Teresa Reviews “The Chocolate Box” (1993)

Teresa reviews “The Chocolate Box” (1993) and says it’s as good as the finest Belgian chocolates.

Fidelity to text: 3 1/2 poison bottles
A lot was added, making this confection even sweeter. One possibility was missed, adding an off-taste.

Quality of movie on its own: 5 poison bottles
I loved it. Frothy, delicious, with undertones of grief, loss, and sadness making a bittersweet ending.

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

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

I love chocolate, all kinds, even white chocolate as long as it’s well made and not — gag — fake-vanilla-flavored shortening. I live next door to a chocolate factory (Reese’s) and can see another chocolate factory (Hershey’s) from my upstairs window. Our streetlights are Hershey’s kisses, wrapped and unwrapped. Hershey really is the sweetest place on earth and the air really does smell like chocolate. If you want something different, down the road in Elizabethtown is an M&M Mars factory, churning out Dove chocolates. Not far away is Lititz, home of Wilbur Chocolates.

Thus, with a Poirot episode named The Chocolate Box, I hoped for great things and expected middle-of-the-road. Luckily, The Chocolate Box delivered more than that.

It is a gorgeous episode, weaving seamlessly between the last days of La Belle Époque and Belgium of 1936. Then, as now, the scent of war is in the air, darkening everyone’s thoughts. Chief Inspector Japp has been invited to Belgium to be honored with a prestigious award. Since Mrs. Japp was unable to go with him (she remains an unseen presence in the series), Poirot is invited to join him.

They disembark at the stunning train station (in Antwerp if you want to go there) and meet Claude Chantalier, a dear friend of Poirot’s from the old days, when they were young officers in the Brussels police force. Luncheon leads to remembrances of days past when Poirot’s little gray cells failed him.

“It was everyone else”

Is that possible? Not according to Poirot. “It was not I who made the mistakes in that case; it was everyone else.” At Japp’s prompting, he tells the story, and we fade back into 1913 Belgium when he was a young up and comer.

Middle-aged and healthy Paul Delourard, an important and wealthy citizen, died suddenly after a contentious family dinner. Among other endeavors, Paul’s been trying to reduce the power of the Catholic church in Belgium. His mother disapproves, as does an older friend, le Comte St. Alard, who supplies Paul with fine Belgian chocolates. Another family friend, Gaston Beaujeu, tries to make peace as does Virginie, the cousin of Paul’s tragically dead wife.

Virginie is suspicious of the death and she begs the young Poirot to investigate. Who could resist a lady like this one? Not Poirot. The case should hinge on a simple question: Who benefits by Paul’s death?

Except it turns out to not be so simple. Everyone important insists he died of heart failure. Even le Comte St. Alard believes he did, despite stating near an eavesdropping Poirot that he might just as well have shot Paul. Why did le Comte say this? Because, good Catholic that he is, he believed that the argument brought on Paul’s heart failure. If only he had been kinder and less contentious.

Despite official disapproval, Poirot continues to investigate. Not only does he not wish to disappoint the lovely Virginie, he’s curious. Something doesn’t fit. He notices in passing the mismatched lids on two chocolate boxes, but focuses on the chocolate crumbs the fatal box contained. One chemical analysis later, the answer arrives: poisoned chocolate!

Inspired by True Crime

The story might have been inspired by a true crime. Agatha might have known about the notorious poisoning case in Delaware in 1898, when Cordelia Botkin, a jilted woman in San Francisco, mailed her lover’s wife and family a box of arsenic-laced chocolates that killed two people.

Toxic chocolate and the U.S. Postal System serving as the murder delivery device seized the nation’s attention. A sensational trial involving two jurisdictions ensued. Botkin was found guilty and her lover’s life and career were destroyed.

In Poirot’s case, the chocolates were laced with trinitrin, a heart medication derived from nitroglycerin and renamed to avoid the public associating heart medication with high explosives. The pills were coated in chocolate to disguise the intensely bitter taste. Poirot quickly discovers who, among the tiny group of suspects, uses trinitrin. It’s Gaston Beaujeu, who has his own reasons for staying out of the case. He’s fine with Paul’s death, by the way, even though he insists he’s not involved even while his pills were.

Poirot is left with a puzzle. St. Alard had motive but no means. Beaujeu had means but no motive. He does some housebreaking (this is obviously where his burglar skills in The Veiled Lady came from) and finds the trinitrin bottle in le Comte’s pocket.

Once Poirot accuses le Comte St. Alard, the police superintendent is really incensed. Poirot, being Poirot, is convinced he’s right.

But he’s wrong. He missed a crucial and obvious clue. The two boxes of chocolate had mismatched lids. Why would anyone exchange the lids? Because they’re nearly blind. Madame Deroulard demands an interview and she explains the truth to Poirot, as she does not wish to see an innocent man hang.

She murdered her son. But not because of his anti-Catholicism! No, that was a side benefit. Madame murdered Paul because she was an eyewitness when he murdered his first wife.

The short story gives some detail about Paul’s taste for the ladies, something the film ignored. This was a problem because it provided additional reasons for why a devout mother would kill her only child. If the film had added Madame’s other concern, Madame’s motives would have been even plainer. In the short story, Madame was concerned that Paul was chasing after sweet, innocent Virginie, his dead wife’s young cousin. If he didn’t marry Virginie, he would have left her ruined and unmarriageable (recall this is 1913 or so). If he did marry Virginie, he wouldn’t just cheat on her. There was the chance he might murder her if she disagreed with him.

Murder is always easier the second time around. The horror of taking someone’s life wears off.

So why did I give this film five poison bottles when a critical piece of motivation was lacking? Because everything else worked so well. In particular, I loved how well the film slid between the current day and the past. I loved my tour of Brussels. What a stunning city; all government buildings should be so grand instead of today’s grim, brutal, gray concrete bunkers. The clothes, the vehicles, the meals, the manners, the fine Belgian chocolates. It’s a feast for the eyes and the music enhances it.

The ending is perfect. Watch Poirot when he meets Virginie again. She gave him his boutonnière vase, a charming accessory he wears every day. But she married someone else, giving someone else her love and their sons. Not him. Poirot remains alone and he knows what he lost. It’s a bittersweet moment and how well it was portrayed with a mixture of public pleasure and private melancholy is a tribute to David Suchet’s acting skills.

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