Last weekend, T and I hosted a murder-mystery dinner party, the kind where each person plays the role of a suspect. I know, I know. You're thinking, "Dorky! I would never do that," but at the same time, you're thinking, "I would kind of want to do that."
Anyway, we had stellar guests: They dressed up, they played their parts with gusto, and they were careful not to get so wrapped up in the game that we began to wonder if they were (dramatic stage whisper) theatre people.
So, it was fun. Bean played the role of Victoria Lester, the murdered woman, perfectly in that he ran around for a while, screamed, and collapsed for the night. T was somehow able to channel "big shot in oil" Big Bill Bradford, our friends rock, and there was alcohol, so all was good.
The one thing, though, was that this game was produced for, I don't know, maybe four cents, as I believe the cover art demonstrates. Max Haines, murder-mystery dinner-party creator extraordinaire, lends his services as a consultant based on his "knowledge and research of murder mystery," and the writing leaves one...confused. (For the record, each guest gets a generalized script to read from that outlines what his/her character should reveal in a given scene.) Many times over the course of the evening, someone would declare, "I was jealous because she couldn't have him! I mean, I couldn't have him. I mean, wait. Who couldn't have him? I think it was me, but the wording here is a little confusing."
Really, though, the badness was part of the fun. Can you imagine what a well-done murder-mystery dinner party would look like? It would look dorky, that's what.
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