Inside Gluttony’s Gosling tent, detective Agatha Crusty reclines on a chaise armchair with her nose buried in a book. It’s a neat piece of scene-setting. We are in the 1930s. Somewhere in the room lurks her Watson-like sidekick, Jerkins. The catch is that Jerkins has been undercover so long that they’ve forgotten who they are.

A hat is flung blindly into the audience. Whoever it lands on must don it. Like King Arthur drawing the sword from the stone, this unsuspecting participant becomes Jerkins. Their first task is simple. Help decide the murder mystery that will unfold.

This is the premise of Murder, She Didn’t Write, an improvised whodunnit that has become a smash hit at the Edinburgh Fringe and London’s West End before arriving for its Australian premiere at Adelaide Fringe.

Produced by Wildpark Entertainment and Interactive Theatre International, the show borrows the familiar trappings of Agatha Christie and the mechanics of Cluedo. But instead of a carefully plotted script, the entire story is invented live on stage.

Once the hat lands, the chaos begins.

Audience members shout out suggestions for settings, relationships and suspicious circumstances. On opening night, the crowd proposed everything from a second wedding to forest bathing, a wake for a third husband and even barefoot grape crushing. The latter suggestion won. Suddenly, we were investigating a murder at a vineyard on the Isle of Wight.

The performers, dressed in bright Cluedo-style colours, take these fragments and spin them into a narrative with astonishing speed. The ensemble includes Peter Baker, Caitlin Campbell, Emile Clarke, Stephen Clements, Rachael Procter-Lane and Lizzy Skrzypiec. Each player juggles an avalanche of audience prompts.

Lights flash on and off to signal the end of scenes. Detective Crusty frequently intervenes to set extra challenges. A scene might have to be delivered in rhyme. Another might require French dialogue. At other points, physical comedy cues are introduced whenever certain words or actions occur. It is theatre sports in a trench coat.

Like real sport, improv has its batting averages. Some performers land punchline after punchline. Others have quieter innings. That is part of the charm. Watching quick-thinking actors scramble to stitch together nonsense is the real pleasure. And there is a lot of nonsense.

Improvisers leap from character to character. A vineyard heiress mourns her third husband, Gerald the Bacon Eater. Grapes are stomped in imaginary barrels. Accents wobble. All the while, the audience acts as co-writers, detectives and hecklers. The joy lies in the game.

The performers commit fully to every absurd idea thrown their way. Even the most incoherent suggestions are treated as precious narrative clues. Slowly, threads begin to link.  Motives form. Suspicion grows. And somehow, Agatha Crusty pulls it all together.

What initially appears to be a jumble of unrelated jokes gradually morphs into a coherent and surprisingly satisfying solution. The detective gathers the suspects, delivers the classic drawing-room monologue, and reveals the culprit.

The fact that it works at all feels like magic.

Improvised theatre has a long Fringe history. In many ways, it functions as the modern pantomime. Audiences shout. Actors respond. The boundary between stage and crowd dissolves. No two performances are the same. Murder, She Didn’t Write embraces that tradition wholeheartedly.

The production’s biggest strength is its structure. The improvisation may be chaotic, but the format keeps things moving. The rotating challenges, scene resets and detective commentary ensure momentum never stalls.

Occasionally, a segment runs longer than the joke demands. That is the risk of improv. Some ideas simply stretch thinner than others. Yet even those moments carry a kind of fascination. You are watching creative problem-solving happen in real time. And when the ensemble lands a perfect improvised gag, the room erupts.

The show’s creators describe it as a Cluedo-style murder mystery written live before the audience’s eyes.  That description proves accurate. The audience does not just watch the mystery unfold. They create it. The result is an evening that feels less like theatre and more like a collaborative party game with professional comedians.

Not everyone loves improv. It relies on spontaneity, audience participation and the occasional uneven moment. If tightly scripted comedy is your preference, this may not be your cup of tea. But if you enjoy quick wit, playful chaos and watching performers think on their feet, Murder, She Didn’t Write is a splendid tea party.

And with every performance generating a brand-new crime, it is a mystery that never repeats.