To make that statement more incredible ‘The Alphabet Murders’ (1965, *) is based on one of the best loved of Agatha Christie’s mystery novels featuring Hercule Poirot and, as such, must be one of the all-time great examples of how Hollywood can turn good source material into utter horse-shit. The plot, as you may be aware, concerns a series of killings of people whose initials follow the alphabet (AA, BB, CC etc.). Poirot attempts to solve the mystery with help from Captain Hastings, here converted to a Secret Service agent played by Robert Morely, before the killer has worked their way through the whole alphabet. There are various slow-witted policemen and suspects involved along the way as one would expect and the whole thing is all wrapped up as neatly as is possible. You may have seen the ITV version from the long running series starring David Suchet but let me assure you that any similarity between that excellent series and this movie is purely coincidental.
Tony Randall: Hercule D'oh-irot?
I hardly know where to begin as I try to describe exactly what makes ‘The Alphabet Murders’ so poor but if I want you to carry on reading I must... so here it goes. Let’s start with the version of Poirot we are presented with in the film. In a quite incredible bit of casting the American light comedy actor Tony Randall was hired to take the lead. Randall had just appeared in ‘7 Faces of Dr. Lao’ (1964) as the ancient Chinese circus owner of the title. Randall’s transformation thanks to Oscar-winning make-up must have convinced studio heads at MGM that he was the perfect choice for a role that required a wig, a fake nose and a moustache. The result, as illustrated, is that Randall’s Poirot ends up looking like James Finalyson, the temperamental Scot who featured in many a Laurel & Hardy movie (and who used the expression of exasperation ‘d’oh!’ long before Homer Simpson). I suppose the make-up is not Randall’s fault, nor is the decision to relocate the story from the 1930s to 1960s London where, in a particularly awful scene, Poirot shows off his ten-pin bowling skills! What we can lay at Tony Randall’s door is his accent which ranges from the policeman from ‘’Allo ‘Allo’ to a bad impersonation of David Niven. Agatha Christie’s Poirot is totally unrecognisable in the character we see here. He is rude, short-tempered and thoroughly unpleasant. He is also a complete idiot who solves the case by accident as opposed to engaging his “little grey cells”. In fact the script by David Pursall and Jack Seddon attempts to make us laugh at and ridicule him. There is supposed to be something fusty, inflated and pompous about Poirot but he not a figure of fun and is certainly not a buffoon. It is abundantly clear that ‘The Alphabet Murders’ was conceived in the wake of Peter Sellers’ enormously successful turn as Inspector Clouseau in ‘The Pink Panther’ (1963) and its sequel ‘A Shot in the Dark (1964). Sequences such as the aforementioned bowling alley scene, Poirot’s comic visit to a sauna and his lack of manners in polite society are very similar to features of Sellers creation. MGM’s British wing had the popular series of Miss Marple movies starring Margaret Rutherford as an example of how a Christie detective could be tweaked and moulded to fit their will but it just doesn’t work here as the leap from Christie’s vision to Clouseau II is much too large.
The other actors do not fair much better. Anita Ekberg is present as the prime suspect but she doesn’t have a great deal to do which is probably a blessing as I don’t think she is much of an actress. As for poor Robert Morely he is employed to play a complete nincompoop whose presence in the movie seems only to serve the purpose of allowing the scriptwriters to fill their screen play with lots of jokes about his weight. Which brings us back to the films number one problem (even greater than Randall) – the script. It just isn’t funny. In fact it is painful. I wondered to myself as I watched ‘The Alphabet Murders’ whether I would have liked it better if the character’s were not previously familiar to me but in truth the humour is so weak that I doubt it.
If you are a huge fan of all things Poirot, you have a keen interest in cinematic Christie adaptations or if you are a masochist then you may want to catch ‘The Alphabet Murders’ next time it appears on television. Everyone else should switch on ITV3 (the ‘Poirot channel’ as a good friend of mine calls it) and see how it’s done properly.
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A decade later and Poirot returned to our movie screens in ‘Murder on the Orient Express’ (1974, *****) which despite atrocious editing and continuity is a highly entertaining version of another of Poirot’s greatest cases. Poirot is portrayed by the marvellously over-the-top Albert Finney who revels in his slicked down hair, waxed moustache and protruding belly without ever stepping over the line into the ridiculous. He is keenly aware of the old-world eccentricities of the role and the humour present in Agatha Christie’s novels but neither Finney nor the script allows any clowning to take place. Christie herself said he was a good match for her idea of Poirot and there can be no higher recommendation than that.
Finney is supported by a list of famous faces. The ‘Golden Age’ of Hollywood is represented by Lauren Bacall and Ingrid Bergman, Sean Connery, Michael York and Jacqueline Bisset were all big stars at the time, and the rest of the cast is made up of supporting players of the calibre of Martin Balsam, Anthony Perkins, John Gielgud, Richard Widmark and Wendy Hiller. I won’t say every performance is a knockout but I will pick out Gielgud (as the murder victim’s sardonic valet), Jean-Pierre Cassel (as the conductor with a tragic past) and Bacall (as a brash, ear-bashing widow) for special praise. The period look of the film is very good and the score is excellent. All in all it is highly recommended.
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Finney was nominated of an Oscar for his portrayal of Hercule Poirot but the long hours of make-up required for the role dissuaded him from returning when ‘Death on the Nile’ (1978, ***) was planned. We got Peter Ustinov instead and he was very good. Like Finney he knew how far to push the envelope with humour without nullifying the need for te audience to take Poirot seriously when it came to summing up time. The problem Ustinov faced in ‘Death on the Nile’, ‘Evil Under the Sun’ (1982, ***) and the other four Poirot movies he made was that his supporting players were not as strong as the one Finney enjoyed. The producers were keen to replicate the success of ‘Murder on the Orient Express’ and filled both movies with familiar faces (‘Nile’ had Bette Davis, Angela Lansbury, David Niven, George Kennedy and Maggie Smith whilst ‘Sun’ had James Mason, Diana Rigg, Roddy McDowall and, again, Maggie Smith) but the crop of young actors employed in both movies were pretty but dull and it takes away from the films as wholes. That said both movies are entertaining and Ustinov makes a good Poirot. If you’re bored and they are on the box then why not check them out.
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A final note to say that ‘Evil under the Sun’ has a soundtrack to die for. It is made up of Cole Porter songs which makes a bit of bad acting well worth sitting through.
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