John Malkovich to play Poirot

Tied to watch, couldn’t finish. In tone, it seemed more like slow moving dark Russian science fiction. Every freaking shot was DIRECTED, in a way that called attention to itself with framing and lighting and color. The actors become mere paper dolls for the director to photograph. The age aspect of Poirot was presented in a way that reminds me of the stereotype young people have that anyone over 60 is decrepit and useless and stupid.

It seems that the fact that it is a story about Poirot is superfluous to the directors vision.

Proceed with caution.

As an “elderly, weary, disillusioned” person myself, I do not care to watch same in movies. But I look forward to reading other peoples’ comments.

The years have not been kind.

Peter Ustinov or GTFO…

That’s why I didn’t give it a review, I only talked about why I didn’t want to see it.

The character you described didn’t have to be Poirot. At this point they’re just trading on the name to get viewers, many of whom (to judge by this thread and IMDB reviews) were sadly disappointed.

Non, non, non, my deluded friend.

As one of the outliers who actually rather liked Branagh’s portrayal, yeah, this looks lousy. I don’t necessarily mind playing loose with some of the character’s physical attributes or heightening some aspects, but…at least have some bloody fun with it. I read Poirot because it’s fun to giggle along with relatively brisk but twisty stories.

This ain’t that.

I just went through the first three Lord Peter Wimsey novels that have Harriet Vane in them. First time I’ve read Dorothy Sayers since I was a teenager and plowed through nearly all the non-Vane stuff.

I’ve decided that the style of entertainment I crave is Wimsey portrayed as a one-legged underworld crime boss with a large black mustache. And he should be known as “Peg-leg Pete.” And I want it set in the 1890s. In New Orleans.

Get on it, Hollywood.

Oh, I dunno…

The last John Dickson Carr book I read (as in, I refused to read anything else of his after finishing this book), involved someone murdered in the middle of a clay tennis court by strangulation. The only marks in the clay were his. How was he strangled?

The killer told the victim he was inventing a tennis playing robot, and needed help to get some measurements. He tied one end of a rope to one side of the court, then held the rope on the other side and used the victim’s body as a reference. He then told the victim he needed a measurement for the robot’s neck. When the victim wrapped the rope around his neck, the killer strangled him, then removed the rope.

I dare anyone to have seen that coming.

My father has been reading classic English mystery and watching Masterpiece Theater almost his entire life. He said The ABC Murders was good. I must watch it now, if only to argue with him.

But in the stories, Poirot wasn’t an amateur; he was a Belgian police officer. He may have been a WW1 hero, too.

Wasn’t that just for Murder on the Orient Express? Suchet’s Poirot wasn’t so dour, nor openly religious except for occasionally mentioning le bon Dieu, in the many years of television episodes before that production.