Has Hercule Poirot been murdered by the movies?

I think I have just watched one of the worst movies I have ever seen.

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.

***

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.

***

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.

***

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.

The why.

I would love to be able to say that my earliest memories of movies were akin to those of Toto in 'Cinema Paradiso'. If they had been I could tell you of school holidays and weekends spent trying to sneak into the big movie house in my tiny home village and being taken under the wing of a grumpy, yet kindly projectionist. However my childhood was not spent this way. I have always lived in big cities or large towns with more than one cinema, I have never even met a projectionist, I didn’t grow up to be a successful film director, my Dad didn’t die in World War Two and I have never, ever risked pneumonia by standing below the bedroom window of a girl with dodgy eyebrows as the heavens opened.

However, the school holidays certainly had a large part to play in my movie education. When I was very young I used to watch, like the majority of children, any cartoon going. One of my favourites was the Larry Harmon produced 'Laurel & Hardy' series. As a toddler I was aware that these two animated figures may possibly have been based on real people but it wasn’t until I was a little more grown up, probably eight or nine, that I got to watch a real Laurel & Hardy movie thanks to those wonderful schedulers of BBC 2’s late morning programmes for children. What was that first film? Memory tells me it was 'Way Out West' but to be totally honest it could just as easily been 'One Good Turn', 'The Music Box' or 'Me and My Pal'. For six weeks my brother David and I were in wonderland and couldn’t get enough of Stan and Ollie. I did everything I could to ensure I was up and at home for them so that I could not only watch but video them for continued consumption. I mastered how to set the timer to record them at that early age in case my Mum had plans for us to go book shopping at Birkenhead market, bargain-hunting at Ellesmere Port or promenading at Llandudno or Southport. I cursed myself when I forgot to set the video and went ballistic when I discovered a recording of 'Coronation Street' where 'Saps at Sea' should have been. As my eldest brother was not a fan of L&H and I was absolutely convinced that he had purposely taped over them and from that moment on I zealously guarded them like a squirrel does with his nuts.

Perhaps the most pleasing side-effect of all this was that I was never going to be afflicted by that most odious of aversions that can affect the young – that they won’t watch black and white movies. I don’t think I can ever be a true friend with somebody who has this problem though I try to show tolerance. ‘I find them boring’ is the usual defence, in one sentence relegating 'Citizen Kane', 'Casablanca', 'Paths of Glory', 'Wild Strawberries' et al. below 'The Number 23', 'Ernest Saves Christmas' and 'The Spiderwick Chronicles' in terms of interesting or watchable films.

Over the years my love of films grew. I discovered Chaplin and Keaton, Tracy and Hepburn, Newman and McQueen. I grew to love Lang, worship Wilder, and marvel at Minnelli. I wanted to know James Stewart, drink with Richard Burton, make love to Jacqueline Bisset and be Cary Grant. The cinema had invaded me and I was powerless to resist. From Gene Kelly’s feet to Clark Gables’ ears I absorbed any film I could and still cried out for more. I knew about Claudette Colbert’s good side, Gene Wilder’s blue blanket and Sid James’ piles. Between the ages of 16 and 18 I was literally a review reading, movie watching, biography devouring machine and whilst my passion for all things cinematic has never gone away it has never quite reached those heights again (blame booze, girls and Steven Gerrard).

Movies are still a very important part of my life, rivalled only by football as an interest. I like to talk about them and that is really the reason why I have decided to write a blog about them. That is not to say that I am limiting myself to talking only about films, actors, directors etc. but they will make up the spine of what is written. If any one takes the time to read what I write them that is terrific and I hope that whoever they are they will enjoy what is written and feel free to comment on it.