This isn’t the first time I’ve done an Agatha Christie book-to-series comparison post, but it is by far the most detailed. If I enjoy something, instead of moving on like a normal person, I ask how can I extend this for as long as possible? So I reread the book, taking notes of all the differences so that I could write a detailed comparison between the two. As I’ve mentioned here before, I get obsessive.
#AND THEN THERE WERE NONE MOVIE 2017 SERIES#
We finished the series and less than an hour later I’d pulled out my well-worn copy of the novel. *cancer isn’t specified, but he was dying the reader doesn’t find out about it until much later than in the series If you don’t remember the murderer, you’re unlikely to remember whether or not Wargrave had cancer.* I rewatched the series with my family, and although they’d all seen it before, it had been long enough that they’d forgotten even more than I had, so when I’d tentatively ask wasn’t this bit different in the book? no one could definitively answer me. It’s the only adaptation I’ve seen (not counting the computer game, which I loved), and from what I can tell, it’s the most faithful one. It’s very faithful but makes a few minor changes. I’ve read And Then There Were None multiple times over the years, because it’s so psychologically fascinating that it’s thrilling even if you already know whodunit. And Then There Were None is one of my two absolute favorite mystery novels (the other is The Westing Gameby Ellen Raskin, and they’re in a league of their own). But since the previous two Branagh Christies did fine at the box office, and this one likely will, too, that phrase “income stream” may suit “A Haunting in Venice” after all.Recently, I rewatched the excellent BBC adaptation of And Then There Were None by Agatha Christie. Branagh’s portrayal of a somewhat older and wearier Poirot muted but carefully calibrated, remains two steps ahead of Branagh’s direction. With Branagh going for broke visually, the score wisely takes a different tack, sliding in and out of the plot’s machinations without a lot of bombast. To be sure, the composer’s work here incorporates a slew of creaks, and ratchety sounds more akin to sound design than traditional composition. The haunted post-World War II atmosphere, meanwhile, is made a little less persuasive by such anachronistic turns of phrase such as “lighten up” and “income stream.” Amid Branagh’s exercise in dizzy theatrics and horror flourishes, the film’s sole understated component comes from an unlikely source: Oscar-winning composer Hildur Ingveldardóttir best known for her droning, grinding accompaniment to the groaning, driving toxicity of Todd Phillips’ “Joker.” The script contrives to set Oliver against Poirot for various reasons, and to uncertain results. She’s also limited by the writing, which is more often expedient than witty. In a hectic 100-minute sprint, the most effective stretch has the unidentified killer turning on Poirot himself while bobbing for apples (there’s a similar scene, with different characters, in the novel), followed in short order by the garish death of a major character.Īs for Fey, she’s fun. Unlike the soundstage artifice and green-screenology of “Orient Express” and “Nile,” here Branagh and his digital effects team allow the physical production, the actors and the city itself, to do their jobs. It’s a city that suits just about any period.
The good parts work largely because the relocation to Venice makes atmospheric sense.
Reynolds (Michelle Yeoh) to summon the spirit of Drake’s late daughter, a drowning victim. The grief-stricken operatic diva Rowena Drake (Kelly Reilly of “Yellowstone”), the owner of the palazzo, has invited the spiritualist Mrs. The annual All Hallows Eve party at a notably shadowy palazzo - formerly an orphanage - is being held for the apple-bobbing, hide-and-seek enjoyment of orphaned Venetian children. There’s a seance afoot, tailor-made for death in Venice. (The choice production design is by John Paul Kelly, lit just so, and often a little more so, by cinematographer Haris Zambarloukos.) The script Americanizes Oliver, while costume designer Sammy Sheldon classes her up with some terrific hats, worn by Tina Fey.
In “A Haunting in Venice,” Oliver cajoles her old Belgian friend, now retired, out of his preferred isolation. As did five other Christie whodunits, this one features both Poirot and the authorial stand-in, mystery writer and amateur sleuth Ariadne Oliver.
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