Johnny Deadline: MURDER ON THE ORIENT EXPRESS (1974)

 by JB

This is yet another (murder) party to which I am afraid I am a little late. I easily could have seen this version of Murder on the Orient Express when I was 12, preferring instead to wait a full 50 years to see it. Better late than never.

THE PLOT IN BRIEF: While travelling on the famed Orient Express from Istanbul to London, famous detective Hercule Poirot (Albert Finney) is called into service by his friend Signor Bianchi when there is a murder on the train. A businessman named Ratchett has been killed in his sleeper car in the middle of the night. The clues are plentiful and so are the suspects (thirteen in all.) Poirot interviews all of them individually... and discovers one of the most bizarre murder plots in the history of detective fiction.

This version of Murder on the Orient Express thoroughly trumps Gene Siskel’s rule that a film should be more interesting than having lunch with its cast. One simply wouldn’t have time to talk to all of these terrific actors in the space of one lunch! Director Sidney Lumet and his producers managed to attract here one of the best “All Star” casts of all time: Lauren Bacall, Martin Balsam, Ingrid Bergman, Jacqueline Bisset, Sean Connery, Albert Finney, John Gielgud, Anthony Perkins, Vanessa Redgrave, Richard Widmark, and Michael York. My God! George Coulouris, who plays the relatively small part of Dr. Constantine, was in Citizen Kane!

Murder on the Orient Express was designed to be one of those movies with a “little boxes” poster: you know, the movie posters featuring each star in a row of little boxes somewhere on the poster, like most disaster movies. This movie has TWO ROWS OF BOXES. In his autobiography, Lumet revealed that he signed Sean Connery first, figuring “if you got the biggest star first, the rest would follow.”

AN ANNOYING AUTOBIOGRAPHICAL PAUSE: I am getting quite good at recognizing supporting actors in unfamiliar roles. As I watched Murder on the Orient Express, I thought the British soldier who accompanies Poirot to the train station at the beginning of the film looked familiar. “Is that Jeremy Lloyd from A Hard Day’s Night?” I shouted to the empty room. I paused the film. I checked IMDb. I was right. Damn.

There’s a lot to like here. The film is beautiful to look at. The costumes, beside providing additional information about the characters, look like the kinds of clothes that people in the 19302 actually wore. (I was particularly taken with both Sean Connery and Tony Perkin’s suits and sweaters.) The film is swiftly paced. It’s an acting tour-de-force, managing to somehow meld what seems to be thirteen very different acting styles into one cohesive whole. You never feel like each actor is “in a different movie.” The direction is clever and efficient. The editing should be studied in film schools. The score is delightful, being in equal measures melodic and playful.

Parts of the film seem to represent a new competitive activity: The “moustache off.” Obviously, no one is going to beat Poirot’s famous waxed wonder, but I cannot remember seeing a film with more moustaches. Martin Balsam, Sean Connery, Michael York, George Coulouris, and Denis Quilley all show up with prodigious lip foliage. Viva la follicle!

Oh, Oscar! Murder on the Orient Express was nominated for six Oscars: Best Actor, Best Supporting Actress, Best Adapted Screenplay, Best Cinematography, Best Costume Design, and Best Original Score. Ingrid Bergman won in the Best Supporting Actor category for her portrayal of Greta Ohlsson. Albert Finney lost Best Actor to Art Carney in Harry and Tonto. Paul Dehn lost Best Adapted Screenplay to Francis Ford Coppola and The Godfather, Part II. Geoffrey Unsworth lost Best Cinematography to Fred J. Koenekamp and The Towering Inferno. (Can you fucking believe it?) Tony Walton (who did both the Costume Design and the Production Design on this film, a rarity) lost to Theoni V. Aldredge and The Great Gatsby. Also, Richard Rodney Bennett lost Best Original Score to Nino Rota and The Godfather, Part II. For what it’s worth, I think Murder on the Orient Express deserved to win at least two more: Cinematography and Costume Design.

Because I am a big fan of the Kenneth Branagh re-make, I could not help but compare how Poirot is portrayed in both films. Finney’s Poirot is grotesque: a stooped toad of a man with an annoying voice, Brylcreemed hair, and an insouciant waxed moustache. (Agatha Christie herself was critical of Finney’s tiny moustache, her only quibble with the 1972 film.) Finney’s Poirot rubs everyone the wrong way. We wonder during the scene where Poirot and Bianchi greet each other warmly how this unpleasant little man could possibly have any friends. Clearly, Branagh could not conceive of playing someone this unpleasant, so his Poirot is smoother; his accent no longer grates, his eccentricities are made charming, and his moustache is prodigious. (Christie would be proud of Branagh’s moustache.) Still, I kept wondering if it were Branagh’s elephantine ego that kept him from playing Poirot as even slightly grotesque. Branagh’s Poirot is a short James Bond with an intriguing accent and a crazy ‘stache.

Kino Lorber will be releasing a new 50th Anniversary Edition of Murder on the Orient Express on 4K Blu-Ray, packed with special features. Street date is October 1st. Cool.

Like most quests of this type, I am glad that I finally “sat down” with 1974’s Murder on the Orient Express. I enjoyed every minute—it was delightful from start to finish. It was a reminder that mainstream films used to be so very good. It also reminded me of my many enemies upon whom I have not yet enacted my revenge.

I must remember to add “buy train tickets and a knife” to my “To Do” list...