Air date: 29/01/1989
Published: Fourth story in "The Adventure of the Christmas Pudding" (1960).
Even in these days of freeview TV re-runs and of DVD boxed-sets there are still Poirot episodes that I don't instantly recall.
And so it was that when I sat down with a coffee and a notebook for the latest instalment of 'Little Grey Cells' the title Four-and-Twenty Blackbirds did not initially mean much to me.
In many ways it is a simple, but interesting plot, and one which emphasises Poirot's obsession with 'order and method'.
Dining with his friend Henry Bonnington, Poirot is fascinated when the habits of an eccentric restaurant regular are noted to have suddenly changed. That fascination deepens later when he hears that the man in question, one Henry Gascoigne, has died after apparently falling down the stairs at home.
Although a relatively poor artist, Gascoigne had a twin brother Anthony (with whom he had fallen out) who, through marriage, was well off. Anthony, now a widower, had died a few hours before Henry. The upshot is that the change of habit noted in the restaurant was down to a nephew, George Lorrimer, impersonating him. George had, of course, pushed his uncle down the stairs to inherit the family fortune.
The TV production embellishes the original tale somewhat. Bonnington is now Poirot's dentist; Hastings (not in the original) is following the Ashes cricket on the radio; Japp (not in the original) introduces Poirot to the whole new world of forensics (a kind of art deco CSI!) and Lorrimer, a doctor in the original, is now, for some reason, a theatre impresario. There is also an artist's model and agent thrown in (presumably as additional red herrings).
Embellishments are understandable in the process of bringing a short story to television but there seemed to be almost too many in one go here.
Ironically, one element of the original and 'simple' story was lost as a result. When challenging Lorrimer Poirot had cleverly implied that Henry Gascoigne had a wife - which would mean Lorrimer had committed murder for nothing!
Tuesday, 28 January 2014
3. The Adventure of Johnnie Waverly
Air date: 22/01/1989
Published: Fourth story in "Poirot's Early Cases" (1974)
For the second week running our dapper detective was not so much solving serious crime as discovering deception.
Last week, in Murder in the Mews it was a suicide made to look like murder, here in The Adventure of Johnnie Waverly it was the fabricated kidnapping of a young child. Then again, perhaps both would be treated as serious crimes by today's law enforcers. Oh well...
The basic plot is, I think, a bit weak, to say the least. The Waverlys live in a large country mansion. Although it has been a Waverly house for generations, Mrs Ada Waverly is the one who now has plenty of money. We are meant to believe that when she drags her heels over splashing out on the restoration of their country pile, her husband concocts a plan to kidnap their son, in order to relieve her of much-needed cash. How he was going to explain his upturn in fortunes if the plan worked, we are never told.
A series of threatening letters (bogus, obviously) are received warning that the kidnapping will happen, at 12 noon on the 29th. And sure enough it does, right under the noses of the police.
In the original most of the story is told in flashback, the Waverlys having approached Poirot after Johnnie has gone missing. Understandably, this wouldn't make for great TV viewing, so in the adaptation Poirot is approached at the stage of the threatening letters, in order to be on hand when the fateful day arrives. Except he isn't. In a somewhat farcial scene, he and Hastings go out in the latter's sports car, which promptly breaks down, forcing Poirot to make an undignified hike across the fields to get back to the Waverly's home.
In the original the leading policeman is a fairly nondescript Inspector McNeil. However, as I commented in the previous post, it was necessary to present the whole 'team' at this early stage, so Japp is once again in attendance. In fact, he seems to have got out of the wrong side of the bed on this one. First he is rather rude and dismissive when Marcus Waverly and Poirot first approach him. And then he insists on calling his friend Mister Poirot throughout, for some strange reason.
Hugh Fraser was rapidly developing the character of Hastings, as a somewhat debonair, if rather clueless comrade. Miss Lemon's presence is limited to plans for the perfect filing system in the opening scenes.
In the original the scam involves Waverly, his butler Tredwell and "some friend of Waverly" who remains unknown. In the TV production it is Waverly, Tredwell and another domestic, Jessie Withers, who turns out to be Tredwell's neice.
Published: Fourth story in "Poirot's Early Cases" (1974)
For the second week running our dapper detective was not so much solving serious crime as discovering deception.
Last week, in Murder in the Mews it was a suicide made to look like murder, here in The Adventure of Johnnie Waverly it was the fabricated kidnapping of a young child. Then again, perhaps both would be treated as serious crimes by today's law enforcers. Oh well...
The basic plot is, I think, a bit weak, to say the least. The Waverlys live in a large country mansion. Although it has been a Waverly house for generations, Mrs Ada Waverly is the one who now has plenty of money. We are meant to believe that when she drags her heels over splashing out on the restoration of their country pile, her husband concocts a plan to kidnap their son, in order to relieve her of much-needed cash. How he was going to explain his upturn in fortunes if the plan worked, we are never told.
A series of threatening letters (bogus, obviously) are received warning that the kidnapping will happen, at 12 noon on the 29th. And sure enough it does, right under the noses of the police.
In the original most of the story is told in flashback, the Waverlys having approached Poirot after Johnnie has gone missing. Understandably, this wouldn't make for great TV viewing, so in the adaptation Poirot is approached at the stage of the threatening letters, in order to be on hand when the fateful day arrives. Except he isn't. In a somewhat farcial scene, he and Hastings go out in the latter's sports car, which promptly breaks down, forcing Poirot to make an undignified hike across the fields to get back to the Waverly's home.
In the original the leading policeman is a fairly nondescript Inspector McNeil. However, as I commented in the previous post, it was necessary to present the whole 'team' at this early stage, so Japp is once again in attendance. In fact, he seems to have got out of the wrong side of the bed on this one. First he is rather rude and dismissive when Marcus Waverly and Poirot first approach him. And then he insists on calling his friend Mister Poirot throughout, for some strange reason.
Hugh Fraser was rapidly developing the character of Hastings, as a somewhat debonair, if rather clueless comrade. Miss Lemon's presence is limited to plans for the perfect filing system in the opening scenes.
In the original the scam involves Waverly, his butler Tredwell and "some friend of Waverly" who remains unknown. In the TV production it is Waverly, Tredwell and another domestic, Jessie Withers, who turns out to be Tredwell's neice.
Monday, 27 January 2014
2. Murder in the Mews
Air date: 15/01/1989
Published: First story in "Murder in the Mews" (1937)
The four stories published as "Murder in the Mews" are, for me, what would be described as 'novellas'. What's a 'novella'? In common parlance, I think, it is a story that is shorter than a novel ... but longer than a short story! Be that as it may the TV producers of Agatha Christie's Poirot treated these four episodes in the same way as the rest of the Poirot short stories.
And so it was that the first of these, also called Murder in the Mews, became the second Poirot story to be aired, back in 1989.
The plot is quite 'novel' (if you will excuse the pun!), and is summed up by Inspector Japp at the denouement: "Not a murder disguised as suicide, but suicide made to look like murder!" (a line reproduced faithfully in the TV adaptation).
Inspector Japp has a prominent role in the original story, which may be one reason why it was chosen for the first TV series. I have a theory that developing the characters of Poirot's 'sidekicks' was an important element in making the TV productions such a hit from the off. Hastings is shoe-horned into the TV episode, although he doesn't appear in the original. The same goes for Miss Lemon.
Nevertheless, like The Adventure of the Clapham Cook the week before, this production was very faithful to the original story - something that, I am sure, quickly endeared the series to die-hard Agatha Christie fans.
There are a few minor changes here and there, of course. Perhaps the most intriguing is in the detail of the suicide. In the original Mrs Allen is found shot in the left temple, but the gun is nestled in her right hand - something that immediately leads the police to suspect 'foul play'. Although the clues are there for the reader little or nothing is made of this until the final scene, when Poirot mentions the fact that she was left-handed.
Did the producers think the gun detail was a bit clumsy? In the TV version, the gun is nestled in her left hand, but her friend, Miss Plenderleith, goes out of her way to imply that Mrs Allen was right-handed (It is the lack of fingerprints on the gun that arouses suspicion that it might be murder). This certainly makes more sense of her later hiding her friend's left-handed golf clubs, as she seeks to implicate the blackmailing Major Eustace. Rather like the arrest at the end of The Adventure of the Clapham Cook this is played out, rather than just being described by Poirot: I guess that makes for better television ... and provided further justification for including Hastings in the story.
Fans of the TV series would probably want me to mention the fact that the fiance, Charles Laverton-West, MP, is played by the actor David Yelland who, more than 15 years later, would appear in the re-styled Poirot as the valet, George. Ironically, in the original, it is George - not Miss Lemon - who lets Miss Plenderleith into the flat at the beginning of the concluding scene.
One final note on quaint language. At one point in the story Japp calls a boy a young "shaver". I can remember my parents' generation using that phrase! It is retained for the TV version. However, Miss Plenderleith's description of Major Eustace as "a bit hairy at the heel" (I think the phrase used to mean 'a bit untrustworthy') was obviously considered a tad too quaint for modern TV audiences!
Published: First story in "Murder in the Mews" (1937)
The four stories published as "Murder in the Mews" are, for me, what would be described as 'novellas'. What's a 'novella'? In common parlance, I think, it is a story that is shorter than a novel ... but longer than a short story! Be that as it may the TV producers of Agatha Christie's Poirot treated these four episodes in the same way as the rest of the Poirot short stories.
And so it was that the first of these, also called Murder in the Mews, became the second Poirot story to be aired, back in 1989.
The plot is quite 'novel' (if you will excuse the pun!), and is summed up by Inspector Japp at the denouement: "Not a murder disguised as suicide, but suicide made to look like murder!" (a line reproduced faithfully in the TV adaptation).
Inspector Japp has a prominent role in the original story, which may be one reason why it was chosen for the first TV series. I have a theory that developing the characters of Poirot's 'sidekicks' was an important element in making the TV productions such a hit from the off. Hastings is shoe-horned into the TV episode, although he doesn't appear in the original. The same goes for Miss Lemon.
Nevertheless, like The Adventure of the Clapham Cook the week before, this production was very faithful to the original story - something that, I am sure, quickly endeared the series to die-hard Agatha Christie fans.
There are a few minor changes here and there, of course. Perhaps the most intriguing is in the detail of the suicide. In the original Mrs Allen is found shot in the left temple, but the gun is nestled in her right hand - something that immediately leads the police to suspect 'foul play'. Although the clues are there for the reader little or nothing is made of this until the final scene, when Poirot mentions the fact that she was left-handed.
Did the producers think the gun detail was a bit clumsy? In the TV version, the gun is nestled in her left hand, but her friend, Miss Plenderleith, goes out of her way to imply that Mrs Allen was right-handed (It is the lack of fingerprints on the gun that arouses suspicion that it might be murder). This certainly makes more sense of her later hiding her friend's left-handed golf clubs, as she seeks to implicate the blackmailing Major Eustace. Rather like the arrest at the end of The Adventure of the Clapham Cook this is played out, rather than just being described by Poirot: I guess that makes for better television ... and provided further justification for including Hastings in the story.
Fans of the TV series would probably want me to mention the fact that the fiance, Charles Laverton-West, MP, is played by the actor David Yelland who, more than 15 years later, would appear in the re-styled Poirot as the valet, George. Ironically, in the original, it is George - not Miss Lemon - who lets Miss Plenderleith into the flat at the beginning of the concluding scene.
One final note on quaint language. At one point in the story Japp calls a boy a young "shaver". I can remember my parents' generation using that phrase! It is retained for the TV version. However, Miss Plenderleith's description of Major Eustace as "a bit hairy at the heel" (I think the phrase used to mean 'a bit untrustworthy') was obviously considered a tad too quaint for modern TV audiences!
Tuesday, 21 January 2014
1. The Adventure of the Clapham Cook
Air date: 08/01/1989
Published: Second story in "Poirot's Early Cases" (1974)
January 8th, 1989: It seems a lifetime ago. It's amazing to think how different our 'modern' world was back then. No computers (at least not as we know them today!), no mobile-phones, no Internet. But there was Poirot...
That was the Sunday evening when what was to become a veritable TV institution began: David Suchet's iconic depiction of Agatha Christie's Hercule Poirot first hit our screens.
All the episodes in the first series were one-hour adaptations of Poirot short stories. I've no idea what made the producers choose the episodes in the order they did, but this was the one they began with.
The Adventure of the Clapham Cook is not, in my opinion, one of the strongest stories. But the amusing way in which Poirot takes on what at first seems such a trivial case does, at least, provide an interesting way of introducing the character. We first see Poirot when Hastings is reading cases to him from the newspaper. There is a lovely camera 'pan' up from the ground as we see first his shoes and the camera moves up his immaculate attire to his face. David Suchet makes reference to this shot in his recently published book, "Poirot and Me".
"Poirot's Early Cases" (rather like "Poirot Investigates", Agatha Christie's first set of short stories, published 50 years earlier) often has Hastings narrating. In the book he and Poirot are sharing a flat and have a landlady. The TV producers departed from this as the decision was made to set all the Poirot stories in the 1930s, when Poirot is rather more established as a private detective. So in the TV version he is already in Whitehaven Mansions. Oh, and Miss Lemon is also in his employ.
Nevertheless, the TV production is remarkably faithful to the short story (I remember this was one of the things that was emphasised in the publicity that preceded the series being launched). The main difference is in the ending. The original story ends with Poirot explaining to Hastings how and why the culprit did it. In the TV production this is played out at greater length with his explanation (on board a train back to London) then followed by an arrest of the culprit at Southampton docks as he tries to flee to South America by boat. But, then again, a story that takes less than half-an-hour to read has to be fleshed out in some way to fill an hour's TV time.
The other stylistic point of note is that the TV adaptation begins with the culprit sealing up the trunk (that we eventually discover contains a dead body). Although his face is seen only briefly, this does rather tend to give the game away. But Agatha Christie's Poirot was up and running. And so, now, are we.
Published: Second story in "Poirot's Early Cases" (1974)
January 8th, 1989: It seems a lifetime ago. It's amazing to think how different our 'modern' world was back then. No computers (at least not as we know them today!), no mobile-phones, no Internet. But there was Poirot...
That was the Sunday evening when what was to become a veritable TV institution began: David Suchet's iconic depiction of Agatha Christie's Hercule Poirot first hit our screens.
All the episodes in the first series were one-hour adaptations of Poirot short stories. I've no idea what made the producers choose the episodes in the order they did, but this was the one they began with.
The Adventure of the Clapham Cook is not, in my opinion, one of the strongest stories. But the amusing way in which Poirot takes on what at first seems such a trivial case does, at least, provide an interesting way of introducing the character. We first see Poirot when Hastings is reading cases to him from the newspaper. There is a lovely camera 'pan' up from the ground as we see first his shoes and the camera moves up his immaculate attire to his face. David Suchet makes reference to this shot in his recently published book, "Poirot and Me".
"Poirot's Early Cases" (rather like "Poirot Investigates", Agatha Christie's first set of short stories, published 50 years earlier) often has Hastings narrating. In the book he and Poirot are sharing a flat and have a landlady. The TV producers departed from this as the decision was made to set all the Poirot stories in the 1930s, when Poirot is rather more established as a private detective. So in the TV version he is already in Whitehaven Mansions. Oh, and Miss Lemon is also in his employ.
Nevertheless, the TV production is remarkably faithful to the short story (I remember this was one of the things that was emphasised in the publicity that preceded the series being launched). The main difference is in the ending. The original story ends with Poirot explaining to Hastings how and why the culprit did it. In the TV production this is played out at greater length with his explanation (on board a train back to London) then followed by an arrest of the culprit at Southampton docks as he tries to flee to South America by boat. But, then again, a story that takes less than half-an-hour to read has to be fleshed out in some way to fill an hour's TV time.
The other stylistic point of note is that the TV adaptation begins with the culprit sealing up the trunk (that we eventually discover contains a dead body). Although his face is seen only briefly, this does rather tend to give the game away. But Agatha Christie's Poirot was up and running. And so, now, are we.
Tuesday, 14 January 2014
A journey with Poirot
Well, here we go. The caustic, cynical wit of my first blog, "Fifty and Fed Up", has failed to win me the legion of adoring fans that I feel my erudite musings on football, television and other matters of essential importance deserve. So now I'm appealing to ... well, a different kind of reader.
I was going to say the nerd-ish - but that is a bit unfair.
Murder mysteries continue to be extremely popular among us Brits, and none more so than Agatha Christie's Hercule Poirot. Nevertheless, you have to be a bit nerd-ish to take more than a passing interest in all the tales of the somewhat pompous little Belgian.
In recent years I have been collecting Agatha Christie's books and also the Poirot Collection of DVDs. David Suchet's masterful portrayal of Poirot has finally come to an end. I'm a couple of years behind on the DVDs but will hopefully have the complete set before too long.
So ... here's what I thought. I thought I would compare them. I would read a story, then watch the TV adaptation, then write about it. It could be a bit boring; it could be a bit nerd-ish; it could, however, be quite interesting. I hope I will be able to make it entertaining.
I've decided to follow the order in which the TV productions were made, rather than the order in which the books and short stories were published. It takes probably less than half an hour to read one of the Poirot short stories. This means I can comfortably read the story and watch the production in one evening. The novels obviously take longer to read, so I will need to work out a strategy than enables me to watch the two-hour adaptations as soon as possible after reading. Anyway, that's the plan. If you enjoy reading my observations do please make some comments.
I probably ought to add that this blog will, of necessity, contain spoilers: In comparing the written story with the TV adaptation this is inevitable. I write as one who continues to enjoy reading and watching Poirot - even though I know the storylines - and assume those who choose to read this blog will fall into the same category.
I was going to say the nerd-ish - but that is a bit unfair.
Murder mysteries continue to be extremely popular among us Brits, and none more so than Agatha Christie's Hercule Poirot. Nevertheless, you have to be a bit nerd-ish to take more than a passing interest in all the tales of the somewhat pompous little Belgian.
In recent years I have been collecting Agatha Christie's books and also the Poirot Collection of DVDs. David Suchet's masterful portrayal of Poirot has finally come to an end. I'm a couple of years behind on the DVDs but will hopefully have the complete set before too long.
So ... here's what I thought. I thought I would compare them. I would read a story, then watch the TV adaptation, then write about it. It could be a bit boring; it could be a bit nerd-ish; it could, however, be quite interesting. I hope I will be able to make it entertaining.
I've decided to follow the order in which the TV productions were made, rather than the order in which the books and short stories were published. It takes probably less than half an hour to read one of the Poirot short stories. This means I can comfortably read the story and watch the production in one evening. The novels obviously take longer to read, so I will need to work out a strategy than enables me to watch the two-hour adaptations as soon as possible after reading. Anyway, that's the plan. If you enjoy reading my observations do please make some comments.
I probably ought to add that this blog will, of necessity, contain spoilers: In comparing the written story with the TV adaptation this is inevitable. I write as one who continues to enjoy reading and watching Poirot - even though I know the storylines - and assume those who choose to read this blog will fall into the same category.
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