Assassinato no Expresso Oriente

This whodunit story by Dame Agatha is excellent. She has always been my favorite writer of detective fiction. I keep returning to the film version, however, not because of the story but because of the film's sheer elegance and style. It is awash in elegance ... the majestic cinematography; the glamorous clothes; the delightfully eccentric aristocratic characters; the mysterious yet refined musical score. The film is so theatrically regal I'm surprised that it did not feature a representative of British royalty.

The setting is Europe in the 1930's. The pace is slow and relaxed. And while the dialogue is in English, the film has a deliciously international flavor, with a mix of interesting accents and word pronunciations. Heavy on dialogue, the film never seems overly talky, the result of a clever screenplay and lush visuals. Humor is included in the script usually in the form of tasteful put-downs. Example: an attractive Mrs. Hubbard comments: "Don't you agree the man must have entered my compartment to gain access to Mr. Ratchett?" The aging Princess Dragomiroff responds in a deadpan tone: "I can think of no other reason, madam."

In his portrayal of Hercule Poirot, Albert Finney almost literally disappears into the role, a tribute to convincing makeup and to Finney's adroit acting. His performance is appropriately idiosyncratic, deliciously hammy, and theatrical, every bit as entertaining in this film as Peter Ustinov is in subsequent Christie movies. The rest of the cast has ensemble parts, my favorite being Wendy Hiller whose Princess Dragomiroff comes across as royal, proud, and very eccentric.

With its snowy landscapes, ornate and cozy interiors, and subdued lighting, "Murder On The Orient Express" is an excellent movie to watch on a cold, winter night, snuggled under a blanket or next to a warm fireplace with a cup of cappuccino or a glass of cognac. Just be sure that all knives and daggers in your mansion are out of reach from your staff of servants.

Spoilers. There is a delicious score, an elegant and whimsical 1936 waltz, on which during moments of suspense a bassoon plays comic variations. Nothing is to be taken seriously. Certainly not the story. The plot gives us incidents which are evidently red herrings designed to mislead Inspector Poirot but mislead the viewer as well. Why should "the clumsy cliché" of the smashed watch telling us the time of the murder be necessary? Because, says Poirot, it is supposed to lead him to believe the murder took place at an earlier hour than it did, an hour in which all the suspects had unshakable alibis. But if the suspects were in cahoots, couldn't they have improvised the same alibis for a later hour as well? After all, Poirot was asleep in his compartment, or at least trying to sleep, all night. And the lady in the white nightgown with the red dragons -- what was that about? It complicated the plot with an added detail but couldn't have confused Poirot much since it was of no relevance to his perception of what was going on.

The acting isn't meant to be taken seriously either. First, there is Albert Finney as Poirot, who looks absolutely great with every visible hair waxed to perfection, and an indefinable accent that wavers a bit from scene to scene, as if he were, as John Simon put it, "sending up trial Walloons." Everyone else overacts hammily (and enjoyably) too. Especially enjoyable is Sir John Gielgud as the batman or butler or valet or whatever he is, explaining away a "contusion" on the back of his head with, "The result of a fracas in the mess, concerning the quality of a pudding, sir, know as 'spotted dick'."

There were one or two other things in the script that Agatha Christie (played by Vanessa Redgrave in "Agatha") could not have gotten away with. Guilgud also does a marvelous job with the simple act of stabbing his employer, wriggling the dagger from side to side in the unconscious man's chest, and yanking it out with a theatrical flourish and an expression not of rage but of utter contempt. Likewise impressive is Sean Connery as Colonel Arbuthnot, that mess hall accent and demeanor, that mustache more firmly established than the Empire itself, snapping at Poirot that he would not have been stupid enough to use his "peep cleaner" and leave it in the murdered man's ash tray.

The least interesting performances probably include Jacqueline Bissett, Peter York, and some minor characters, but this is partly because their roles require less of them. (How can you be a hammy wagon-lit conductor?) I haven't read the novel in years but my impression is that this movie, with its additional wit, is an improvement.

The elegance of first-class travel on a train whose very name is suggestive of mystery and romance is nicely conveyed. It's snowy and scenic and bitterly cold outside, but in these beautifully appointed compartments we are well and snug and can order fresh oysters and fruit and poached sole with one new potato and a green salad with no dressing. It's cramped of course, but that merely adds to the impression of coziness.

The Orient Express as I experienced it in third class isn't really very elegant. The only space I could find was on the metal floor in front of a bathroom, whose door kept swinging open and shut. Everyone on board seemed to have a digestive disorder. After buying a bottle of home-made chianti from a vendor at one of the stops, for twenty-five cents, so did I. I suppose you have to be well-to, British, and middle class, as Christie was. All her views of the world, gathered in the wake of her archaeologist husband, are tourist's views, which is just fine.

The plot, as always in a Christie story, is as finely tuned as a watch and follows its format as closely as any episode of "Columbo." Poirot meets an old friend in some unusual place. A murder takes place. Poirot interviews everyone and pieces the whole thing together, no matter how improbable the feat. The last chapter (or reel) has the guests gathered together silently while Poirot strides around, or in Finney's case, shuffles around, and explains what has happened and why. The solutions are usually a surprise when they are finally revealed, but repeated viewings don't hurt. In fact, knowing ahead of time what the end will look like gives us a chance to appreciate better the display and character and the planting of clues, real and false. This is nothing more than a divertimento but it is a highly likable one, without pretense, and neatly done.

One of the most famous of Dame Agatha Christie's novels. This is a glorious, beautifully directed, star studded production. I will be honest and say it took me a long time to appreciate just how good a film this actually is.

The format and layout of the film works tremendously well, the dark and twisted kidnap and killing story at the beginning sets the tone well, it hits hard, and makes the end of the film all the more engaging and believable.

The film looks sensational, it is a beautiful production (especially in HD) the scenery throughout is lavish, a true feast for the eyes. From the bright sunny beginning, to the dark, bleak and snowy scene of the murder. The film seems to get intentionally darker as it progresses. The costumes are glorious, Jacqueline Bisset especially gets to wear some wonderful outfits.

Albert Finney is good in the part, he certainly looks the part, when I read the book he is exactly how I visualise him. He is wonderfully theatrical, and as Ustinov definitely suits the flavour of Death on the Nile, so does Finney here.

The characterisations aside from Poirot are expertly brought to life, some glorious performances, Lauren Bacall and Wendy Hillier are sensational in their roles, how well the cast bring to life the class system of 1930, it really was a different world. Sir John Gielgud is tremendous as stiff upper lipped Beddoes, and plaudits also to Richard Widmark who makes Mr Ratchett as vile as possible.

9/10 you can almost smell the gourmet cooking and hear the clink of Champagne flutes. A glorious film. Kenneth Branagh's new adaptation has a lot to live up to.

This is both a glamorous and entertaining adaptation of Agatha's Christie's mystery novel. There's certainly a star studded cast but perhaps the main star is the luxury train itself, the legendary Orient Express bound from Istanbul to Calais. Black with gold crests, it hisses steam as it streaks dramatically through the Balkans. Inside are opulent interiors, intriguing compartments, gourmet cuisine, fine wines & liqueurs, and elegantly costumed passengers. Of course there's the typical enclosed group of suspects with a murderer in their midst.

The setting is 1935 and Belgian detective Hercule Poirot boards the Orient Express along with an assortment of colourful, suspicious passengers. One of them ends up murdered in his compartment, a man discovered to be a fugitive responsible (but never prosecuted) for the kidnapping some years earlier of a child that resulted in five deaths. Poirot is called upon to solve the crime, discovering that some of these intriguing passengers may not be who they appear but instead have links to this past case of kidnapping and murder.

Albert Finney is convincing as the eccentric detective Poirot, with his slick black hair and elegant little curled mustache. He plays the role more seriously than Peter Ustinov in Death on the Nile, another film with a star studded cast. I enjoy both renditions of the detective, though my favourite may be A&E's David Suchet. I have heard that Christie herself approved of Albert Finney, but agree with her conclusion that Finney's mustache is too small! My only complaint is the scene in which Poirot is screaming quite abusively at Miss Debenham. It's out of character for this very cerebral detective.

Yes, as the tag line claims, it's definitely the who's who in the whodunit, with the passengers all portrayed by famous stars. These actors must have had fun with their roles. Richard Widmark portrays the obnoxious American businessman, Mr. Ratchett, with Sir John Gielgud his perfectly cast, reserved butler Beddoes, and Anthony Perkins his secretary MacQueen. Michael York and Jacqueline Bisset play the mysterious, foreign Count and Countess Andrenyi, who act guilty as all get out. Lauren Bacall is suitably irritating as the loud, outspoken Mrs. Hubbard, while Ingrid Bergman is a frightened Swedish missionary...or is she? Bergman was a magnificent actress in many roles, but I have to agree with some who question whether she deserved the Best Supporting Actress Oscar here for really, quite a minor part.

Sean Connery is handsome as always portraying the indignant Scottish Colonel Arbuthnot, though I find him even more appealing now. Like a fine wine, he simply improves with age! Vanessa Redgrave plays his love interest, Miss Debenham. What are these two hiding? Obviously something! Of course there's an aristocratic and eccentric old dowager aboard, the proud and haughty Princess Dragomiroff, played to perfection by Wendy Hiller. You can just tell that this black clad and bejeweled lady is not telling the truth! Personally, I took a liking to the train's French conductor, though was previously unfamiliar with the actor, Jean-Pierre Cassel.

The famous locomotive is halted by a snow drift and meanwhile, Poirot is designated to solve the crime, interrogating each suspicious passenger in turn. The detective must summon his little gray cells to ferret it all out, though I find little humour in him here. No spoilers, but I think this is one of Christie's more clever twists. Personally, I would never have guessed the murderer if I hadn't read the novel first. However, one of the suspects being interrogated does give a clue, if you're really sharp!

That Sidney Lumet knows how to frame an actor within his or her character is a very well known fact - "The Pawnbroker" "Network" "Dog Day Afternoon" and some other spectacular pieces of acting prove that point unquestionably. Here, there is a sort of "divertissment". Agatha Christie given a first class treatment (not that Margaret Rutherford as Miss Marple wasn't first class, but the production value here is as impressive as the cast) in the hands of Sidney Lumet who knew how to put a bunch of sensational actors in a confined space - "12 Angry Men" for instance and make it riveting. There a 12 Angry people here too and (almost) each part is cast with relish and delight. Albert Finney, marvelous, manages, not only to survive, under the weight of his characterization but to create something bold, exquisitely structured, great fun to watch and to hear. Ingrid Bergman won her third Oscar for her missionary looking after little brown babies - I thought she was a highlight indeed but in my modest opinion, Valentina Cortese for "Day For Night" deserved it that year, Anthony Perkins plays Norman Bates's twin brother, also with a mother fixation and a compelling facial tic. Wendy Hiller was, clearly, having a ball and that, on the screen, is always contagious. Sean Connery and Vanessa Redgrave make a surprisingly hot pair, Lauren Bacall over does it of course but who cares, Jacqueline Bisset is breathtaking, Rachel Roberts a hoot. John Gielgud is John Gielgud and that in itself is a major plus. Colin Blakely does wonders with his moment and Dennis Quilley plays his Italian as if this was a silent movie. Martin Balsam is always fun to watch, no matter the accent. Richard Widmark is splendid in his villainy and Jean Pierre Cassel very moving indeed. The only weak spot in the cast is Michael York. Totally unbelievable. I suspect that "Murder in The Orient Express" 33 years old already, will continue delighting audiences for years to come.