing a play about two critics sent to review an Agatha Christie-type whodunit. In The Real Inspector Hound, critics Moon and Birdboot have the advantage of playwright Tom Stoppard’s lovely language, which shapes their fatuous, long-winded insights about the travesty unfolding on the stage. Stoppard gleefully lampoons the interminable eternal English murder mystery, along with the critics who perpetuate it with their sophistry and empty praise. The Real Inspector Hound should be a wickedly funny portrait of how theater, actors, and critics feed off one another. As a critic, I should’ve walked away blushing. As it was I only squirmed. Stoppard is brilliant, but the Temporary Theatre’s production is as dull as they come.
