'Dial M for Murder' Keeps 'em Guessing at Bay Street Theater

Given the geopolitical, social and environmental turmoils that are weighing so heavily on the world today, there’s something oddly comforting about settling into a theater with a scene that is straight out of the 1950s.

We’re talking about an aesthetic that’s fashionably mid-century modern, yet also familiarly nostalgic — in the way that Nat King Cole on the turntable is nostalgic, or the endless pleasures of a well-stocked highball bar when company is coming. Now that’s nostalgic.

Even when it’s the backdrop for a crime.

Enter “Dial M for Murder” Bay Street Theater’s newest noir-esque production, a show that is simultaneously great fun and truly sinister. Lovers of 20th century cinema might recall Alfred Hitchcock’s version — the 1954 film starred Grace Kelly and Ray Milland (and was offered in 3-D, no less, how au courant). But before it was a film, “Dial M for Murder” was a play by Frederick Knott that graced the London stage, and even before that, it was a BBC television production.

Interestingly enough, the BBC has a cameo in this production, as it plays a key role in creating an alibi — but for which character, exactly?

That all comes later. First things first.

This version of “Dial M for Murder,” which opened June 27 and runs through July 23 at Bay Street, is capably directed by Broadway legend Walter Bobbie with a script that has been somewhat updated by writer Jeffery Hatcher.

The play tells the story of British married couple Tony Wendice and his wife, Margot (played by Erich Bergen and Mamie Gummer in the roles Milland and Kelly assumed in the Hitchcock film). By all appearances, Tony and Margot live in the lap of upscale luxury in central London in a truly fabulous flat (serious props to designer Anna Louizos for a jaw-droppingly stunning set that is, in itself, a star). The couple seem to be fairly happy, surrounded, as they are, with wonderful mid-century modern furnishings, an oft-visited cocktail bar and a wardrobe to die for (cue Mrs. Maisel).

Speaking of dying, somebody will before long. And while murder is never a casual affair, this play is almost quaint in the way it evokes a simpler time in the realm of crime. After all, it’s 1952 and there are no mass shootings or stand your ground laws here (either, of which, would have rendered the entire plot moot in about two seconds). Nope. In the Wendice household, it’s a case of just good, old fashioned murder in the first (or is it second?) degree and a well-positioned sharp object in handy reach.

That all comes later. Second things second.

Despite Tony and Margot’s apparent outward marital bliss, all is not as rosy as the façade of their upscale home would indicate, as one of them is having a sordid love affair. We soon learn that Tony is a failed writer who is now forced to work as a publicist for a not-failing writer — author Maxine Hadley (Rosa Gilmore). Her specialty is the murder mystery, and she’s very good at puzzling out methods and motives over a bit of bourbon (the cocktail bar is never far from mind, hand or script here). Early on, we’re treated to a fun romp through the alphabet in a game of “26 ways to die,” courtesy of Maxine and Margot. The women obviously have an affinity for one another, and it turns out that the money financing the Wendice lifestyle (including the fabulous wardrobe in the closet) is also Margot’s and, speaking of closets, it’s Margot who is having the secret affair — not with some rando dude, but rather, Maxine.

It’s a lesbian-laden twist that Hitchcock would have never been able to engineer in the 1950s (though he would probably would have loved it), and as the play opens, the two women are very nervous. It seems a saucy love letter written by Maxine to Margot went missing after Margot’s purse was lifted at Victoria Station. Though the purse was returned, the letter was not. What has arrived in its place, however, are a couple of anonymous ransom notes demanding £5,000 from Margot in exchange for the letter’s return. Otherwise, it will be handed over to Tony.

Fearful that her husband will discover her affair and that she will lose her inheritance as a result, Margot has paid the money, yet still has not heard back from the thief, nor received the stolen letter.

But it turns out that Margot has it all wrong. In fact, Tony is well aware of the affair, having lifted the letter from the purse himself out of suspicion. It is also he is who has demanded (and received) the ransom for its return. At this point, he’s just messing with her — and now, he wants her dead so he can inherit her wealth.

Enter Lesgate, an old acquaintance of Tony’s from his university days who is lured to the flat under false pretenses. Despite both men having gone to Cambridge, neither has been particularly successful in a respective career. While Tony lives off the largess of his wife, Lesgate (if that’s even his name) is a shape-shifting con artist whose primary profession is successfully ducking out on back rent and adopting new identities in a search for new landladies to swindle (and on occasion, marry if he feels it’s financially worth it).

Tony shows Lesgate the love letter, and once Lesgate’s fingerprints are on it, he coerces the petty criminal to kill his wife while he and Maxine are out at the BBC studios that evening where Maxine will be giving a radio interview about her latest book. Providing Lesgate with the key to the front door and promises of a fat payday, Tony instructs the con-man to do the deed when Margot answers the phone, which Tony will ring at a predetermined hour. Once she is dead, Tony explains, Lesgate is to whistle into the phone line to let him know the job is done.

Saying anything more at this point would be giving far too much away. This is a mystery, after all. But suffice it to say, things do not go as planned, and early in Act II, we meet, hands down, the most intriguing character in the play — the affably offbeat Inspector Hubbard (Reg Rogers). Disheveled, odd and attuned to the wanton ways of criminal minds, as Hubbard the lawman Rogers is quirkily hilarious, quick thinking and oddly clever at poking holes in seemingly solid alibis.

Bobbie’s expert direction with the material and the wonderful ensemble cast play their respective roles well in the play, feeding off one another and the energy in the room. As Tony, Erich Bergen plays the smarmy, conniving husband with authenticity while Moore’s Lesgate is a duplicitous foil to his best laid plans. And while Mamie Gummer’s Margot may evoke the naïve, waif-like sweetness of a clueless victim, she is anything but and some of the funniest, if unintentionally humorous, lines in the play come out of her mouth. Rosa Gilmore is a buttoned up and efficient Maxine, the epitome of all business, but it is Roger as Hubbard who takes a nothing crime and suddenly makes it all seem worthwhile. Though not a character, also not to be overlooked and deserving of a mention and heartfelt nod are the truly fabulous 1950s costumes, courtesy of designer Jeff Mahshie.

In short, while the final revelations in “Dial M for Murder” are a bit convoluted, more than a little head spinning and complicated by misguided suspicions and a curious escape plan, it all ties up fairly neatly, more or less, if a bit abruptly, in the end. But pay close attention. The complexity of the twists and turns can, at times, leave audience members scratching their heads in puzzlement as purloined keys, ringing phones and a swapped out murder weapon become prime clues to track. Ultimately, though, it’s probably best not to think too deeply about it all. Just sit back and go with the murderous flow because remember, it’s summer.

“Dial M for Murder” runs through July 23 at Bay Street Theater on Long Wharf in Sag Harbor. Shows are Tuesday through Sunday, with matinees on some Wednesdays and weekends. Tickets start at $50 at baystreet.org or 631-725-9500.