Teresa Reviews “Wasp’s Nest” (1991): Minority Report 1936

Fidelity to text: 2 1/2 poison bottles

The story isn’t much: Poirot talks and John Harrison listens and a murder is prevented.

Quality of movie on its own: 3 poison bottles

Too many missed opportunities and there’s the distinct feeling throughout of the Precrime Department in Minority Report. Will they get it right? Do you want to bet your freedom and future on someone’s intuition?

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The original story — all 7½ pages of it — consists almost entirely of dialog: Poirot talks to Harrison, considers his options, then talks to Harrison again, lays out his thoughts, and Harrison listens and accedes to Poirot’s suggestions.

That’s it. It’s bloodless and blah, other than some philosophical musings by Poirot about life, death, and crime.

The film had to be fleshed out in order to make a compelling story. Sadly, despite some terrific additions, it didn’t work nearly as well as it could have.

The major flaw? Making John Harrison a writer of philosophy and ethics. He published three books so he knows something about human behavior, self-control, living a meaningful and virtuous life, and other topics about managing the human condition.

That’s all well and good, yet at the ending, when Poirot speaks to Harrison revealing the murder that almost took place, Poirot doesn’t say one word about Harrison telling other people how to live ethically while ignoring his own actions. This was a golden opportunity for Harrison to realize how badly he’d failed at meeting his own standards and resolving to do better.

There was plenty of time for this scene to take place. We get lots and lots of footage of wasps buzzing about the garden and their nest. The wasps could have been substantially trimmed, giving plenty of space for more explanatory dialog. The film would have greatly benefited and the climax would have been a callback to John Harrison’s calling.

But no. Instead, we get jokes about how the chemist reads Harrison’s tomes and Hastings does not.

Since Harrison obviously didn’t read his own books (maybe they were ghostwritten by underpaid philosophy students), what does it matter if he’s a specialist in ethics and philosophy? And it doesn’t matter that Hastings didn’t doggedly plow through a thousand pages of fine print to learn how to behave better. Whatever else you can say about Arthur Hastings, he’s a very decent man. He wouldn’t try to murder his rival in love, especially if he’s only got a few months left to live. Harrison should enjoy the days he’s got left and relish how guilty the survivors will feel when he’s moldering in his grave. Instead, he’s decided on suicide made to look like murder so the Crown executes his rival.

For a supposedly erudite philosopher, John Harrison doesn’t give a damn about everyone he’s going to devastate via his own selfishness. Think of Molly Deane. She’ll go to her grave thinking her former flame murdered her fiancé. Think of Claude Laughton, sculptor. He’ll hang, knowing he’s innocent and unable to prove it because, well, there’s that adultery charge. Except no one is married yet, so technically, while there’s cheating, there’s no adultery. Think of their relatives and friends who will have to cope with the unthinkable.

All because John Harrison, erudite and well-regarded guide to ethical living standards, chose to behave like some drunken, vindictive low-life from the stews of London.

I get that he’s pissed that his fiancée, Molly Deane, is starting to love her ex again. Claude Laughton is everything John Harrison is not: loving, funny, on her level.

Even the chemist notices! She tells Hastings that Harrison’s affair with Molly Deane, fashion model, is on par with Albert Einstein taking up with Ginger Rogers. John Harrison is out of Molly’s league in the brains department. We understand what he sees in her: she’s hot and philosopher or not, he’s male.

What I can’t understand is what she sees in that glowering grump and, in fact, she’s returning to her senses and reconnecting with the sculptor and clown, who’s much more on her level. The sculptor is also more fun. Claude Langton also has the benefit of not lying to Molly about the future, which Harrison is.

Harrison knows he’s dying but does he tell Molly? You know, so she can help him or they can make the best plans possible for the time they have left? Why no, why would he do such a ridiculous thing?

Instead, she’s apparently supposed to learn via mindreading. What does happen is that Harrison’s doctor (a very spooky-looking gentleman) tells Molly at the fashion show that her fiancé, a man who tells other people how to live better lives via understanding Greek ethics, is a liar.

There is plenty to like about the episode. The clothes are to die for. Molly Deane wears one fabulous outfit after another and the fashion show is stunning.

The producers must have spent a fortune on wardrobe. There’s also the wonderful, subtle clue provided at the fashion show proving to Poirot that Molly and Claude have resumed their affair. Miss Lemon, who’s often criminally underused, provides a vital clue to John Harrison’s well-being, but it’s not clear enough. I had to discuss the episode over four laps around the block with Bill afterwards to work it out.

Miss Lemon is, as always, stunningly dressed.
She’s not high-fashion like Molly Deane but her clothes are still terrific. I bet she sews them herself because I doubt if Poirot pays her well enough to purchase such an extensive wardrobe. Miss Lemon wears three different outfits in this episode; all gorgeous, appropriate, and perfectly fitted.
I always notice what Miss Lemon wears. She never seems to wear the same outfit twice. Wow.

I also enjoyed Hastings’ new hobby of photography. His photographs let Poirot discern subtle clues to the possibility of impending crime while bemoaning how suspicious he is.

Like Miss Marple, Poirot always suspects the worst of people because it so often comes true. Hastings’ photograph even allowed Chief Inspector Japp to figure out who the mysterious, grim undertaker figure was.

And in a logical manner too! Japp doesn’t recognize the scary old man as being part of his rogues’ gallery. No, the inspector’s in the hospital for an emergency appendectomy and — although it takes place offscreen — he fingers the undertaker as a doctor. One of the nurses must have provided the information. This was the only way to insert Japp into the episode that made sense. No crime occurred so how else could Japp show up?

There’s also — again subtle and you won’t realize it until the climax — the fact that Poirot once again indulges himself in breaking and entering. For a private detective who upholds the law, he often breaks it himself.

So should you watch this episode, knowing that there are significant character issues? Maybe. The settings are gorgeous as always. And then there’s the clothes. I’ll watch something just to see the wardrobe. If I were to watch this episode again, I’d home in on Miss Lemon and the fashion show. Nothing else.