Francis A. Miniter
2018-09-02 03:35:39 UTC
It occurred to me, as I watched the 2017 re-make of Murder on the Orient
Express (with Kenneth Branagh as Poirot) that, despite the fact that I
have read almost all of the Agatha Christie corpus, I had never read
this novel. Of course, I had seen the 1974 film with Albert Finney as
Poirot, and, until I watched the 2017 version, I had always thought of
that as the definitive interpretation. But, while the substance was
still the same, the 2017 interpretation was considerably different in
details and style.
So, I pulled out my unread (by me) copy of the novel and read it. To my
surprise, Kenneth Branagh's version was closer to the novel than was the
Albert Finney version, though the beautiful traveling music in the 1974
film is way beyond anything in the 2017 film.
For instance, Branagh's version has Poirot in Jerusalem (it is 1934)
solving a crime there. The novel has Poirot in Aleppo doing the same
for a French military friend. In both, what becomes vital information
is revealed to Poirot on the trip to Istanbul. All this is absent from
the 1974 version, which starts with the boarding of the Orient Express
in Istanbul.
What struck me most about the novel was the chapter by chapter
interviews with the passengers, a rigid structure that reflects the
precise, orderly method of Poirot. There is no back and forth between
the passengers as occurs in the two films. Indeed, I found that in this
novel Christie displays Poirot's method much more overtly than she does
in any of the other novels.
The 1974 film emphasizes the number 12, the number of people on the
train aggrieved by the original crime committed by the murdered man, and
Finney in the climactic exposition of the crime harps on the coincidence
of the number with the number of jurors in a murder trial. Less
attention to the coincidence (assuming it to be one) is made in both the
novel and the Branagh interpretation, though the number 12 is mentioned
in both.
One side note here, in the Branagh film, when Poirot unveils the crime,
it is done outside the train, in a rail tunnel with the 12 suspects
sitting behind a long table (actually four tables put together end to
end). When you watch this scene, pause the video. Why, because the
tables and the suspects have been arranged to mimic closely Leonardo
DaVinci's painting of the Last Supper (where again the number 12 was
significant). Only the wine goblets are missing.
In every case, however, book or film, what the story most demonstrates
is how murder does not just kill one human being. It destroys or
damages the lives of many others around the deceased. Christie brings
out the extensive pathos and the long-term consequences of murder. Here
more than anywhere else in her work, indeed, more than anywhere else in
the genre, do we see the pain and suffering inflicted on the survivors
of the crime.
One aspect of the Branagh film that I did not like: Poirot chases one
of the passengers who tries to flee from the train. Christie would have
shuddered. Poirot is not a Hollywood action character. Poirot uses his
brain, not his muscles.
Francis A. Miniter
Express (with Kenneth Branagh as Poirot) that, despite the fact that I
have read almost all of the Agatha Christie corpus, I had never read
this novel. Of course, I had seen the 1974 film with Albert Finney as
Poirot, and, until I watched the 2017 version, I had always thought of
that as the definitive interpretation. But, while the substance was
still the same, the 2017 interpretation was considerably different in
details and style.
So, I pulled out my unread (by me) copy of the novel and read it. To my
surprise, Kenneth Branagh's version was closer to the novel than was the
Albert Finney version, though the beautiful traveling music in the 1974
film is way beyond anything in the 2017 film.
For instance, Branagh's version has Poirot in Jerusalem (it is 1934)
solving a crime there. The novel has Poirot in Aleppo doing the same
for a French military friend. In both, what becomes vital information
is revealed to Poirot on the trip to Istanbul. All this is absent from
the 1974 version, which starts with the boarding of the Orient Express
in Istanbul.
What struck me most about the novel was the chapter by chapter
interviews with the passengers, a rigid structure that reflects the
precise, orderly method of Poirot. There is no back and forth between
the passengers as occurs in the two films. Indeed, I found that in this
novel Christie displays Poirot's method much more overtly than she does
in any of the other novels.
The 1974 film emphasizes the number 12, the number of people on the
train aggrieved by the original crime committed by the murdered man, and
Finney in the climactic exposition of the crime harps on the coincidence
of the number with the number of jurors in a murder trial. Less
attention to the coincidence (assuming it to be one) is made in both the
novel and the Branagh interpretation, though the number 12 is mentioned
in both.
One side note here, in the Branagh film, when Poirot unveils the crime,
it is done outside the train, in a rail tunnel with the 12 suspects
sitting behind a long table (actually four tables put together end to
end). When you watch this scene, pause the video. Why, because the
tables and the suspects have been arranged to mimic closely Leonardo
DaVinci's painting of the Last Supper (where again the number 12 was
significant). Only the wine goblets are missing.
In every case, however, book or film, what the story most demonstrates
is how murder does not just kill one human being. It destroys or
damages the lives of many others around the deceased. Christie brings
out the extensive pathos and the long-term consequences of murder. Here
more than anywhere else in her work, indeed, more than anywhere else in
the genre, do we see the pain and suffering inflicted on the survivors
of the crime.
One aspect of the Branagh film that I did not like: Poirot chases one
of the passengers who tries to flee from the train. Christie would have
shuddered. Poirot is not a Hollywood action character. Poirot uses his
brain, not his muscles.
Francis A. Miniter