Chloe Wright
Staff Writer
Scrolling randomly through Corq for events weeks in advance does wonders for your schedule. That’s how I was one of the one hundred people to snag an RSVP to this unique event. It has been my dream to participate in a murder mystery dinner, and I also wanted a cool one to go to. Luckily for you, reader, this is an exclusive and extremely dramatic recount.
The dinner took place at Convocation Hall, the room full of fancy tables and well-dressed folks. Some ‘20s-inspired props were available to enhance any outfits we were wearing. I opted for a long string of pearls, which made me look antique and mysterious. We were also assigned to give ourselves fake names to hide our identities and keep up the intrigue. I chose “Veronica” and, oddly, no last name.
Our first prompt from a man who called himself Detective Joy was to stand up and be social, in other words, interrogate random strangers from around the room. Any one of them could be the killer, and whoever had a name tag would be labeled suspicious. Turns out, everyone had one. Great. Highlights include a girl naming herself “Girl,” “Dr. Finch,” who thought my going to France over the summer was suspicious, and “Oswald,” who wanted respect. How’s he gonna get respect if he’s an octopus? Please, laugh.
The plot began to show itself. A man was stabbed! Wait, he ended up being fine, but a newly introduced Detective Inn insisted that he was dead as a doorknob. She even put a sash around him, saying, “Don’t talk to me! I’m dead!” We were to witness a retired Detective Joy, and Detective Inn of the Inspector Gadget Division figure out this murder. They gained help from a doctor and a photographer along the way, the latter they insulted pretty harshly. Clues included a poem, a film memo, an article from Variety (which ripped off the Alec Baldwin story a few years ago), and more. My reasoning skills get pretty silly regarding banknotes or financial jargon, so I let my intuition carry me when sniffing out evidence. What I do know is that movie makers can get very testy.
In the quiet moments of clue analysis, McClurg provided us with food, which my brain needed to function. I had the risotto, some chicken with a creamy tomato sauce, and a chocolate tart, all quite tasty and fancy. The dinner part of the Murder Mystery Dinner served well.
Audience participation was by far the most captivating part of the night. People were plucked out of their seats to sing a Backstreet Boys song, stab someone while pretending to be a cowboy, and many other wacky, quirky activities. A personal favorite was when several students were called up to give their most convincing death screech. Once one of them was done, Detective Inn proudly (and loudly) said to him, “Your fly is down!” Since I personally know who’s fly was down, their identity, reader, will stay exclusive for their sake.
Once the final set of clues was released, a flurry of “Who did it?” flooded the room. Each person scribbled on their clue sheet to turn in their answer of who killed Private Ryan, her partner, and the stabee. “He could be guilty or not guilty,” someone at my table said, gesturing to his name tag that read Professor Schrödinger. “I would know.”
I was scratching my head and trying to use the remaining brain power I could muster up before I had a revelation. I watched enough murder mysteries to question the character with the least amount of background. Plus, he said he would review the show for The Sewanee Review, which only accepts literary works. And he took so many selfies of our group. So many. No one needs that many selfies. I got my murderer: Peckerhead, the photographer.
And guess what: I was right! I’m rarely correct! I was trying to understand his motives, but the character’s insane ramblings made him seem like he got bit by a rabies-infected raccoon.
I’ve heard this show described as a “fever dream” and “written by ChatGPT,” which I definitely felt when Detective Joy was twerking in a pair of briefs to an LMFAO song. But with a fun, friendly cast that came all the way from Chattanooga to entertain us and some pretty good food, I had a mystical night.