This is a formidable franchise and because it’s screened in Sydney on a Nine Entertainment digital channel (Monday nights, 7.30pm) I have been able to sample some episodes, such as this one. I wasn’t entirely happy with the characterisation of the young prince (played by Antony Zaki) but the remainder of the scripting was fine.
The story is, as usual, quite simple even though some of the subterfuges Poirot (David Suchet) takes are complicated and there are slow scenes where the detective can be seen watching what other people do, in this case spying on the inhabitants of the house where he is a guest while standing on a balcony. This is Poirot’s metier: to be aware of things that go on around him, to sample, like the chocolates in the craft confectionary store he’s inside when the episode opens, a rare bonbon. It’s when he comes out of the shop that the game begins, as, walking across the road, he’s accosted by two men who usher him into a car in order to take him to see Mr Jesmond (David Howey), who works for the police. There, he’s told of the circumstances of the crime – a young lady had stolen a rare ruby while having dinner with the prince – and proceeds to scoff and remonstrate. Unknown to Poirot, the prince is standing behind him!
The scene then changes to a country estate in a Modernist house, a rare treat for viewers. Here, Poirot is forced to not only find the ruby that has been stolen but, when he does, furthermore uncover the identities of the thieves. He’d come across the ruby since it had been serendipitously stowed inside a Christmas pudding. Having brought it to the prince and Jesmond, the former demands to know the identity of those who had stolen it, so Poirot takes hold of the gem again and reluctantly returns to the house.
What follows is a typically ornate sting, during which Poirot conscripts the youngsters living there to orchestrate a fake murder, in the process of uncovering which he stashes the ruby in the outflung hand of a girl who’s pretending to have been stabbed. The stone is then found by the villain, Desmond Lee-Wortley (Nigel Le Vaillant), who makes a dash for the airfield where he has his plane ready for escape. On the airfield, the police cut off its careen down the runway by driving their cars onto the field and Lee-Wortley and his “sister” (Robyn Moore) are nabbed by the cops with the prince petulantly exchanging insults with the latter.
A more contemporary script might have dealt with the prince differently; this one has him appear unappealing and churlish though the portrait is tempered with some humour. As usual there is also a touch of scripted xenophobia, in this case Colonel Lacey (Frederick Treves) alludes to Poirot’s being, perhaps, French, during a short scene in his bedroom while he is talking with his wife (Stephanie Cole). Scripting choices will have analogues in Christie’s text, I do not doubt, though not having ever read one of her novels or short stories I cannot confidently pass judgement on the author.
The neatness and economy of a Poirot episode are a delight, everything being performed along with the main character’s old-world elegance and charm. The little head-bows, the small words to compliment his interlocutor, the calm exterior with its machine-like moustache hovering like a hummingbird above his upper lip, all of the paraphernalia of yesteryear – old-fashioned even at the time the books were written, and designed to critique modernity as much as greed or cupidity – made ‘Poirot’ one of my mother’s favourite shows. I, too, have been seduced.
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