Dial M for Murder is Dial E for Excellent

The latch key did it.

Within the constrained space of the Globe’s in-the-round Sheryl and Harvey White Theatre, we find an elegant, mid-century modern London apartment (designed by Anna Louizos) inhabited by a chicly garbed, but troubled couple (costumes by Ryan Park).

With the audience inches away, natural-sounding sound design (Leon Rothenberg) is paramount. This, and plot-inspired lighting (Amanda Zieve), draw in the audience to Frederick Knott’s story of a murder gone wrong. Even though the audience is familiar with the plot — dramaturg Kristen Tregar references Hitchcock’s “…suspense requires an audience who knows as much information as possible…” — a full house hung on every word and often chuckled at familiar tropes.

We get the latch keys, the glass French door, the sewing basket, the ringing phone, the desk-top murder, the British restraint and sophistication, and what seem to be gallons of bourbon on the rocks. But, there, the similarity to the Hitchcock movie ends.

Adaptor Jeffrey Hatcher has modernized the story. Gone is crime writer Mark Halliday (Robert Cummings), inamorata of Margot Wendice (Grace Kelly), and in his place comes Maxine Hadley (the amusing Ruibo Qian), a gay crime writer who loves Margot, who is also gay (beauteous Kate Abbruzzese). Got it?

The beating heart of the play is the villain, Tony Wendice, who covets heiress Margot’s fortune. Ray Milland anchored the movie. Comes now the adroit, witty Nathan Darrow to hold the pieces of his plot together. Darrow is outstanding—even though we know that villains are always more fun. He’s already anonymously blackmailing Margot after finding Maxine’s love letter in her handbag. Husbands who root through wives’ handbags are beyond weird.

Apropos, the famous Charles Swann of the movie, ex college mate of Tony’s, is now a small-time hood named Lesgate, among other names (played with oily verve by Ruy Iskandar in a cheap checked jacket). He is briefly shocked by Tony’s murder proposal, but £5,000 is too good to pass up (he tries for £10,000, but settles for five). You know the deal with the phone, the latch key, and the timing of the murder.

The play opens with the two women downing bourbon and discussing ways to murder someone (of all things). We learn that Maxine’s writing career is on the ropes, but she has a PR job, promoting Tony’s book. We don’t know the women’s relationship until later, but are kept off balance by the actresses’ subtlety ((British restraint and all that).

The adapted story is set in the early 1950s when Britain’s anti-gay laws were in force, though female homosexuality was largely ignored as “small.” From 1533, when the first anti-gay legislation was passed under Henry VIII (of wife murder fame), the death penalty for “buggery” was in force for the next three centuries. In 1954 when the Hitchcock movie was released, homosexuality was no longer considered a “disease” and people’s privacy could not be investigated. It wasn’t until the United Kingdom Equality Act of 2010 gave LGBT employees protections from discrimination, harrassment and victimization on the job. But the beat goes on for equality everywhere on Planet Earth.

And Maxine’s love letter? The adaptation refers to it as “salacious” and implies that it led to Margot’s death-by-hanging conviction.

The actual murder scene is as gripping as the movie version. Margot, in a gorgeous white negligee, fights off Swann/Lesgate, who tries to strangle her with a knotted scarf. Her mending basket scissors are at hand as she frantically seizes them and stabs him in the back. Tony is on the phone and hears the whole thing. Upon returning, he sets up the dénouement with typical skill. What a role this is! What actor wouldn’t—excuse the expression—kill for such a part.

Enter the famous flatfoot, Inspector Hubbard—John Tufts’ deadpan humor and Midlands accent are spot-on. He’s our plain guy, who ultimately unravels Tony’s intricate plot in an effort to save Margot from the gallows. The contrast between this unexpected hero and the suave villain is worth the price of admission alone.

The closing scene involves a tense moment when a distraught Margot threatens Maxine with an ice pick from the living room bar.

And those latch keys? Author Frederick Knott (1916-2002) wrote just three plays, all nifty. But those latch keys have unlocked the keys to the kingdom of theater. The show closes Aug. 28.