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ONE TRAIN, TWO VERY DIFFERENT JOURNEYS

10 Feb 11 12:16PM

By Chris Chan 

(SPOILER WARNING: THIS ESSAY CONTAINS MANY REFERENCES TO THE PLOT AND THE SOLUTION TO MURDER ON THE ORIENT EXPRESS, AS WELL AS RECENT ADAPTATIONS OF THE BOOK.) 

Murder on the Orient Express is one of Agatha Christie’s greatest and most popular novels, and it has been made into one of the most successful Christie films ever produced, as well as one as one of the most anticipated entries in the David Suchet Poirot television series.  It has also been adapted again for television with Alfred Molina as the great detective, but this remake updated and distorted the tale, to highly disappointing results.  A BBC radio adaptation starring John Moffatt as Poirot was far more faithful, and David Suchet also voiced his trademark role in a computer game adaptation.  While the last two adaptations do justice to the book in very different ways, it is the 1974 movie starring Albert Finney and the Suchet television adaptation that have drawn the most attention recently. 

The 2010 production of Murder on the Orient Express (henceforth referred to as MOTOE) starring David Suchet has provoked a wide array of responses, both approving and disapproving.  Comparisons to the 1974 version have been quite understandably been made as well.  While there are aspects of both adaptations that disappoint me slightly, my feelings towards both films are overwhelmingly positive.  This essay is an attempt to explain what both adaptations do right, as well as to better understand the artistic choices both productions made. 

Upon comparing the 1974 and 2010 productions of MOTOE, I am reminded of several distinct parallels with recent Broadway revivals of the musicals of Stephen Sondheim, most notably Sweeney Todd, Company, and A Little Night Music.  All three were originally Tony winners for best musical, and all have been revived in award-winning productions in the last few years, although these revivals are quite different in style and appearance from the original productions.  The originals all had colorful sets and costumes, used large ensemble orchestras, and had large casts.  To different extents, the revivals all used a much more minimalist approach to their production designs, paring the casts to the bare minimum (or close to it), using a spare, basic set.  In two cases, the cast also played all of the instruments.  Additionally, the costumes used in all three revivals are almost entirely composed of black white, and gray.  Such changes have split critics and fans.  Some thoroughly approve of this minimalism, believing it leads to a stronger focus on acting and the music, whereas others feel that this makes for a less satisfying theatrical experience. 

In many ways, the 2010 remake is directly analogous to these Sondheim revivals.  It is smaller (less than ninety minutes as opposed to well over two hours, although this is due in part to time constraints rather than a deliberate plan on the part of the filmmakers), and the colors in the costumes are far more muted than the 1974 Oscar-nominated ones, as are the sets in general.  The nature of the solution prevents the massive cast from being pared down, although one suspect has been wholly deleted.  In any other Christie novel, changing the identity of a killer or a co-conspirator would be a heinous offence, but in the 2010 MOTOE, making a previously innocent character a guilty party is somewhat less egregious than any other similar change might be. 

The limited time available, and the unusually large collection of suspects, makes the under-ninety-minute running time particularly onerous.  Interestingly, the running times of the pre-murder scenes and the revelation of the solution are roughly the same in both the 1974 and 2010 versions, the first lasting half an hour, the second about twenty minutes.  It is the middle scenes, comprising the investigation, that have been compressed.  Unlike nearly every other Christie mystery, where we learn about the suspects through seeing them in scenes from their day-to-day lives and from conversations with each other, we must learn about the suspects through their brief interviews with Poirot.  In the 2010 version, there are only about forty minutes allotted to investigation, leaving only about three minutes for each suspect to create a miniature portrait of themselves.  Sometimes the results are extremely successful, such as in Toby Jones’ oily yet oddly conflicted version of Ratchett and Eileen Atkins’s properly imperious Princess Dragomiroff, others adequately give an impression of their characters, whereas others are only able to give a tiny glimpse of who they are supposed to be. 

One frequent criticism of the 2010 MOTOE is the fact that David Suchet is too irritated and angry throughout the episode.  Poirot is certainly upset during the final portions of the movie (more on that later), but there is a factor that many reviewers and fans have tended to overlook.  Midway through the movie, the heating pipe in the train is damaged, and the passenger cars are left devoid of warmth.  Now, we know that Poirot is extremely sensitive to cold, and becomes grumpy and abrasive if he is exposed to wintry or damp weather.  This is stressed throughout the books, and prominent scenes are devoted to these responses in Suchet episodes such as “The Mystery at Hunter’s Lodge” and many others.  Some have called Poirot’s general demeanor uncharacteristic in the 2010 version, but when we take the temperature and the roughness of the journey into account, Suchet’s portrayal is completely in line with his previous incarnations, even before taking the fact that he is soon to be faced with a serious moral quandary into account. 

Some critics have stated their displeasure at the stress on Poirot’s Catholicism in the 2010 MOTOE, but this is entirely in keeping with the character.  The Poirot of the books often refers to his Catholicism and mass attendance, and Poirot’s religious background is referenced in the Suchet “Triangle at Rhodes,” Taken at the Flood, and multiple other productions. The accusation that Poirot, being an eminently reasonable and logical detective, would not place heavy stress on religion is an utter non sequitur.  Faith and reason are not antonyms, despite the declaration of many pundits.  Poirot’s moral sense and worldview are heavily shaped by his Catholicism, and when Poirot is facing his greatest ethical challenge yet in a television series lasting over two decades, it is only natural that the directing force of his moral compass have a prominent role.   

The famed author Alice Thomas Ellis (Anna Haycraft), once wrote that exploring individuals’ religious beliefs was the backbone of good characterization, writing that, “Once you take away the religious element, you can’t write fiction. Well, you can, but it’s boring.”  Poirot, Ratchett, Mary Debenham, and Greta Ohlsson all have their religious faith prominently displayed, and in each case it is the defining feature of their character.  Poirot’s religioun directs his intellect and morality, Ratchett shallowly sees God as a mere tool to defend him from harm, Ms. Debenham feels forsaken by God when earthly justice has been denied, and Ms. Ohlsson’s approach to Christianity is one where mercy has no place seasoning justice.  The last three characterizations are quite different from those in the 1974 version, and they effectively differentiate the film from its predecessor without betraying the spirit of the original story. 

The way the Orient Express itself is portrayed is another major point of contrast between the two versions.  Under the direction of Sidney Lumet, the Orient Express looked luxurious, filled with comfortable seating, spacious rooms and travel cars, gourmet food, as well as every amenity.  It was, essentially, an English manor house with wheels.  In contrast, the Orient Express that David Suchet travels upon is filmed to appear positively claustrophobic.  The corridor of the sleeping car is barely big enough for Poirot to pass down comfortably, when another passenger needs to pass him by he must flatten himself against a wall or duck into a compartment.  Director Philip Martin uses certain filming tactics that Sidney Lumet himself used to great effect in 12 Angry Men, using certain camera angles to focus on characters at angles that make their surroundings appear smaller and cramped.  Furthermore, in 1974 the Orient Express traveled as if it were sailing on a cloud, save for a little light reverberating here and there, but the 2010 train jiggles and shakes to such an extent that one fears for the expensive china and glassware in the dining car. 

In contrast to Suchet’s decidedly somber demeanor throughout the episode, Finney’s performance is frequently played for comedy.  Often the humor is congruous with the overall tone of the film, though at times the comic touches seem broad and out of place and character, such as when Poirot shuffles down the corridor carrying the recently discovered conductor’s uniform, slapping the cap on his own head and warbling “Animal Crackers In My Soup.”  1974 peppered the script with some very dry humor– one particular favorite line involves the Princess remarking that she rarely smiles because her “doctor has advised against it.” In contrast, the 2010 version is much more serious and somber.  Some viewers have found it depressing, and I can understand this perspective, although I believe that “serious” is a much better word to describe it, especially after repeated viewings.  Nevertheless, the movie has to be serious if it is to be true to its character development of its central character: Hercule Poirot, and how he addresses the moral dilemma he will face by the end of the case. 

Given the fact that the book and the 1974 movie are so well-known, and that snobbish and thoughtless pundits and critics habitually bandy about the solution without regard to those potential readers and viewers that have not yet read the book or seen an adaptation of it, the brilliant, convention-defying ending has been spoiled for far too many people.  Unfortunately, many people see little point in watching a mystery if they already know the ending, so a remake of such a famous story has to take the viewer in a direction not previously taken. 

Indeed, one of the hurdles that the Suchet MOTOE has had to wrestle with is the fact that the 1974 version is so popular.  Many of Christie’s works have been filmed before, so if one of her mysteries is to be filmed yet again, the production team has three basic options.  First, the new film can adhere closely to the original book.  If the original movie was faithful to the source material, then the remake can be an extremely close approximation of the first movie.  Examples of this include the three television productions of They Do It With Mirrors.  Secondly, the production team can radically rework the plot and characterizations, as in the recent Nemesis, At Bertram’s Hotel, and Appointment With Death.  Unfortunately, the changes rarely work, most often being wastes of time, low camp, or just plain confusing.  The third option is the route taken by the 2010 MOTOE.  About the only other time such an approach has been used is in the 1987 Russian-language Desyat Negrityat, an adaptation of And Then There Were None.  This option involves mining the source material for emotional depths and internal conflict that might easily be overlooked should the production team be aiming for light entertainment rather than high art. 

The greatest achievement of the 2010 MOTOE is that it does what all too few adaptations of Christie do– it takes the source material seriously.  Admittedly, perhaps too seriously, but the climax on the book hinges on a single action– a moral decision made by Poirot.  In virtually every other book save Curtain, Poirot’s hard work ends once he has revealed the identity of the killer.  The police take custody of the murderer, and presumably the guilty party is convicted and either jailed for life or executed.  In several instances the killer commits suicide or dies in some other manner before an arrest can be made.  In Five Little Pigs, after the novel ends Poirot must work with the authorities to clear the name of a wrongly convicted person, as well as to see if there is sufficient evidence to arrest the real killer– although he is highly pessimistic about the chances of justice being done.   

In MOTOE, Poirot makes a conscious decision to prevent the full facts of the case from being known.  This is not the only time when this happens.  In Dumb Witness, The Murder of Roger Ackroyd, and The Hollow, Poirot works with police to keep the true solution to the murders out of the public eye, since the killers are all dead and the surviving family members would be devastated and humiliated by the public revelation that their loved one was a murderer.  In Taken at the Flood and “The King of Clubs” Poirot allows people who kill purely by accident to escape trial for manslaughter, possibly out of sympathy, possibly due to the fact that he believes that they meant no real harm and will not kill again.  

But MOTOE is a different matter.  Here, Poirot deliberately gives the authorities a false solution (one can only hope that the Yugoslavian police never find some poor, innocent slob that they accuse of being the mysterious assassin), and allows those responsible to escape, although there is evidence that the truth of the case is known in some small, limited circles (see my previous essay, http://www.agathachristie.com/blog/2009/07/06/how-did-nadine-boynton-know-about-orient-express-c/).  Finney’s Poirot is not unduly distressed by this choice, indeed, unlike the book, he deliberately advises M. Bouc to promote his first solution of the anonymous runaway assassin.  At the end, Poirot declares that, “I must go and wrestle with my report to the police and with my conscience.”  Other than a quick backwards glance at the other passengers, perhaps reflecting a moment of doubt as to whether or not he has made the right decision, Poirot does not seem to be utterly distressed by this. 

In my view, a storytelling triumph of the 2010 version is the way that all of the preceding events of the story lead to Poirot’s decision.  We see how Poirot’s actions are shaped by witnessing two deaths, one a suicide unintentionally caused in part by the harshness of his own denunciations, the other a display of mob execution, where no mercy is shown, the facts of the case are subject to doubt, and the life of a child is also affected.  It is stressed that Poirot is no longer in England, and it is implied that a plea of justifiable homicide would not be as successful as it might be in America or Great Britain.  Poirot is, essentially, being called upon to condone an act of vigilantism.  Such a code of morality might work for the titular protagonist of the television series Dexter, who stabs murderers practically daily, but in the universe of the Poirot series, crossing such a moral boundary might mean that the great detective could no longer live with himself.  Could he continue to act as an administrator of justice if he lets people get away with murder? 

But are the guilty parties getting away with murder?  One wonders.  The ending of the 1974 version showed the characters clinking champagne glasses, each making a final bow as if to say, “We did it!  Job well done!”  Could the perpetrators of the 2010 version live happily ever after?  From the closing scenes, we can doubt that they could hold onto their flat assertions that they “did what was right” for very long.  It is possible that one character might no longer be able to view another romantically after seeing him plan to kill two innocent people to save his own skin.  Another character might not be able to live with herself if she ever came to believe that she had committed one of those crimes that God does not forgive.   

For me, David Suchet’s portrayal of Hercule Poirot is one of the great television creations of recent years because he has managed to show numerous different features of an iconic character while remaining true to the essence of Christie’s creation.  All too often, character “development” on certain long-running television shows means turning a distinctive character into someone very different over time, giving that person a radically different personality or mindset, and often making that character blander and less likable.  Suchet, in contrast, develops Poirot by showing his different reactions to a wide variety of situations, and even when we see Poirot with tears in his eyes, we know that this is the same man who first appeared on screen over twenty years ago, but we are now seeing him dealing with something we have never before known him to face.  We have seen Poirot at his best, when he is happy and interacting with his friends and colleagues.  In the closing scene of MOTOE, we see Poirot at his lowest point ever, wondering whether he has made the right decision in deciding the fates of many people.  It is a particular testament to the strength of the filmmakers’ artistic convictions that we can continue to wonder whether or not he was correct, and that all of the surviving characters may spend the rest of their lives coping with the unexpected emotional fallout of their actions. 

All things considered, I am very glad that MOTOE was made and re-made the way it was both in 1974 and 2010.  Neither version is perfect, but I believe that both succeed in interpreting Christie’s great mystery in their own way.  While one cannot please everyone all of the time, I hope that this essay gives some of those viewers who were originally displeased with the recent remake a new perspective and appreciation for the film.

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5 comments

Lone_Wolf 30 Apr 11 at 10:49a.m.

One of the pitfalls of attempting to "darkening the material" and "taking it seriously" is that darkening the tone doesn't automatically get rid of campiness, on the contrary, "dark camp" can be as annoying as "sweet camp".

InspectorGrant 12 Apr 11 at 4:50p.m.

Great article - I enjoyed reading this very much, and agree with your remarks about Suchet's development of Poirot's character. It would be impossible for him to react as the Finney Poirot did - Suchet's Poirot would not casually walk away, and his reactions were totally in keeping with Suchet's portrayal. What an extraordinary job he has done in inhabiting this creation of Dame Agatha's. It is a shame that she did not get the chance to see him in the role of Poirot.

I loved the 1974 film - it is very glamorous with an outstanding cast; but I also found the Suchet version to be of more interest from an intellectual and moral point of view.

A very interesting article, Chris.

oddie 10 Mar 11 at 8:27a.m.

ok its good thanks

LittleMissMurder 10 Mar 11 at 2:33a.m.

I saw the version with Albert Finney. It was awesome! I read the book and saw very few differences between the two. I also have a split opinion of how the film was introduced with the murder of Daisy Armstrong. It is good foreshadowing, but it gives to much of a question as to its relevance to the film, hence it is not as much of a surprise later in the film. In the book it is a shocking twist to find that every passenger on the train was involved. I feel the movie lacks this element in a way.

BrianRSheridan 11 Feb 11 at 2:31p.m.

Outstanding piece! I argued the same points with some people who felt the remake was not up to par. We all can agree thought that the less said about the 2001 version, the better.