Teresa Reviews “Ten Little Indians” (1965): Christie Swings!

Fidelity to text: 2 murder weapons (the novel); 3 1/2 murder weapons (the play).

The scriptwriter tossed much of the source material over Devil’s Leap in a mad attempt to drag the play into the 1960s.

Quality of movie on its own: 3 1/2 murder weapons.

Some of the changes work but not all. A gratuitous and inane sex scene implying that blondes turn into round-heeled bimbos when faced with Hugh O’Brian is just the start of the list.

This is the second adaptation of the stage play, and I’ll tell you up front: the 1945 version is better. I’ve got several more versions to sit through, both theatrical and made for TV. It’s going to be interesting to see how hack scriptwriters ring the changes on Agatha to make her their own. Afterwards, I’ll be able to tell you which one is the must-see if your scarce entertainment time doesn’t permit you watching them all.

That’s not to say this version doesn’t have its charms. There are some, starting with Hugh O’Brian as Hugh Lombard. Yes, all the names got “improved;” some for valid reasons but the rest only because the scriptwriter had to justify his salary.

Ten Little Indians starts rewriting Agatha from the first scene. We’re not on a remote island, accessible only by boat and the boat’s back on the mainland. No, this time we’re in some Austrian schloss in the dead of winter, accessible only by cable car. The schloss (Hohenwerfen Castle in real life) is impressive. It was built to be an inaccessible fortress although it couldn’t have been that inaccessible because it got constructed. Someone dragged a million tons of stone up the mountain, followed by the furnishings.

In the movie, whatever roads built up the side of the mountain to the schloss are gone, leaving only the cable car for resupplies and the Devil’s Leap for desperate daredevils. I doubt if the villagers from down in the valley would agree with this practice (where do you think the housemaids come from?) but they aren’t in the picture. The eight guests are not winter-savvy mountaineers so they didn’t pack their parkas, pitons, crampons, and rope. They’re trapped.

The servants, Herr and Frau Grohmann, are more resourceful than the guests. Once the fun starts and everyone’s threatened with execution for their crimes, she attempts escape in the cable car. But is Chekov’s cable car, so the cable is cut and the car dramatically plummets down the valley. Herr Grohmann did pack his winter mountain-climbing gear, but his rope gets axed just like his wife’s cable and he, too, plummets to his death. The parallelism is ironically appropriate.

Another change is transforming Emily Brent, puritanical English spinster, into Ilona Bergen, hot German actress. This change did work. She got some witty dialog and was a sharp dresser: check out her pompoms!

I’ve never seen a neckline like that before. The year 1965 did have some swinging fashions. In another change, she knows General Mandrake. Sadly, that was an avenue the scriptwriter didn’t spend enough time exploring.

The playboy character gets updated, this time to an up-and-coming pop star. Fabian acquits himself well, even singing the Ten Little Indians song for his fans. He gets an amusing scene with Hugh O’Brian and the actress, demonstrating who is the boy and who is the man. After that, it’s death by cyanide.

At least this time, we don’t get the doctor doing a fingertip drug analysis. Dr. Armstrong uses his nose instead to detect the telltale scent of bitter almonds.

After that, the main change is adding dramatics where none are needed. I suppose this was to pad the movie and to compensate for the dragging last third, when the survivors are running around the schloss in a state of near-panic.

The film makes full use of Ann Clyde, our blonde heroine. We get plenty of unnecessary shots of her in her underwear, getting dressed, getting undressed, and wrapping herself in a towel.

I must be happy with the fact that she only does this behind a closed door and does not — as Hollywood insists today’s actresses do — run around the schloss in her underwear while the gentlemen remain fully dressed.

She’s also constantly overwhelmed by Hugh O’Brian’s masculinity, to the point of doing whatever he tells her even when it’s stupid and — you knew it was coming! — falling into bed with him at the first opportunity. I understand the attraction, but she doesn’t know he’s not a murderer. In reality, Ann Clyde would wait until after it’s all over and then they’d go at it like rabbits. Not before.

Hugh O’Brian is our star, of course. He gets to be all manly, including engaging in fisticuffs with Her Grohmann, the butler, over insults thrown about as everyone realizes what they’re in for. He acquits himself well. We even get a flash of his manly chest, but not in that gratuitous “I’m easy” sex scene with Ann Clyde. Oh, no. For that, the film makes it clear that Hugh kept his pants on and merely unbuttoned his shirt. Sure. Whatever. If I was Ann Clyde, about to hand my virtue over to Hugh O’Brian, potential murderer, I’d have torn off his clothes. That way I’d be sure he had no weapons on him.

The real stars, however, are Wilfred Hyde-White as Judge Cannon and Dennis Price as Dr. Armstrong. They’re the heart of the novel, the center of the play, and the core of the film. They are the ones developing a deeply dysfunctional relationship but if you don’t know the story, you don’t know who is manipulating whom until too late. Ten Little Indians can only be watched once. The second time around, it’s a different movie. Hyde-White and Price are fantastic, dancing their fatal pas de duex. Even if the rest of the movie stunk up the theater (which it doesn’t), it would be worth watching for their performances.

I would be remiss if I did not mention the cat.

There is a sleek gray kitty, astonishingly well-behaved with a pack of crazy strangers. Kitty shows up onscreen fairly often although not to the extent that the cat does in And Then There Were None. Apart from luring General Mandrake to his death, there’s no sense that the cat planned the murders for her own amusement. She’s just another pawn of U.N. Owen.

The plot does have its holes, when you think about having to race around a huge schloss without being noticed, especially in the dark. That last act really drags. Some versions of the film have a two-minute “Whodunnit Break,” where the audience has to suffer through a recap of murder and mayhem while they are supposed to confer with the guy in the next seat about the murderer’s true identity. It wasn’t in the DVD version, but it should be seen in the special features section to appreciate what you were spared from.

In the end, Ten Little Indians is still worth seeing. But only once. If you’ve only got time for one adaptation of the novel, stick with And Then There Were None (1945). At this point in my reviews, it’s the gold standard.