The holiday may be over, but it's not to late to catch one of Harvard's spookiest Halloween treats. First-class acting, skillful direction and a healthy dose of paranoia make Ten Little Indians a sure bet both to frighten and entertain. And after seeing this production, you might even be a little more careful when you recite those childhood nursery rhymes.

Ten Little Indians

By Agatha Christie

Directed by Molly Bishop

At the Leverett House Old Library

Friday at 8 p.m. and 10:30 p.m.

Saturday at 8 p.m.

Ten guests have gathered on Indian Island off the coast of Devon, England, ostensibly to enjoy a quiet weekend with a host whom none of the invited can clearly remember, the mysterious Mr. Owen. Their trip takes a turn for the worse when the Butler (Tom Tremoulet) plays a record in which "Mr. Owen" accuses each of the assembled company of murder and promises that they will pay for their crimes.

As people begin dying and a storm prevents any escape from Indian Island, it becomes apparent that Mr. Owen is one of the guests and he plans to kill the entire company the same way the "Ten Little Indians" die in a framed nursery rhyme which hangs over the mantle of the living room.

It's hard to go wrong with a story as full of clever nuances and intriguing plot twists as Agatha Christie's Ten Little Indians. Nonetheless, credit must be given to director Molly Bishop for assembling such an accomplished cast. Given roles which are essentially stereotypes, the actors manage to infuse their characters with life, and they skillfully portray the change from innocent amusement in the play's first scene to suspicion and finally paranoia as more and more guests are murdered.

As Miss Emily Brent, an aged spinster, Andrea Thome manages to keep her back erect and her opinions prim even as her peers die in hideous fashion. John Ducey adopts the physical mannerisms of an old fogey perfectly, and his General Arthur MacKenzie shambles from place to place in a manner that is both disconcerting (Ducey's mouth hangs open for much of his time on stage) and endearing (when he apologetically requests a certain seat because "that's where my chair is at the Club.")

As the over-bearing detective William Blore, Jeff Branion uses his physical presence skillfully, throwing his theories around in as imposing a manner as he propels his body. And Captain Philip Lombard (Glenn Kiser) highlights the sinister elements that lurk beneath seemingly innocent characters when he defends the abandonment of African soldiers under his command by saying, "Natives don't mind dying; they don't think of it as Europeans do."

Some of the most promising actors in this play are cut short when their characters are murdered, but, gratifyingly, the show is stolen by two who manage to evade death until near the end. As Sir Lawrence Wargrave, a notorious "hanging judge," Woody Hill paces through his scenes like a hawk, interrogating other characters in courtroom style and calmly remarking, "We've been invited here by a madman, probably homicidal." Miss Vera Claythorne (Reid Cottingham) uses physical objects perfectly, obsessively adjusting the rings on her finger and hovering in the background with a cigarette like an angel of death.

These quality performances are enhanced by Bishop's direction: she manages to move nine characters around with a minimum of upstaging, and she skillfully juxtaposes the inner feelings of the characters with what is occuring on stage. A second-act candle-light scene is especially eerie; the shadows of doubt we harbor about each character are mirrored in the flickering shadows on their faces.

The murder scenes are also handled particularly well; often a character will expire so unobtrusively that the audience discovers their death at about the same time as the actors do. Through it all, the nursery rhyme hangs over the mantle, predicting each crime and challenging both the actors and the audience to figure them out.

How intense and convincing is this show? During the final murder scene, my friend screamed louder than the victim.