Written for the Screen by Daniel Clements
Based upon the Play "Murderer" by Anthony Shaffer
Logline
One night. One house. Two women. Two men. A roaring fire. Whisky. Wit. And murder.
A failed artist obsessed with history's most notorious murderers stages re-enactments of their crimes in preparation for his masterpiece: killing his formidable wife.
Concept
More often than not, it is the victim who unwittingly finds their killer—not the other way around.
Murderer is a contained feature-length psychological thriller infused with jet-black humour—a nail-biting chamber piece adapted from the heart-stopping play by acclaimed writer Anthony Shaffer (film rights under option).
Set within a single English estate, it blends the stage minimalism and razor-sharp wit of Shaffer’s own four-time Oscar®-nominated Sleuth, the playfulness of Deathtrap, the voyeurism of Rear Window, and the real-time tension of Rope. A twisted, deadly, performance-driven mind game where every advantage is temporary. A locked-room, edge-of-your-seat, suspenseful romp with all the trappings of a classic mahogany-mansion murder mystery.
A cocky anti-hero. A nosy noir officer. A disgruntled wife. And a naïve mistress. These silver-tongued devils—with their cat-and-mouse dynamics—populate this modernised, hysterical, nightmarish riddle, complete with whip-crack epiphanies and breakneck reversals.
With an atmosphere as vivid as the misanthropes within, a cosy, singular set piece glows against a winter’s eve. The only thing more smoky and warm than the neat glass of peaty scotch resting on the arm of a studded leather Chesterfield is the wood-burning, evidence-destroying potbelly stove crackling beside it. For if a homicide must happen—and to our main character, it must—one could do far worse for set and setting. And if a victim must be chosen, few are more fitting than undesirable kith and kin.
Deception, obsession, artistry, ego, marriage, mystery, mistresses, and murder intertwine into an aged fine wine, best paired with unprecedented hairpin turns, dry wit, and served on a bed of snappy, tack-sharp dialogue that only a renowned Golden Globe–nominated, BAFTA–nominated, Tony Award–winning, Edgar Allan Poe Award–winning playwright could offer.
Full Synopsis
Spoiler Warning
This story contains many shocking reveals. This SYNOPSIS spoils some—though not all.
For maximum impact and enjoyment, the DETAILED treatment is the recommended first read.
Act I
In a remote English village, Norman Bartholomew—a failed artist and obsessive narcissist—serves poisoned scotch to his mistress, Millie, executing a seemingly perfect murder: a ritualised dismemberment driven by his lust for infamy—his warped idea of artistic greatness. As he burns the remains, Sergeant Stenning arrives on a neighbour’s report—uncovering the truth: no body, no murder. Just a hyper-realistic silicone sex doll—quartered. Norman admits his grotesque hobby: historic murder re-enactments inspired by notorious killers, whom he studies and reveres. Livid, Stenning leaves. Millie—unharmed—awakens to realise Norman’s true aim: discredit suspicion before carrying out a real murder. Annoyed, she challenges him to finally kill his wife—as promised for months. Preserving his ego, Norman commits: tomorrow night, when his wife Elizabeth returns, he will prove himself a criminal mastermind comparable to the killers he idolises.
Act II
That night, Norman returns drunk—blindsided: Elizabeth is home a day early, taking a bath. Filled with liquid courage, he seizes the moment; drowns her; digs a cellar grave; and forges a farewell letter in her voice—a real murderer at last. Still suspicious, Sgt. Stenning returns with more questions. Norman stalls, evades, distracts from the body. After ejecting Stenning, the impossible happens: Elizabeth arrives home again—alive. The truth detonates—he killed the wrong woman. Millie was impersonating Elizabeth in the bath to call his bluff. Discovering the dead body, Elizabeth dismantles Norman’s “accident” as a sex game turned fatal. Threatening her reputation, he coerces a pact: provide an alibi to preserve their marriage... or else. But their alliance breaks as she finds the forged letter—proof she was the intended victim. A violent cat-and-mouse struggle erupts: Elizabeth hunts and wounds Norman, staging it as self-defence. As he bleeds out, she vows to take credit for both murders. Desperate to preserve his legacy, Norman corrects her—confessing premeditation and ownership, unknowingly on tape. Police barge in. He collapses.
Act III
Norman wakes restrained—alive but utterly finished, as Stenning assures him. He blames Elizabeth despite the evidence: body, recording, confession, neighbour’s testimony. Her self-defence is unquestionable. She walks away clean—life, finances, career intact. Dragged out in sobbing disgrace, Norman expects at least some recognition—met with nothing: no press, no spectacle, only indifference. His legacy: not a legend, but a fool who killed the wrong woman and was caught within hours by his intended victim. Alone at last, Elizabeth pours a drink from Norman’s stash and takes a bath—victorious—until the poison hits. Her body fails; she slips under. Downstairs, the drugged bottle of scotch rests on the bar cart where she drained it. Upstairs, Elizabeth lies submerged—contorted—murdered.
Directorial Vision
View the Concept Art Page for Visuals
Although the setting is contained, the camera is not. It scans, hunts, builds a case, trades theatrical distance for breath-on-glass proximity—punching into damning details and incriminating evidence. The view oscillates from an up-close-and-personal accomplice within to a witness at the window—a voyeur denied entry with a partially obstructed line of sight.
Deliberate restraint will selectively suggest—rather than parade—the more gratuitous elements to greater intrigue. Violence is implied, not exploited—glimpsed in reflections, fragments, off-screen sounds. Impact spatter beading on vibrating glass. Terror teased through restraint.
Practical effects dominate. Suspense builds via peripheral detail: a kettle screams; slapstick flashes of corpse disposal; approaching car lights scan the room; double-hinged pendulum doors sway—setup on open, payoff on return—shocks advancing in limited cracked intervals; a slow-motion stabbing under fluorescent bulbs that flicker against the frame rate, strobing the moment.
Action moves aggressively; dialogue tightens—disciplined, performance-dictated angles cut to Gatling-gun exchanges, clipped to a dry British cadence. Classic over-the-shoulder coverage locks onto the tennis match of verbal dissection, letting poetic insults shine free of distraction. And with Shaffer, dialogue is king.
Reviews
Original Stage Play
“Anthony Shaffer [whose previous play was Sleuth] has done it again.”
Harold Hobson—The Sunday Times
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“...diabolically ingenious and so adept at hoaxing and double crossing we hardly ever believe our eyes.”
John Barber—The Daily Telegraph
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“The plot leaves you breathless by the audacity of its hair-raising twists and turns.”
Milton Shulman—Evening Standard