Air date: 14/12/2003
Published: 1942
On more than one occasion through this journey we have observed (particularly in some of the short stories) how Agatha Christie has someone recount all the events of a crime to Poirot, who then investigates. We have then seen how the TV producers adjusted this, to have Poirot on, or near the scene, when the crime happens. This is an understandable device, as live action is better than simple conversation on the small screen.
However, it was impossible to follow this procedure with Five Little Pigs (without making huge changes to the plot) - as the murder occurred sixteen years earlier!
Poirot is approached by Carla Lemarchant, a young woman who is engaged to be married, and who has been brought up by relatives in Canada. She has recently learned that her mother, Caroline Crale, was convicted of murdering her own husband (Carla's father), the painter Amyas Crale. At the time her sentence was reduced to life imprisonment, but she died in prison the following year (although we are never told how). Caroline wrote a letter to her young daughter, which she has only recently seen, declaring her innocence.
Poirot is commissioned to discover the truth. This set-up makes for a story that is virtually all dialogue. The main body of evidence falls into three parts. First, Poirot interviews people who were involved in the trial - lawyers and the investigating police officer. This enables us, as readers, to hear the main storyline from 16 years ago. Crale was painting a young woman, Elsa Greer, and the two had apparently fallen in love. Although the flamboyant Crale had a notorious reputation for falling for women this time it seemed different - that he was really contemplating leaving his wife. The day before the murder the Crales and their house guests had visited the nearby home of Meredith Blake, a herbalist. The following morning Blake realised some coiinine (an extract of hemlock) had been stolen. Crale later dies of coiinine poisoning. Caroline admitted taking the poison, but said it was because she was contemplating suicide. Although it was argued that Amyas had committed suicide Caroline seemed to have put up little fight at the trial.
The second section sees Poirot interviewing the five people who were there at the time. Meredith and his brother Philip Blake, who was Amyas' best friend; Elsa (now Lady Dittisham), Miss Cecilia Williams, a tutor, and Angela Warren, Caroline's younger half-sister. We learn that Angela is blind in one eye: Caroline having thrown a paperweight at her in a fit of rage when they were children. In many ways this section is the most interesting, with Poirot employing different techniques with each character - as his real desire is for them each to write out an account of what they remember.
The third section comprises the said written accounts of the five individuals. Only Angela seems convinced that Caroline was innocent. Miss Williams reveals having seen Caroline clean a beer bottle (of fingerprints) and put it in the hand of her dead husband (presumably to reinforce the suggestion of suicide). Although Miss Williams hadn't revealed this at the original trial it appears to confirm the guilt of Caroline.
Poirot, however, deduces that it does, in fact, prove her innocence. The coiinine, as we are told earlier, was found in Amyas' glass, but not in the bottle of beer! Caroline couldn't have known this. Why did she try and create the impression that her husband had committed suicide? Because she thought that teenager Angela - who was always arguing with him - had spiked the beer! After years of trying to atone for the childhood incident that scarred Angela for life she now took the opportunity to take the blame - so she thought.
In fact, Poirot unravels, from the various testimonies of conversations overheard, that Amyas was not going to leave his wife. Rather, he agreed to send young Elsa packing. She had overheard this and, having observed Caroline take the coiinine, had taken it from her bedroom and spiked the first glass of beer Amyas had drunk on the fateful morning.
The TV adaptation follows all of this remarkably closely, although Carla is now Lucy, and the incident took place 14 years ago, for some reason. The written accounts are, not surprisingly, dropped, with Poirot getting all the information he needs from the interviews. The not uncommon technique of using grainy, hand-held photography to depict past events is used to intersperse his interviews with visual depictions of what happened in the past.
For TV Caroline is (or, rather, was) hanged which, in a way, makes more sense to the story. In one flashback incident Caroline was seen leaving the bedroom of Philip Blake. In Christie's original Blake is attracted to Caroline who maintains her commitment to her husband and leaves. For TV, quite gratuitously and regrettably, this scene is subtly changed to strongly imply that Blake had some sort of homosexual attraction for Amyas.
The finale is played out more or less along the lines of the book, with the added drama of Carla/Lucy pulling a gun on Elsa, the latter having declared to Poirot that by killing Amyas she in fact 'died' all those years ago. Poirot persuades Lucy not to shoot.
Not one of the better novels, I have to say, and not a particularly enjoyable adaptation.
Thursday, 13 April 2017
Sunday, 9 April 2017
Interlude: "Poirot and Me"
David Suchet had been playing the jealous Salieri in a theatre production of Amadeus when he was approached by producer Brian Eastman to make two more feature length Poirot stories.
Filming began on the first of these, The Murder of Roger Ackroyd, in the summer of 1999. Suchet comments on how it felt climbing back into the role after five years, and his concern to be consistent with the character.
He also describes how, around this time, his aspiration to film all of the Poirot stories began to grow. He also 'went public' on this, while being interviewed on a trip to Japan (where the programmes were very popular).
The second episode to be made that summer was Lord Edgware Dies. Suchet comments on how the scripwriters set up the notion of Poirot coming out of retirement (following the ending of The Murder of Roger Ackroyd).
Suchet returned to Amadeus for a run in America, before Murder in Mesopotamia and Evil Under the Sun were filmed, in the summer of 2000. Interestingly, he writes, he felt that both stories had a sense of "marking time"; that Poirot's character was not being developed in any way, and that both stories lacked "a sense of excitement and imagination".
Filming began on the first of these, The Murder of Roger Ackroyd, in the summer of 1999. Suchet comments on how it felt climbing back into the role after five years, and his concern to be consistent with the character.
He also describes how, around this time, his aspiration to film all of the Poirot stories began to grow. He also 'went public' on this, while being interviewed on a trip to Japan (where the programmes were very popular).
The second episode to be made that summer was Lord Edgware Dies. Suchet comments on how the scripwriters set up the notion of Poirot coming out of retirement (following the ending of The Murder of Roger Ackroyd).
Suchet returned to Amadeus for a run in America, before Murder in Mesopotamia and Evil Under the Sun were filmed, in the summer of 2000. Interestingly, he writes, he felt that both stories had a sense of "marking time"; that Poirot's character was not being developed in any way, and that both stories lacked "a sense of excitement and imagination".
Saturday, 8 April 2017
49. Murder in Mesopotamia
Air date: 02/06/2002
Published: 1936
Between 1934 and 1938 no fewer than ten Hercule Poirot novels were published. Four of these had our Belgian detective sleuthing in exotic climes. This reflected some of the interests in Agatha Christie's life at that time (her second husband, Max Mallowan, was an archaeologist, and she accompanied him on some of his travels).
Although set against the backdrop of an archaeological dig in Iraq, the principal scene of Murder in Mesopotamia is really the confined space of the middle-eastern quad type accommodation that the dig team are housed in. Individual rooms surround a courtyard, which has a single, arched-gate entrance. All the rooms have doors and windows into the courtyard. Only the rooms on the south side have windows facing out into the countryside (a big clue!).
A distinctive of the novel is that it is narrated by nurse Amy Leatheran. She has been employed by dig leader, Dr Eric Leidner, to look after his wife Louise, who appears to suffer badly with her nerves. The nurse later learns that Louise's first husband, Frederick Bosner, was a soldier who was killed in the First World War... except he wasn't: he was shot as a German spy (and she dobbed him in)... except he wasn't: a train he was on crashed and he was killed.
In the years that followed Louise received threatening letters - purportedly from her late husband - warning her off any romantic entanglements with other men. However, she eventually met and married Dr Leidner. Now the letters have resumed, threatening to kill her.
The dig team includes Richard Carey, longtime colleague of Dr Leidner; Miss Anne Johnson, Dr Leidner's faithful, doting PA (sort of); Joseph Mercado, who has been part of the team for a couple of years, and his wife Marie; David Emmott, a quiet young American; Carl Reiter, dig photographer; Bill Coleman, a young man on his first dig; and Father Lavigny, a French monk and recent replacement as the team's epigraphist. Also part of the mix are Dr Giles Reilly and his outspoken daughter Sheila, who live in nearby Hassanieh.
On the fateful day everyone's movements are accounted for (of course). Dr Leidner has been working on the flat roof of the building - where pottery and querns (that's millstones) are stored. He comes down to speak to his wife in her room, only to discover her dead - having suffered a massive blow to the head. The nurse confirms she has been dead for about an hour. The local British police chief is soon out of his depth but - by amazing coincidence - Hercule Poirot happens to be visiting Baghdad, and is invited to help solve the crime. Were the letters truly written by Frederick Bosner, or by his obsessive, revengeful younger brother William, or did Louise write them herself? More importantly, how could anyone have entered her room without being seen to walk across the courtyard? Is either Frederick or William one of the dig team?
Miss Johnson begins to have suspicions and shortly afterwards is killed (hydrochloric acid having been substituted for her bedside glass of water). In her death throes she manages to say "The window" to the nurse.
Poirot eventually deduces that Dr Leidner is Frederick Bosner. He killed his wife by luring her to her window and dropping a quern on her (tied to a cord which enabled him to pull it back up and hide it among other querns on the roof!). She had, therefore, already been dead some time when he came down from the roof to supposedly talk to her. He killed her because she had fallen in love with his close friend Carey. The easy-going manner of the Dr Leidner persona hid the rather more passionate, ruthless character of Bosner.
Two sub-plots concern Mercado being a drug addict and Father Lavigny being a con artist who is working with a mysterious local (seen peering in windows) to steal some of the artifacts from the site.
The TV adaptation begins with the murder of a local drug supplier, and then cuts to Poirot and Hastings being driven to the dig by Coleman - who is Hastings' nephew! The main components of the plot are followed faithfully, and the set designers certainly did a great job of bringing the team's base to the screen. Emmott and Reiter are omitted, as is Dr Reilly (the character of Sheila is now the daughter of the police chief, Maitland). With two men cut out the complexities of Louise Leidner's character are less developed. Interestingly, although Poirot speculates on whether one of the team is William Bosner, it is not until his customary summing up that the thought of Frederick Bosner having survived the train crash is broached. Mercado commits suicide in a Hassanieh hotel, smitten with guilt for killing a man for drugs. Intriguingly, Poirot's presence in the region is attributed to answering a plea for help from Countess Vera Rossakoff. She never appears, much to Poirot's disappointment.
Traditional whodunnits will sometimes have plots bordering on the fantastic, and at times this is what can make them so endearing, but I would suggest this one stretches credulity to breaking point. Dr Leidner's giant yo-yo trick with a stone quern being both ambitious and improbable in the extreme.
Published: 1936
Between 1934 and 1938 no fewer than ten Hercule Poirot novels were published. Four of these had our Belgian detective sleuthing in exotic climes. This reflected some of the interests in Agatha Christie's life at that time (her second husband, Max Mallowan, was an archaeologist, and she accompanied him on some of his travels).
Although set against the backdrop of an archaeological dig in Iraq, the principal scene of Murder in Mesopotamia is really the confined space of the middle-eastern quad type accommodation that the dig team are housed in. Individual rooms surround a courtyard, which has a single, arched-gate entrance. All the rooms have doors and windows into the courtyard. Only the rooms on the south side have windows facing out into the countryside (a big clue!).
A distinctive of the novel is that it is narrated by nurse Amy Leatheran. She has been employed by dig leader, Dr Eric Leidner, to look after his wife Louise, who appears to suffer badly with her nerves. The nurse later learns that Louise's first husband, Frederick Bosner, was a soldier who was killed in the First World War... except he wasn't: he was shot as a German spy (and she dobbed him in)... except he wasn't: a train he was on crashed and he was killed.
In the years that followed Louise received threatening letters - purportedly from her late husband - warning her off any romantic entanglements with other men. However, she eventually met and married Dr Leidner. Now the letters have resumed, threatening to kill her.
The dig team includes Richard Carey, longtime colleague of Dr Leidner; Miss Anne Johnson, Dr Leidner's faithful, doting PA (sort of); Joseph Mercado, who has been part of the team for a couple of years, and his wife Marie; David Emmott, a quiet young American; Carl Reiter, dig photographer; Bill Coleman, a young man on his first dig; and Father Lavigny, a French monk and recent replacement as the team's epigraphist. Also part of the mix are Dr Giles Reilly and his outspoken daughter Sheila, who live in nearby Hassanieh.
On the fateful day everyone's movements are accounted for (of course). Dr Leidner has been working on the flat roof of the building - where pottery and querns (that's millstones) are stored. He comes down to speak to his wife in her room, only to discover her dead - having suffered a massive blow to the head. The nurse confirms she has been dead for about an hour. The local British police chief is soon out of his depth but - by amazing coincidence - Hercule Poirot happens to be visiting Baghdad, and is invited to help solve the crime. Were the letters truly written by Frederick Bosner, or by his obsessive, revengeful younger brother William, or did Louise write them herself? More importantly, how could anyone have entered her room without being seen to walk across the courtyard? Is either Frederick or William one of the dig team?
Miss Johnson begins to have suspicions and shortly afterwards is killed (hydrochloric acid having been substituted for her bedside glass of water). In her death throes she manages to say "The window" to the nurse.
Poirot eventually deduces that Dr Leidner is Frederick Bosner. He killed his wife by luring her to her window and dropping a quern on her (tied to a cord which enabled him to pull it back up and hide it among other querns on the roof!). She had, therefore, already been dead some time when he came down from the roof to supposedly talk to her. He killed her because she had fallen in love with his close friend Carey. The easy-going manner of the Dr Leidner persona hid the rather more passionate, ruthless character of Bosner.
Two sub-plots concern Mercado being a drug addict and Father Lavigny being a con artist who is working with a mysterious local (seen peering in windows) to steal some of the artifacts from the site.
The TV adaptation begins with the murder of a local drug supplier, and then cuts to Poirot and Hastings being driven to the dig by Coleman - who is Hastings' nephew! The main components of the plot are followed faithfully, and the set designers certainly did a great job of bringing the team's base to the screen. Emmott and Reiter are omitted, as is Dr Reilly (the character of Sheila is now the daughter of the police chief, Maitland). With two men cut out the complexities of Louise Leidner's character are less developed. Interestingly, although Poirot speculates on whether one of the team is William Bosner, it is not until his customary summing up that the thought of Frederick Bosner having survived the train crash is broached. Mercado commits suicide in a Hassanieh hotel, smitten with guilt for killing a man for drugs. Intriguingly, Poirot's presence in the region is attributed to answering a plea for help from Countess Vera Rossakoff. She never appears, much to Poirot's disappointment.
Traditional whodunnits will sometimes have plots bordering on the fantastic, and at times this is what can make them so endearing, but I would suggest this one stretches credulity to breaking point. Dr Leidner's giant yo-yo trick with a stone quern being both ambitious and improbable in the extreme.
* * *
The broadcasting of Murder in Mesopotamia marked what would be the second major turning point in the long story of Agatha Christie's Poirot. The first, as I commented on earlier, occurred at the end of Season Five, with the last of the 50-minute short-story adaptations. The nine years that had elapsed since then had yielded just eight feature-length episodes: the least fruitful period in the entire run (albeit that it included that four year hiatus).
But those eight episodes were very much in the style that had been established from the beginning. The same look, the same pace, the same flat at Whitehaven Mansions. Above all, the same interaction between Poirot and the various members of his 'team', as I have called them. All that was about to change.
Leaving aside the slightly sentimental reunion in the final season (a season which, at one time, looked as though it would never happen), Evil Under the Sun saw what would prove to be the final appearances of Chief Inspector Japp and Miss Lemon. Now Murder in Mesopotamia would do the same for the dearest friend of them all, Captain Arthur Hastings.
Hastings doesn't even appear in the original and, as we have already noted, all three have a bigger profile on TV than in Agatha Christie's original stories. Nevertheless, the chemistry that the production team had created from the outset was integral to the feel of the programme.
New production and filming styles (I'll comment more on those as we go on), and the absence of any of the 'team' would characterise the episodes that appeared over the next decade.
Monday, 3 April 2017
48. Evil Under The Sun
Air date: 20/04/2001
Published: 1941
One of the classic plot devices used in whodunnits is the confusion of time. Time is, of course, a vital ingredient in all whodunnits: it makes or breaks alibis. That's why, particularly in more contemporary stories, clever pathologists are wheeled-on for their five minutes of action, to determine parameters of time during which the dastardly deed could have been committed.
The confusion of time involves the culprit attempting to do just that: to confuse those trying to piece together the sequence of events. In The Murder of Roger Ackroyd various props are deployed to make it appear the victim was still alive when, in fact, he was already dead. That's how it is usually done.
In Evil Under The Sun Agatha Christie cleverly turns that technique on its head: the victim is made to appear dead - when, in point of fact, she is still alive!
The story begins with Poirot holidaying at the Jolly Roger Hotel, on a small island somewhere off the coast of southern England. The island is accessed by a walkway at low tide; otherwise by rowing boat. We are quickly introduced to Mrs Gardener, a talkative American, and her husband Odell (whose main role in life seems to be to respond "Yes, darling" at appropriate moments); the athletic Miss Emily Brewster; boring army in India veteran Major Barry; the Revd. Stephen Lane, and the seemingly frail Christine Redfern (married to Patrick), who has no head for heights and no appetite for the sun. A grand entrance is then made by actress Arlene Stuart, who appears to flirt somewhat brazenly with Patrick. Later we meet Arlene's retiring husband Kenneth Marshall, his 16-year-old daughter (by a previous marriage) Linda, and dress designer Rosamund Darnley, an old friend of Marshall's. Sailor Horace Blatt makes up the list of suspects.
The tension mounts with the Redferns at loggerheads over Arlene Stuart. The central sequence of events involves Arlene taking a boat round the island to Pixy Cove. Redfern later takes Miss Brewster rowing and they find the actress, apparently strangled. Redfern stays with the body while Miss Brewster rows away to get help. At the time, Christine Redfern was sketching on the other side of the island with Linda; the Gardeners were with Poirot; the vicar was on the mainland; and Kenneth Marshall was typing business letters in his room. A red herring sub-plot involves a cave at Pixy Cove being used to smuggle drugs into the country (was Arlene 'silenced' by drug runners when she stumbled upon their activities?).
Poirot eventually unravels an incredibly elaborate plan. Christine had altered Linda's wristwatch while the latter was swimming, to enable her to leave for tennis earlier than it seemed. She had skitted across to Pixy Cove, causing Arlene to hide in the narrow, obscured cave, and had then pretended to be Arlene - face down and dead on the beach - in time for Redfern and Miss Brewster to find her (masked by her large, Chinese hat). Once Miss Brewster was out of sight, Christine headed off for the hotel, and Redfern had attacked and killed Arlene.
In the finale Poirot seems to focus on Linda and her father as likely culprits, before suddenly confronting Redfern. There is then (post arrest of the Redferns) an extended conclusion, with Poirot explaining it all to some of the guests - along with the fact that the Redferns had pulled the 'confusion of time' scam in the past. Motive? Money. While throughout the story Arlene Stuart appears to everyone as a voracious man-eater, Poirot, rather touchingly, sees it the other way round: she is someone who is apt to fall for the kind of men who prey on rich women for their money (this aspect comes out in the TV production finale, too).
Evil Under the Sun is perhaps one of Agatha Christie's better known stories. I confess that I watched the Peter Ustinov film version (1982) before I had ever read the book, and so, inevitably, find myself making a three-way comparison at this point. The film version removed the setting to a more exotic island in the Adriatic. Major Barry and the Revd. Stephen Lane are omitted, as is Rosamund Darnley - her past link with Kenneth Marshall now being transferred to hotel owner Mrs Castle (who has a more prominent role). Emily Brewster has become acerbic writer Rex Brewster. As a result, it is Mrs Gardener who accompanies Redfern on the carefully planned rowing trip when Arlene is found on the beach. Two other families, the Cowans and the Mastersons, are omitted from both film and TV production. However, they don't really feature in Agatha Christie's original; they are simply referred to, presumably to create the (justifiable) impression that the hotel has more guests than our main suspects! Linda appears younger and has less of a role - although at one point she does try to implicate Brewster, who she clearly doesn't like.
Agatha Christie's Poirot is more faithful to the character line-up, with two exceptions. Linda Marshall becomes, inexplicably, 17-year-old Lional Marshall, with an interest in poisons. Also, the Gardeners are omitted, which is a shame, because they provide the story with some light-hearted moments, and, to my mind, the TV version is a little flat.
As I have commented on previously, the short stories - which are sometimes very short - need embellishing to fill out 50 minutes of TV time. With the novels, however, it tends to be the other way round: detail has to be condensed (not many of us can read a novel in less than 100 minutes). Therefore, I found it odd that the TV production begins with a lengthy, and rather unnecessary piece about Poirot dining at a new Argentinian restaurant, which has been funded by none other than Captain Hastings! When Poirot faints during the evening he is diagnosed as obese and in need of exercise: paving the way for him being packed off by Miss Lemon to Sandy Cove Hotel (as it is now called) for some rest and exercise. Hastings, naturally, joins him. The production is set at the real Burgh Island, off the coast of Devon, with the real sea tractor ferry (which is used at high tide) being deployed. The low-tide walk-way is not really mentioned. The restaurant opening leads to one of those light-hearted closing scenes so often seen in the short story productions. It turns out that Poirot was suffering from food poisoning - and Hastings' restaurant has been closed down in his absence!
Chief Inspector Japp replaces both Chief Constable Col. Weston and Insp. Colgate from the original story, which meant the full 'team' were together (for the final time, as it would turn out, prior to the brief reunion in the last series).
The opening scenes also feature the inquest of Alice Corrigan (the Redferns' previous victim). This is attended by the Revd. Stephen Lane, whose character and obsession with evil are made considerably more intense for TV.
The drug-running sub-plot - omitted altogether in the film - becomes, if anything, more prominent for TV. Two characters who pick up the drugs (referred to very briefly as restaurant diners in the book) are now bird watchers. One pulls a gun on Japp and Hastings, who are saved in the nick of time by Major Barry - now revealed to be a Home Office man seconded to Scotland Yard, who has been tracking the drug-running for some months. Horace Blatt is arrested as the importer of the drugs.
Published: 1941
One of the classic plot devices used in whodunnits is the confusion of time. Time is, of course, a vital ingredient in all whodunnits: it makes or breaks alibis. That's why, particularly in more contemporary stories, clever pathologists are wheeled-on for their five minutes of action, to determine parameters of time during which the dastardly deed could have been committed.
The confusion of time involves the culprit attempting to do just that: to confuse those trying to piece together the sequence of events. In The Murder of Roger Ackroyd various props are deployed to make it appear the victim was still alive when, in fact, he was already dead. That's how it is usually done.
In Evil Under The Sun Agatha Christie cleverly turns that technique on its head: the victim is made to appear dead - when, in point of fact, she is still alive!
The story begins with Poirot holidaying at the Jolly Roger Hotel, on a small island somewhere off the coast of southern England. The island is accessed by a walkway at low tide; otherwise by rowing boat. We are quickly introduced to Mrs Gardener, a talkative American, and her husband Odell (whose main role in life seems to be to respond "Yes, darling" at appropriate moments); the athletic Miss Emily Brewster; boring army in India veteran Major Barry; the Revd. Stephen Lane, and the seemingly frail Christine Redfern (married to Patrick), who has no head for heights and no appetite for the sun. A grand entrance is then made by actress Arlene Stuart, who appears to flirt somewhat brazenly with Patrick. Later we meet Arlene's retiring husband Kenneth Marshall, his 16-year-old daughter (by a previous marriage) Linda, and dress designer Rosamund Darnley, an old friend of Marshall's. Sailor Horace Blatt makes up the list of suspects.
The tension mounts with the Redferns at loggerheads over Arlene Stuart. The central sequence of events involves Arlene taking a boat round the island to Pixy Cove. Redfern later takes Miss Brewster rowing and they find the actress, apparently strangled. Redfern stays with the body while Miss Brewster rows away to get help. At the time, Christine Redfern was sketching on the other side of the island with Linda; the Gardeners were with Poirot; the vicar was on the mainland; and Kenneth Marshall was typing business letters in his room. A red herring sub-plot involves a cave at Pixy Cove being used to smuggle drugs into the country (was Arlene 'silenced' by drug runners when she stumbled upon their activities?).
Poirot eventually unravels an incredibly elaborate plan. Christine had altered Linda's wristwatch while the latter was swimming, to enable her to leave for tennis earlier than it seemed. She had skitted across to Pixy Cove, causing Arlene to hide in the narrow, obscured cave, and had then pretended to be Arlene - face down and dead on the beach - in time for Redfern and Miss Brewster to find her (masked by her large, Chinese hat). Once Miss Brewster was out of sight, Christine headed off for the hotel, and Redfern had attacked and killed Arlene.
In the finale Poirot seems to focus on Linda and her father as likely culprits, before suddenly confronting Redfern. There is then (post arrest of the Redferns) an extended conclusion, with Poirot explaining it all to some of the guests - along with the fact that the Redferns had pulled the 'confusion of time' scam in the past. Motive? Money. While throughout the story Arlene Stuart appears to everyone as a voracious man-eater, Poirot, rather touchingly, sees it the other way round: she is someone who is apt to fall for the kind of men who prey on rich women for their money (this aspect comes out in the TV production finale, too).
Evil Under the Sun is perhaps one of Agatha Christie's better known stories. I confess that I watched the Peter Ustinov film version (1982) before I had ever read the book, and so, inevitably, find myself making a three-way comparison at this point. The film version removed the setting to a more exotic island in the Adriatic. Major Barry and the Revd. Stephen Lane are omitted, as is Rosamund Darnley - her past link with Kenneth Marshall now being transferred to hotel owner Mrs Castle (who has a more prominent role). Emily Brewster has become acerbic writer Rex Brewster. As a result, it is Mrs Gardener who accompanies Redfern on the carefully planned rowing trip when Arlene is found on the beach. Two other families, the Cowans and the Mastersons, are omitted from both film and TV production. However, they don't really feature in Agatha Christie's original; they are simply referred to, presumably to create the (justifiable) impression that the hotel has more guests than our main suspects! Linda appears younger and has less of a role - although at one point she does try to implicate Brewster, who she clearly doesn't like.
Agatha Christie's Poirot is more faithful to the character line-up, with two exceptions. Linda Marshall becomes, inexplicably, 17-year-old Lional Marshall, with an interest in poisons. Also, the Gardeners are omitted, which is a shame, because they provide the story with some light-hearted moments, and, to my mind, the TV version is a little flat.
As I have commented on previously, the short stories - which are sometimes very short - need embellishing to fill out 50 minutes of TV time. With the novels, however, it tends to be the other way round: detail has to be condensed (not many of us can read a novel in less than 100 minutes). Therefore, I found it odd that the TV production begins with a lengthy, and rather unnecessary piece about Poirot dining at a new Argentinian restaurant, which has been funded by none other than Captain Hastings! When Poirot faints during the evening he is diagnosed as obese and in need of exercise: paving the way for him being packed off by Miss Lemon to Sandy Cove Hotel (as it is now called) for some rest and exercise. Hastings, naturally, joins him. The production is set at the real Burgh Island, off the coast of Devon, with the real sea tractor ferry (which is used at high tide) being deployed. The low-tide walk-way is not really mentioned. The restaurant opening leads to one of those light-hearted closing scenes so often seen in the short story productions. It turns out that Poirot was suffering from food poisoning - and Hastings' restaurant has been closed down in his absence!
Chief Inspector Japp replaces both Chief Constable Col. Weston and Insp. Colgate from the original story, which meant the full 'team' were together (for the final time, as it would turn out, prior to the brief reunion in the last series).
The opening scenes also feature the inquest of Alice Corrigan (the Redferns' previous victim). This is attended by the Revd. Stephen Lane, whose character and obsession with evil are made considerably more intense for TV.
The drug-running sub-plot - omitted altogether in the film - becomes, if anything, more prominent for TV. Two characters who pick up the drugs (referred to very briefly as restaurant diners in the book) are now bird watchers. One pulls a gun on Japp and Hastings, who are saved in the nick of time by Major Barry - now revealed to be a Home Office man seconded to Scotland Yard, who has been tracking the drug-running for some months. Horace Blatt is arrested as the importer of the drugs.
Friday, 31 March 2017
Interlude: "Poirot and Me"
In chapter 12 of "Poirot and Me" Suchet reveals being alerted by a friend to newspaper reports that no more episodes of Agatha Christie's Poirot were going to be made. The way it was handled, rather than the decision itself, was, he writes, hurtful.
Suchet went on to appear in the Hollywood blockbuster Executive Decision, as an Arab terrorist, before returning to the theatre to appear in Who's Afraid of Virginia Woolf?. This was followed by a three-part TV drama, Seesaw, and then another Hollywood movie, a remake of Dial M for Murder, which was titled A Perfect Murder.
Another theatre production, Saturday, Sunday, Monday, followed, before rumours began to circulate that Poirot might be returning...
In a way it seems strange now, looking back on that four-year absence of Poirot. I can think of all the things that happened in my life during that period, as can we all. On the TV detective front, however, perhaps the most significant thing for me during that period was the arrival of Midsomer Murders. This incredibly enduring production began with a pilot episode on March 23rd, 1997 (although it would be another year before a series of four episodes ran, between March and May of 1998). Over the years Midsomer Murders has become noted for its tongue-in-cheek style and its high body count. But what I remember finding appealing at the beginning was the comparatively 'normal' character of DCI Tom Barnaby (happily married, and with a daughter). The 1990s had seen the 100-minute crime/detective genre - pioneered, in many ways, by Inspector Morse - grow in popularity. But the trend seemed to be for detectives who were dysfunctional or had troubled lives in some way (Touch of Frost would be a good example; and Morse himself had his quirks, of course). Poirot was different, and set in a very different era. Midsomer Murders, although contemporary in time, harked back, in some ways, to a bygone age of murder in classic, idylic English village settings.
Suchet went on to appear in the Hollywood blockbuster Executive Decision, as an Arab terrorist, before returning to the theatre to appear in Who's Afraid of Virginia Woolf?. This was followed by a three-part TV drama, Seesaw, and then another Hollywood movie, a remake of Dial M for Murder, which was titled A Perfect Murder.
Another theatre production, Saturday, Sunday, Monday, followed, before rumours began to circulate that Poirot might be returning...
In a way it seems strange now, looking back on that four-year absence of Poirot. I can think of all the things that happened in my life during that period, as can we all. On the TV detective front, however, perhaps the most significant thing for me during that period was the arrival of Midsomer Murders. This incredibly enduring production began with a pilot episode on March 23rd, 1997 (although it would be another year before a series of four episodes ran, between March and May of 1998). Over the years Midsomer Murders has become noted for its tongue-in-cheek style and its high body count. But what I remember finding appealing at the beginning was the comparatively 'normal' character of DCI Tom Barnaby (happily married, and with a daughter). The 1990s had seen the 100-minute crime/detective genre - pioneered, in many ways, by Inspector Morse - grow in popularity. But the trend seemed to be for detectives who were dysfunctional or had troubled lives in some way (Touch of Frost would be a good example; and Morse himself had his quirks, of course). Poirot was different, and set in a very different era. Midsomer Murders, although contemporary in time, harked back, in some ways, to a bygone age of murder in classic, idylic English village settings.
Sunday, 22 January 2017
47. Lord Edgware Dies
Air date: 19/02/2000
Published: 1933
After the strange setting of the previous production we returned to more familiar ground with the next episode in Agatha Christie's Poirot.
Lord Edgware Dies is, I found, an enjoyable read. At one and the same time, it is both simple and complex. Simple in that it is built upon what I might call the rare 'double bluff' of whodunnit plots: where the most obvious suspect is, for once, the murderer! And yet, there is a lot of detail to hold on to as the story unfolds.
Poirot and Hastings are attending a theatrical show given by the American impressionist Carlotta Adams. Among her 'victims' is actress Jane Wilkinson, who later approaches Poirot to act as go-between in her attempt to get a divorce from her husband, Lord Edgware. He, apparently, refuses to accede to her request. She is not averse to stating, rather theatrically, that she could well go and bump him off!
When he is later found stabbed in the neck at his home, she is, therefore, the obvious suspect. However - and much to the frustration of Inspector Japp - she appears to have a watertight alibi: on the evening in question she was dining at someone's house. During the evening she mysteriously took a phone call from someone who quickly hung up. Carlotta Adams is later found dead, from an overdose of veronal. Still later another dinner party guest, aspiring writer Donald Ross, is also killed (the death-toll begins to look like a plot of Midsomer Murders!).
Characters intended to lead us off the scent include actor Bryan Martin, a one-time love interest of Jane Wilkinson, Miss Carroll, Lord Edgware's secretary, Jenny Driver (a friend of Carlotta Adams), Edgware's daughter Geraldine, who admits she hated him, and Ronald Marsh, his nephew, who becomes the new Lord Edgware.
The essence of the plot is that Wilkinson had persuaded Carlotta Adams, as part of a 'friendly hoax', to impersonate her and attend the dinner party. This allowed Wilkinson to go and murder her husband. The phone call was made by her, to double-check that Adams had not been rumbled. Adams, of course, then had to be murdered before she found out the purpose for which she had been involved. Ross is killed because during a subsequent lunch conversation Wilkinson shows little understanding of the role of Paris in ancient Greek mythology - whereas the 'other Jane Wilkinson' had done so at the original supper party.
There are, for me, two things to note about the TV adaptation. First, the changes and simplifications to the plotline. In the original Bryan Martin had intercepted a letter from Lord Edgware to his wife granting a divorce; for TV Wilkinson herself has done this. The reason? The man she wants to marry, The Duke of Merton, is a Catholic. While marrying a widow would be no problem; marrying a divorcee would. In the original it is Carlotta Adams who books into a hotel as the mysterious Miss Van Dusen (where she and Wilkinson twice exchange clothes during the fateful evening); for TV Wilkinson, an actress herself, of course, is the one to do this.
In the original Wilkinson is absent when Poirot does his usual grand summing-up. Later Hastings, our narrator, records a letter she subsequently wrote to Poirot. For TV she is present for Poirot's theatrical denouement. In both, though, she offers the line about possibly earning a place in Madame Tussard's for her crime.
Jenny Driver has, for some reason, become Penny Driver. Ronald Marsh is, in addition to being the hard-up heir to the title of Lord Edgware, now a theatrical producer. Ironically, more is made for TV of butler Alton. In the original it is not clear why, at one point, he does a runner. On TV he has stolen money from Edgware's safe (having discovered the dead body). He later dies, falling through a roof at an airport while trying to evade the police.
The second thing to note concerns the chronology of Poirot - something I have touched upon several times during this 'journey'.
In The Murder of Roger Ackroyd Poirot (already an oldish man when Christie first created him) had retired to the village of King's Abbot to grow marrows. Nothing is said at the end of the book to suggest what might happen to him in the future. In terms of the original publications that book was followed by The Big Four - something of a mess of a story, being an amalgem of several short stories, and produced at a difficult time in Agatha Christie's personal life. The Mystery of the Blue Train and Peril at End House would follow before Lord Edgware Dies was published. By then, presumably, many fans will have lost interest in issues of chronology, the age of Poirot, or whether or not he continued living in King's Abbot.
It's interesting to note that the TV producers were, to an extent, aware of these issues. At the end of the adaptation of The Murder of Roger Ackroyd Poirot comments on not being able to run away from the evils of human nature. In Lord Edgware Dies we are clearly meant to assume he took the decision to return to London and his private detective practice. Miss Lemon is seen administering the unpacking of files; she and Poirot go to welcome Hastings home from Argentina; and at a supper party that evening Inspector Japp announces that it is just like 'old times', with the four team members back together: all that's missing, he muses, is a body!
Published: 1933
After the strange setting of the previous production we returned to more familiar ground with the next episode in Agatha Christie's Poirot.
Lord Edgware Dies is, I found, an enjoyable read. At one and the same time, it is both simple and complex. Simple in that it is built upon what I might call the rare 'double bluff' of whodunnit plots: where the most obvious suspect is, for once, the murderer! And yet, there is a lot of detail to hold on to as the story unfolds.
Poirot and Hastings are attending a theatrical show given by the American impressionist Carlotta Adams. Among her 'victims' is actress Jane Wilkinson, who later approaches Poirot to act as go-between in her attempt to get a divorce from her husband, Lord Edgware. He, apparently, refuses to accede to her request. She is not averse to stating, rather theatrically, that she could well go and bump him off!
When he is later found stabbed in the neck at his home, she is, therefore, the obvious suspect. However - and much to the frustration of Inspector Japp - she appears to have a watertight alibi: on the evening in question she was dining at someone's house. During the evening she mysteriously took a phone call from someone who quickly hung up. Carlotta Adams is later found dead, from an overdose of veronal. Still later another dinner party guest, aspiring writer Donald Ross, is also killed (the death-toll begins to look like a plot of Midsomer Murders!).
Characters intended to lead us off the scent include actor Bryan Martin, a one-time love interest of Jane Wilkinson, Miss Carroll, Lord Edgware's secretary, Jenny Driver (a friend of Carlotta Adams), Edgware's daughter Geraldine, who admits she hated him, and Ronald Marsh, his nephew, who becomes the new Lord Edgware.
The essence of the plot is that Wilkinson had persuaded Carlotta Adams, as part of a 'friendly hoax', to impersonate her and attend the dinner party. This allowed Wilkinson to go and murder her husband. The phone call was made by her, to double-check that Adams had not been rumbled. Adams, of course, then had to be murdered before she found out the purpose for which she had been involved. Ross is killed because during a subsequent lunch conversation Wilkinson shows little understanding of the role of Paris in ancient Greek mythology - whereas the 'other Jane Wilkinson' had done so at the original supper party.
There are, for me, two things to note about the TV adaptation. First, the changes and simplifications to the plotline. In the original Bryan Martin had intercepted a letter from Lord Edgware to his wife granting a divorce; for TV Wilkinson herself has done this. The reason? The man she wants to marry, The Duke of Merton, is a Catholic. While marrying a widow would be no problem; marrying a divorcee would. In the original it is Carlotta Adams who books into a hotel as the mysterious Miss Van Dusen (where she and Wilkinson twice exchange clothes during the fateful evening); for TV Wilkinson, an actress herself, of course, is the one to do this.
In the original Wilkinson is absent when Poirot does his usual grand summing-up. Later Hastings, our narrator, records a letter she subsequently wrote to Poirot. For TV she is present for Poirot's theatrical denouement. In both, though, she offers the line about possibly earning a place in Madame Tussard's for her crime.
Jenny Driver has, for some reason, become Penny Driver. Ronald Marsh is, in addition to being the hard-up heir to the title of Lord Edgware, now a theatrical producer. Ironically, more is made for TV of butler Alton. In the original it is not clear why, at one point, he does a runner. On TV he has stolen money from Edgware's safe (having discovered the dead body). He later dies, falling through a roof at an airport while trying to evade the police.
The second thing to note concerns the chronology of Poirot - something I have touched upon several times during this 'journey'.
In The Murder of Roger Ackroyd Poirot (already an oldish man when Christie first created him) had retired to the village of King's Abbot to grow marrows. Nothing is said at the end of the book to suggest what might happen to him in the future. In terms of the original publications that book was followed by The Big Four - something of a mess of a story, being an amalgem of several short stories, and produced at a difficult time in Agatha Christie's personal life. The Mystery of the Blue Train and Peril at End House would follow before Lord Edgware Dies was published. By then, presumably, many fans will have lost interest in issues of chronology, the age of Poirot, or whether or not he continued living in King's Abbot.
It's interesting to note that the TV producers were, to an extent, aware of these issues. At the end of the adaptation of The Murder of Roger Ackroyd Poirot comments on not being able to run away from the evils of human nature. In Lord Edgware Dies we are clearly meant to assume he took the decision to return to London and his private detective practice. Miss Lemon is seen administering the unpacking of files; she and Poirot go to welcome Hastings home from Argentina; and at a supper party that evening Inspector Japp announces that it is just like 'old times', with the four team members back together: all that's missing, he muses, is a body!
Tuesday, 10 January 2017
46. The Murder of Roger Ackroyd
Air date: 02/01/2000
Published: 1926
Sunday, January 2nd, 2000. The froth on the big new year's celebrations had gone. The so-called millennium bug had not, it seemed, wiped out our computers. Many people were, no doubt, contemplating a return to work the next morning after an extended Christmas break.
And this was the night Agatha Christie's Poirot returned to our screens after a four year gap. It seems strange looking back on that time now, although I'll say more when I get to David Suchet's reflections.
The series returned with an adaptation of the book often acclaimed as the masterpiece which really established Christie's reputation: The Murder of Roger Ackroyd.
When I embarked on this project of comparing the written word with the TV adaptations I had to consider the inevitable revealing of plot lines - 'spoilers', as they are called in the entertainment industry. I consoled myself with the likelihood that the only people who would be interested in my analytical musings would be fans; those who had already seen the TV productions, or read the books - or both.
The Murder of Roger Ackroyd is the first story where I have had qualms about revealing all. So (and this is probably the only time I will write this) if you don't know the story, you might care to skip this chapter until you do.
Published: 1926
Sunday, January 2nd, 2000. The froth on the big new year's celebrations had gone. The so-called millennium bug had not, it seemed, wiped out our computers. Many people were, no doubt, contemplating a return to work the next morning after an extended Christmas break.
And this was the night Agatha Christie's Poirot returned to our screens after a four year gap. It seems strange looking back on that time now, although I'll say more when I get to David Suchet's reflections.
The series returned with an adaptation of the book often acclaimed as the masterpiece which really established Christie's reputation: The Murder of Roger Ackroyd.
When I embarked on this project of comparing the written word with the TV adaptations I had to consider the inevitable revealing of plot lines - 'spoilers', as they are called in the entertainment industry. I consoled myself with the likelihood that the only people who would be interested in my analytical musings would be fans; those who had already seen the TV productions, or read the books - or both.
The Murder of Roger Ackroyd is the first story where I have had qualms about revealing all. So (and this is probably the only time I will write this) if you don't know the story, you might care to skip this chapter until you do.
* * *
The Murder of Roger Ackroyd was the third novel to feature Hercule Poirot. It was also preceded by the publication of the first collection of eleven short stories, Poirot Investigates.Those who had already become fans were, therefore, by now familiar with Christie's use of the 'character-narrator' technique; where someone within the story tells the story. That character had been Poirot's trusty sidekick Captain Arthur Hastings.
Now we meet a new character-narrator, village GP Dr James Sheppard. Poirot, already aged when readers first met him in The Mysterious Affair at Styles, had retired to the village of King's Abbot to grow marrows!
The big surprise Christie pulls in this book (and I can only imagine the initial impact it had when first published) is that the narrator turns out to be the murderer!
The story begins with the announcement that a Mrs Ferrars had died. She had overdosed, apparently, on veronol, a year after the death of her husband. Sheppard tells us about wealthy Roger Ackroyd and the various members of his family and staff. When he and his sister Caroline first meet their neighbour Poirot they assume he is a retired hairdresser!
Ackroyd invites the doctor to dinner and later reveals that Mrs Ferrars, with whom he had developed a romantic attachment, had confessed to having murdered her husband. Someone else knew about this and was blackmailing her. That very evening a letter arrives from Mrs Ferrars (written before she committed suicide) in which she will, it seems, reveal the name of the blackmailer.
The doctor leaves. At home he apparently receives a phone call from servant Parker saying Ackroyd has been murdered, but on returning to Ackroyd's home Parker knows nothing of this! On entering the study the pair discover Ackroyd has, in fact, been stabbed to death.
Suspicion eventually falls on Ackroyd's step-son Roger Paton, who has disappeared. Flora Ackroyd, daughter of Ackroyd's widowed sister-in-law (who is engaged to Paton), persuades Poirot to become involved in the investigations.
As in a number of Christie's stories everything revolves around timings. Ackroyd is heard talking in his study sometime after the doctor had left. Personal assistant Geoffrey Raymond was playing billiards with another guest, Hector Blunt. The doctor passed a mysterious visitor on his way home. The study window was open. Parker recognised a chair had been moved when he and the doctor entered the study. And someone had a rendevous in the garden summer house.
Poirot manages to navigate his way through all these distractions to work out that the doctor was the blackmailer and he killed Ackroyd to prevent this becoming known. He had used a dictaphone, hidden behind the chair, to make it sound as though Ackroyd was alive later than he was. For those with keen observation skills - or, in my case, for those who know the story in advance - there are a couple of clear clues in the doctor's narration of events to suggest he was the killer.
We eventually find out that Paton has already secretly married the parlourmaid, Ursula Bourne. Another red herring concerns the drug-taking son of one of the staff.
So how would the scriptwriters handle this plot for TV? The adaptation begins when it is all over, and Poirot is reading the journal written by the murderer. Poirot's reading is cleverly interspersed throughout.
The doctor already knows Poirot as a retired detective. His sister appears less of a nosey gossip-monger than in the original. The adaptation is very faithful to the main key elements of the plot, with a few inevitable simplifications for TV. Some of the characters, like Hector Blunt and some of the servants, are omitted, along with some sub-plots - notably the drug-taking Charles Kent. Our old friend Chief Inspector Japp replaces Inspector Raglan, and his first meeting with Poirot is something of a touching reunion between two old comrades.
One surprise is an additional murder! Parker is run over on his way home from an evening drinking at the local pub. Clearly he was killed for being too observant about details (like the chair that was moved).
It is, however, the finale that provides the biggest difference. In the original Poirot confronts the doctor with the true sequence of events. The doctor departs and the last, sombre chapter sees him writing immediately before, apparently, taking his own life.
For TV his sister finds the journal in the glove compartment of the doctor's car, along with a gun (which, apparently, he had originally taken with him to kill Ackroyd with, before deciding to take advantage of an ornamental daggar already in the house). She joins the denouement conversation and allows Sheppard to grab the gun and attempt an escape. However, he does eventually take his own life - with the final bullet in the revolver.
The dramatic chase through Ackroyd's factory seemed somewhat out of keeping with the plot, and with the character of the doctor himself.
At one point Poirot and Japp visit London, and take the opportunity to look round Poirot's old flat. There he talks of ghosts from the past. At the end of the episode he confesses that he could not escape human nature by simply retiring to the country - paving the way, we assume, for normality to be resumed in the next episode!
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