Celebrating 50 Years of Cinema
By Aaliyah Medawar
The Queen of Mystery, a title held by one Dame Agatha Christie, could
not have gone to a more deserving writer. Be it her play “The Mousetrap,” which is still running to this day, or the fact she wrote 130 stories before her death in 1976, and even having one of them posthumously published only two years ago, Christie has no doubt changed the face of the genre she is famed for.
But sadly for many hopeful directors, she openly despised most adaptations of her work.
However, there were some exceptions to this disdain. In 1974, a film version of her story, “Murder on the Orient Express,” was released. Along with marking Agatha Christie’s last public appearance, this was a movie she openly endorsed, with only one qualm to its name, that being that the mustache of Hercule Poirot, the detective this case is solved by, was not what she envisioned. It is no wonder why this film fell under Christie’s favor, for it is a marvelous portrayal of one her most famous stories, and as of November 21st this year, it will be celebrating fifty years worth of glorious cinematography.
As the old saying goes, “the book is always better.” In some cases, this is quite true. But there is a reason why the progenitor of train-ride homicides approved of this film. Unlike some adaptations of Christie’s work, this film remains faithful to its source. It follows the other old maxim of “if it’s not broke, don’t fix it.” The intricacy of Christie’s plot is a powerful gearworks, with each moving part serving its purpose. Oftentimes, Hollywood and its associates wish to tamper with the formula, adding unnecessary details or sacrificing important ones for budget or time.
While sometimes these decisions can work in a film’s favor, here the timeless tale that Christie has crafted is left as is- with only a few changes. These adjustments are minor, with one such example simply being the valet of Samuel Ratchett—whose past led to him being stabbed twelve times in his cabin—having his name changed from Masterman to Beddoes.
Any other changes made are usually just to smooth the transition of book-to-film, such as the talkativeness of the passenger Harriet, or rather Carolina as she is called in the novel, Hubbard. While the change
of her name was made to further a red herring Christie incorporates in the original text, her chattiness was intensified as the medium of film allowed for it to be displayed in more explicit terms, all while still upholding its original purpose in the novel. Otherwise, the story holds firm, with each twist landing just as it needs to and the changes simply blending well with the same thrill present in the book.
But above all, the film masters the art of characterization. From the moment they appear on screen, the cast electrifies the audience, both in terms of how they play the characters and the simple choice in actors themselves. For a film from the 1970s, this cast is star-studded. Sean Connery, the quintessential James Bond, blusters through each scene as the devoted, militant, and obstinate Colonel Arbuthnott. Meanwhile, Ingrid Bergman, better known for her role as Ilsa Lund in Casablanca, tears at the heartstrings with her sorrowful monologue about her character Greta Ohlsson’s religious work, so much so that the performance earned her an Oscar in 1975. The Canterville Ghost himself, John Gielgud, also makes an appearance, alongside the amazing Albert Finney, who steals the show in every scene.
Finney plays the little Belgian detective, who many in this film humorously presume to be French, much to his chagrin. Though his facial hair lacks in hirsute superiority, his characterization of Poirot is entrancing. Whether it is his odd manner, shown in how he wears a sleep-mask for his mustache among other things, or his passion when solving the case, Finney’s Poirot makes the most of every scene he is in, creating a watching experience that can keep one’s mind alert while still making them laugh.
The actors make the movie. Every decision, every idiosyncrasy, even the most minute of looks, serve a narrative purpose, and if one looks hard enough, they can link these behaviors to the crime. Along with being an entertainment piece, this movie captures Christie’s greatest feat—the psychological nature of her crimes. Her questioning of morality, her gruesome modi operandi, even the motivations of her killers are what make her stories so timeless, so much so they are still being adapted, or at least used as inspiration, to this day. The director of this film, Sidney Lumet, who brought forth other great psychological crime pieces like “Deathtrap,” “12 Angry Men,” and “The Offence,” understood Christie, both as a writer and as a social commentator, and made a film that was a love letter to her revolutionization of crime fiction.
Along with phenomenal casting, Lumet’s film uses setting to its advantage. Lavish decor pools around every scene, from the dining room Poirot and his friend Bianchi eat in, with its gold accents and rich color scheme, to even the station the Orient Express is docked in. One
can almost feel the steam from the engine as it billows around the shots. Meanwhile, the chaos of the people on the platform, be it the peddling merchants or the sheer mass of people positioned within the camera, makes one have the sensation of being among them. Each shot works to its advantage, and that is even clearer when the story moves to the train.
Claustrophobia is a focal point. Everything feels tight, suffocating, and compressed, which adds to the tension of the ride both before and after the murder. We are struck with the sensation that something inherently wrong is going to happen, as each moment we spend on the train is punctuated with the feeling that we are actually there. The camera’s positioning makes everything seem smaller, even in larger areas like the dining car. The cabins are cramped, the hallway is too busy for its passengers, and paranoia almost sets in for the viewers, as once we become aware of the fact a murder has occurred, the minimal size now creates this sensation of being a rat in a trap with nowhere to go. There is a killer onboard, and the train makes that murderer as close as them sitting down at your breakfast table.
The nervous McQueen is simple and plain, reflecting his status as a mere secretary. But when he is placed against the luxuriant Princess Dragomiroff, the difference between them becomes clear. While he wears a simple suit and tie, she is constantly draped in an opulent black gown, complete with raven feathers, bold gold jewelry, and a long black veil. She even carries around two Pekingese dogs, who while absent from the book, serve to show her wealth and status, as this breed was designed for the imperial families of China.
The camera lingers on her clothing on multiple occasions, so much so that at one point you can see the stitching of the fabric. And its color, a perfect black, reflects not only her mental state—as she is mourning her husband and has an immense fear of being murdered by the Bolsheviks—but her dreary demeanor too. Her description in the novel is one of claws, sneers, sallow skin, and hideousness, and in the film she outright says she does not smile because “my doctor advises against it.” She is the
remains of a bygone era, and her clothing can say more about her status as such than any dialogue ever could. This goes for the rest of the characters as well, such as how dainty blues and pale white jewelry are used for the emotionally fragile and physically delicate Countess Elena Andrenyi.
But none show it better than Poirot. With his slicked-back, boot-polish black hair and intricately trimmed mustache, we immediately get the sense that Poirot is, for lack of a better term, an odd duck. He is precise, put-together, and unusual, reflecting both his personality and his methods of crime-solving. Regardless of what Kenneth Branagh’s version of Murder on the Orient Express wants you to believe, Poirot is not an action hero. He is a strange older gentleman, despite Finney, the youngest actor to play the detective, only being 38 when filming, who observes, snarks, and complains, and yet he is one of the most interesting detectives in fiction to this day. The costuming of Poirot is as deliberate as the rest, as the visual nature of the film better comes through than in the books. The audience can tell so much about the characters simply by a glance due to the medium the story is presented in, and the movie uses that knowledge to its full advantage.
Along with the physical aspects of the film, is the soundtrack, which can be found on Spotify and Youtube. The right score can make or break a
film, and here the music is just as fantastic as the rest. With recurring tunes, dramatic emphasis, and period-accurate musicality, the songs that background the story set the tone for the film. There is a danger in the beauty of the woodwinds, tension in the string instruments, and a resplendence in the brass composition that can turn a dramatic interrogation into a poignant reflection of morality in the 1930s, the era in which the movie is set. Be it the lively adventuring tone of The Orient Express piece or the droning violins in the song entitled The Murder that deliberately is meant to replicate the stabbing of a knife, the music is just as carefully crafted as the rest of the piece. There are even occasional glimpses of music popular at the time, including a dinner sequence that features Wilhelm Grosz’s song Red Sails in the Sunset, which, at the time the story is set in, would have just recently been released two years prior to the events of the movie.
Unfortunately, there are occasional reminders that this movie was filmed in the 1970s, which is mostly seen in the language surrounding minority groups as well as the portrayal of the merchants in the train
station. But in comparison to other films I have seen from this era— and even those before and after it—it is not as severe as it could have
been, as they even cast ethnically accurate extras to show the diversity of Asia. Luckily, any of the unpleasant glimpses into the culture of the 70s are few and far between and do not detract from the viewing experience. Whether it’s the music, the actors, or the setting, there is a reason why this film still holds up to this day, though it is now fifty years old.
For all its glitz, for all its glamor, this movie has soul. Not only is it so artfully put together that you can feel that care in every scene, it is a testament to the mind of Agatha Christie. This movie is one of only two that earned her approval, and it is because of the effort, detail, and love that was poured into every set piece and camera angle. The spirit of this film is one that aligned with the thrilling evocation found in the pages of the novel from which it was born, and rather than seek to change what did not need to be altered, this movie worked to build upon the already marvelous story that Christie crafted.
The result was a film that I turn back to time and time again when the creeping desire for crime and deduction invades my brain. If you too are so possessed by the spirit of crime, deduction, and hidden details, then do go on and celebrate the 50th anniversary of this tribute to the ultimate Christie murder by giving 1974’s Murder on the Orient Express a watch. I promise it shall not disappoint.
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