A chill wind blows across the darkened grounds of Craigdarroch Castle. On this momentous eve, a young entrepreneur is celebrating his success in the commercial fishing industry. Surrounded by oaken walls, tapestried ceilings and lavish portraits, the fresh-faced fish fat-cat has the perfect life. Or does he?
In attendance is his sister, who resents the fishy reek that has permeated her existence. The fishmonger’s fiancé is also present, but it seems that their engagement is suspiciously predicated on being appointed his sole benefactor. A gruff and shady merchant ship salesman harbours outward spite at the barracuda baron, and a lowly factory fish-gutter is constantly insulted by the codfish kingpin, who scorns his dreams of becoming the proud captain of a glorious fishing vessel.
Arguments flare and tensions rise until, unexpectedly, the mackerel mogul is found dead, gutted like a greyback with suspicious efficiency, lying amidst the lingering scent of his sister’s perfume, and clutching in his cold grasp the ship merchant’s tobacco pipe. Who among this motley crew is the slithering eel who committed this dastardly deed? Was it the sister, the fiancé, the factory worker, the salesman, or could it have been the intoxicated woman who roams the halls threatening to tear down the priceless paintings and hammer dead fish in their place?
Such was the intricate and fascinating storyline of Murders on Paper St., but it may surprise you that the story was not premeditated in any way. The Paper St. Theatre Company is an impressively efficient improv studio. Starting from a random premise suggested by the audience, the cast launches into an entirely ad-lib story. Someone may announce himself as a persona he has just invented, or another actor may spontaneously create a name and backstory for the bewildered performer opposite her. Awkward pauses are frequent, as the actors struggle to catch up to their own story.
Yet, most captivating is the performer’s ability to shift and adapt to an unscripted narrative, to create characters rich with emotion, personality and nuance, who never even existed half an hour previously. Artistic director Dave Morris spoke of the power of improv to visit serious and emotional topics, rather than merely being a vehicle for comedy. Murders on Paper St. was indeed presented comedically, with actors consistently generating witty one-liners out of thin air. While these talented performers clearly have the ability to affect serious drama, they chose to lean into the campy, over-dramatic nature of film-noir mysteries to create something fun and effervescent, which I think was perfect.
It’s unique and fascinating to watch a story unfold when you are perfectly aware that the actors know just as little as you do. Typically after a show, the audience might ponder the intent of the writers and directors. For Paper St., however, I found myself speculating on which actors even knew what was happening. When one of the women was poisoned, did she intend to die, or did she only commit to her own fatality when one of the other actors spontaneously announced it to be so? And, since the wine she drank was actually brought by the fish baron, could it be that he intended to poison his guests all along, but never got the chance to see it through before he was killed?
The fun of this kind of speculation is that everything is correct, because everything is undefined. “The audience leaves having told themselves the story,” Morris told me. In a sense, through bearing witness, the audience is writing the story just as much as the performers are.
Murders on Paper St. was a theatre experience more engaging and exciting than any I’ve seen, and I eagerly await the return of the Paper St. Theatre Company to witness another original story, for the first and only time.