Simply A Masterpiece

Admirable film.

Absolutely Fantastic

A lot of fun.

Beautiful Rosemary Barton , wife of wealthy George Barton, dies by poison at a dinner party, and as one of the guests is a government minister who was having an affair with Rosemary, Colonel Geoffrey Reece (Oliver Ford Davies) and his wife Dr Catherine Kendall (Pauline Collins) are called on to solve the mystery. Although some of the characters are very different from the ones in the book, the basic plot remains the same, as does the identity of the murderer. The detectives, Reece and Kendall, have replaced the novel's Colonel Race (contrary to what another reviewer seems to think, Sparkling Cyanide is not a Poirot novel) but I didn't mind that as I found their characters very entertaining, rather reminiscent of the elderly Tommy and Tuppence, especially as their children are, like Tommy and Tuppence's offspring, unaware of the exciting activities of their parents. I would have liked to see them in some more adventures. I suppose it's too late now for a spin off series.

Dreadful, slow, flabby, "modern" updating of Agatha Christie's novel. The entire story could have been over and done with in under an hour, but this bloated modern monstrosity drags on for over two.The problem with "updating" the storyline into the modern idiom of footballers and self-made men is that the social structure in which the original story was written has no modern equivalent. So there is no hook upon which to hang the theme.Oliver Ford-Davies and Pauline Collins drift around in the middle of this background-less mess and there is a lot of vague talk about spies and Berlin and Cambridge. I was uncertain at one point exactly what I was watching, a bad Agatha Christie or an even worse John Le Carre. With a script that makes little sense, and the addition of a cloyingly annoying grandchild, this is truly flat champagne.

This Christie adaptation was flagged as "in a modern setting, with a contemporary twist". There was so much twist they forgot to tell the story, which is a good one. Characters were introduced briefly, with thumbnail descriptions in voice-over, instead of being allowed to show us who they were. Then the "contemporary, modern" angle was shoved in our faces. "And this is my wife, Alexandra, a high-flying barrister, you know, not like in the olden days when women didn't have jobs, and here's Rosemary's sister, who's a personal trainer to the stars and has a black footballer boyfriend, not like in the book which is old fashioned, twee, quaint and weedy and she's a debutante who possible works as a secretary." Instead of a dashing male detective we have two old buffers obviously based on Christie's characters Tommy and Tuppence - former secret service agents who are occasionally called out of retirement. Of course they have to use computers and mobile phones the second they are introduced, and get themselves offstage with "You shadow the husband, I'll go and DO SOME RESEARCH ON THE INTERNET, you know, that modern thingy that they didn't have when Christie wrote her books I mean in her day they probably sent messages by a man in a cleft stick and were hopelessly dull and oldfashioned and never never did anything interesting like having sex." Actually the original Christie story is teeming with adultery - read the book! Read the book! And then watch the enjoyable 1983 film with Anthony Andrews which has the sense to stick to Christie's story. Updating from the 50s to the 80s, and moving from England to America, makes perfect sense. But avoid the TV version with David Suchet, filmed as The Yellow Iris, which muffs the story badly, introducing an unnecessary trip to wartorn South America (!?) and not even showing the second dinner party (filling in time with an equally otiose "South American" dance rehearsal).

"Sparkling Cyanide" is one of my favourite Agatha Christie novels. So you can imagine my delight when I heard of a new film of it, starring Oliver Ford-Davis. But, alas, this does no-where near justice to the original book. They've kept about two names the same (Lucilla, Iris), added about 10 new characters, and changed most of the original characters around to fit a modern-day setting. The detectives are two elderly MI5 agents (compare that to the respectable retired colonel in the book), it just doesn't work, investigating the murder of an uneducated footballer's wife at a nightclub (compare that to the glamorous wife of a successful businessman who dies at a high-class resteraunt in the book). The solution isn't really explained at all, the interval of two years is clumsily merged into two weeks, and Rosemary Barton is portrayed as a wrist-slitting slut, a tragic loss of one of Agatha Christie's most beautiful descriptions. The only member of the cast who can act is Oliver Ford-Davis, whose talent is pointlessly wasted. Perhaps this film was meant to appeal to the younger generation. It doesn't. I represent the younger generation, this isn't right. If you've never heard of Agatha Christie before, and like things on the TV like "Silent Witness", I suppose this is aimed at you. But you won't like it. If you're a die-hard Agatha Christie fan, like me, follow the advice of Rosalind Hicks, her daughter, who hates the film, and "stick to the book".