‘Murder on the Orient Express’ at 50 – Review

Murder on the Orient Express (1974)
Director: Sidney Lumet
Screenwriters: Paul Dehn
Starring: Albert Finney, Lauren Bacall, Ingrid Bergman, Anthony Perkins, Sean Connery, Vanessa Redgrave, Martin Balsam, Jacqueline Bisset, Jean-Pierre Cassel, Wendy Hiller, Rachel Roberts, John Gielgud

In 1958, Witness for the Prosecution won Best Picture at the Oscars, giving Dame Agatha Christie even more cultural kudos than she had already garnered as the so-called Queen of Crime. Years later, someone would have the bright idea to take on her most famous detective, Hercule Poirot. This would prove to be a challenging task, as Poirot, beloved by millions across the world for his distinctive idiosyncrasies, was not an easy part to play. Fortunately, the producers, directors, cast, and crew, created a film of such quality that it was nominated for six Oscars (with Classic Hollywood megastar Ingrid Bergman picking up the Academy Award for Best Supporting Actress), and Poirot finally became a fixture on the silver screen.

As it goes, Murder on the Orient Express is a fairly faithful adaptation of Christie’s 1934 novel of the same name. Famous detective Hercule Poirot (Albert Finney) boards the Orient Express heading back west across Europe, along with a host of other colourful characters. He is asked by Richard Widmark’s Mr Ratchett to be his bodyguard, as he has garnered many enemies over the years and believes one might be onto him, a case which Poirot declines. When the train is snowbound overnight and Ratchett is found dead the next morning, Poirot must use his little grey cells to determine if the killer of the rich man escaped into the night, or if they are still on board.

Decades before Kenneth Branagh’s take on Poirot, and fifteen years before David Suchet’s television take (considered by many to be the definitive portrayal), it was Albert Finney’s job to bring the detective to life. Though he is a decidedly less elegant version of the character than those who would come after, grumbling and rasping through his lines, he nevertheless delivers his particular version with relish. It takes him a while to get into the role and for some of Poirot’s charms to come through, but when the film reaches the meat of its story, Finney comes out singing. It’s just a shame that they didn’t go for as wild of a moustache as Christie had wanted, this aspect being one of her only complaints about the adaptation.

The rest of the ensemble cast is as lively and well-acted as you could possibly hope. Reportedly, Sean Connery was the first to be asked to sign on for the film, flattered with the comment that when the biggest star is attached, the others will follow. That such a name as Sean Connery is only in the film for small sections might be seen as a waste, and perhaps it is, but when you have such a roster of other powerhouses in the cast, it’s impossible to think of it. Anthony Perkins (Psycho) is hyperactive and nervous, Vanessa Redgrave compliments Connery wonderfully, and the several-minute long take used to capture Ingrid Bergman’s interview scene is an inspired choice that allows her to bring all of her talents to the fore, and win an Oscar.

The sets are lavish, the score by Richard Rodney Bennett beautifully done, and the cinematography by Geoffrey Unsworth is great. One has to wonder exactly why the specific, swivelling wipe was used to bring in the flashbacks; a wipe that grates on the eyes and distracts from the seamless transitioning backward and forward in time that is meant to occur, but it is a minor quibble. What is less of a minor quibble is the thirty minute setup to the murder. When the opening few minutes are so starkly directed, with a dark, suspenseful tone and score that seem as if they have come from a silent film, newspapers flashing on screen to intercut the story, why does it then seem to wander for the next half hour? Why does this section feel so disjointed, stumbling over itself to get to what it wants to get to, which is the murder and the Orient Express?

It doesn’t help that in this time, Poirot is not exactly endeared to us in any way. He is, instead, made to come across quite irritatingly, this being as much a choice of the writers as the way Finney plays him (he plays annoying very well). The building blocks for the murder mystery have to be put into place, but here they’re assembled with a bland, functional attitude that does nothing to bring us into the world in an engaging manner.

Despite this, when everything is ready and raring to go, the film excels. Poirot’s investigating is wonderfully shot and acted, while the thrill of the clues coming together until the trademark reveal brings one of Christie’s most famous revelations to the screen in horrific fashion. There’s questionable music choice for the final moments, where it could have ended on the more reflective note that the novel did, but it doesn’t bring it down much at all. Murder on the Orient Express (1974) is still a handsomely-made detective thriller with incredible performances, the perfect viewing for a snowy winter’s chill.

Score: 19/24

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