Teresa reviews “Murder on the Orient Express” (2017)

Teresa reviews “Murder on the Orient Express” (2017) and wishes that someone restrained Sir Kenny’s ego.

Fidelity to text: 3 knives

Did you know that Poirot is an acrobat, indulges himself in chases, wears a leather corset (in a thankfully deleted scene), and gets shot? I didn’t either.

Quality of movie on its own: 3 knives

It looks fabulous! Great acting, scenery, sets, train porn, musical score, and fancy camerawork. The budget’s onscreen, other than the pittance paid to the scriptwriter.

Read more of Teresa’s Agatha Christie movie reviews at Peschel Press.

Also, follow Teresa’s discussion of these movies on her podcast.

I’ve now watched Sir Kenny’s version of Orient Express three times. The first, naturally, was in the theater. Bill and I spent the coin, rather than wait for the movie to come out on DVD and wait longer for the library to buy a copy. We wanted to send a signal to Hollywood that this movie is the kind of movie we’ll pay to see.

We were wowed.

Plenty of movies really do benefit from being seen on a huge screen — rather than a TV set — and this is one of them.

Some time later, we borrowed Orient Express 2017 from the library and watched it again. We weren’t quite as wowed. I noticed flaws, such as Poirot’s mustache which looked like wool roving fresh from the sheep rather than human hair.

And here we are again. Orient Express 2017 came up in the queue. Third time’s the charm, or so they say. In this case, the spell was well and truly broken. Part of the issue is that I’m much more familiar with Poirot then I was a few years ago. Sir Kenny has become my sixth (!) Poirot. We’re about 2/3 through the Agatha project so I’ve got plenty of interpretations under my belt and cluttering up my memory to compare to this fourth adaptation of Orient Express. I know Sir Kenny wanted to put his own stamp on it; he directed a cinematic extravaganza although not quite as extravagant as the 1974 version with Albert Finney.

But he didn’t spend enough time on the script. He doesn’t know Poirot.

Poirot is a devout Catholic. He believes in order and method, justice, and following the law. He asks God’s guidance. Poirot would not set up a priest, a rabbi, and an imam in front of a wall like targets for a firing squad while an angry mob watches and make a joke about it.

Poirot’s scruples are why he’s conflicted by his deduction at the climax. Should he permit twelve murderers to walk away or lie to the police that someone else dunnit? Poirot doesn’t follow Ambrose Bierce’s definition of the four types of murder: felonious, excusable, justifiable, praiseworthy. They’re all felonious to him. It shouldn’t matter that Ratchett murdered Daisy Armstrong and indirectly murdered her baby sibling, mother, father, and maid. Ratchett is still a human being and could possibly redeem himself and atone.

But it does matter. We shoot rabid dogs. Worse, this version let Ratchett flee the country and avoid arrest and trial! The Armstrong clan did not have the satisfaction of a trial, however fixed and corrupt it may have been. If the state can’t try Ratchett, then who should? This is how you get vigilante justice. The family must take the law into their own hands because no one else will.

In addition to his moral scruples, Ratchett’s death causes Poirot emotional turmoil because Ratchett asked for help and he refused. His guilt is thick enough to eat it on toast. If he’d been watching Ratchett’s back, would the man still be alive?

Sir Kenny’s Poirot cared about which solution he’d present to the Yugoslavian police only to the extent that it was neat and tidy and he didn’t have to lie. Wrong again! Poirot lies cheerfully and well and whenever the need arises. Lying for him is like listening at keyholes and eavesdropping at open windows. He’s always paying close attention to his surroundings because that’s his business. If a lie gets him to the truth, he’ll lie.

Poirot is never rude. Yet Sir Kenny called M. Bouc’s lady friend in the café in Istanbul a prostitute. There’s no evidence onscreen to tell us so and M. Bouc doesn’t disagree. The judgement may be correct, but Poirot wouldn’t say so and possibly embarrass her or her escort.

Poirot hates damp and cold. Yet what do we see? Sir Kenny romping in the snow in his suit. Poirot would wear his muffler, heavy overcoat, gloves, and hat. It must be freezing out there. Everyone else is bundled up in furs but not Sir Kenny. Maybe his absurd mustache is keeping him warm.

Poirot will search for clues, but he’s not Action Boy. He uses his little gray cells. He listens to conversations. He asks probing questions. He observes carefully. He does not race along the top of a set of train cars in freezing cold weather! He does not indulge himself by chasing a suspect up and down the slippery, splintery, narrow passageways inside a railroad trestle bridge’s underpinnings hundreds of feet over a chasm.

Nor does he put himself in a situation where he’ll get shot by a suspect. Yet Sir Kenny does.

Poirot also does his best to not put other people in peril. So why is Sir Kenny interviewing Miss Debenham inside the baggage car, both doors wide open to the freezing cold with the drop on either side of the chasm just waiting for one of them to slip and plummet to their death?

Sir Kenny transformed Daisy’s nursery maid from a Swede to a Spaniard. It let him cast Penélope Cruz instead of finding some Scandinavian actress. Does this matter? Yes, it does. Poirot, good Catholic that he is, debates theology with the missionary as he tries to decide the most just course of action. But if she’s Spanish, she’ll most likely be Catholic so there’s not much to debate. If she’s Swedish, there’s plenty to debate about differing theologies. One of the hallmarks of Protestantism is it comes in a multitude of flavors, from Episcopalian (Catholic lite) to snake-handling Charismatic Pentecostals and every possible variation in between. There is no single head of the Church dispensing doctrine that everyone pays attention to. They’d have lots to argue about so why did Sir Kenny make this unnecessary change? To cast Penélope Cruz, of course.

You must also watch Sir Kenny indulge himself by gazing longingly and repeatedly at a miniature of Katherine. Who? There is no Katherine in the canon. The closest Poirot has ever come to loving a woman is Vera Rossakoff. She’s his Irene Adler, she rarely shows up, and that’s probably not her real name. But Sir Kenny felt the need for more dedicated screen time and so instead of plot – like an interview with Conductor Pierre Michel or learning why the Count is a dancing psycho – we get Poirot being maudlin.

Should you watch this? Let’s think like Poirot (the real one). If you’ve never read the book or seen the other adaptations, yes. You won’t notice the flaws, other than extra time spent with Sir Kenny instead of the rest of the cast. If you have read the novel and/or seen other onscreen Poirots, then it depends entirely on your admiration of Sir Kenneth Branagh.