Poirot and Me (34 page)

which talks about ‘the dreadful hollow behind

the little wood’ which lies beneath a field

whose ‘red-ribb’d ledges drip with a silent

horror of blood’. But she was also inspired by

the Surrey home of the formidably double-

chinned, London-born actor Francis L.

Sullivan, who had played Poirot for her in the

1930s, but is probably now best remembered

for playing Mr Bumble in David Lean’s 1948

film of Dickens’ Oliver Twist . Sullivan and his

wife had a house in Haslemere called The

Hollow and Dame Agatha’s book is dedicated

to them, ‘with apologies for using their

swimming pool as the scene of a murder’.

Once again, the new production team

were determined to provide the film with

actors of the highest quality, and so, to play

Sir Henry Angkatell, we were lucky enough

to have my dear friend from Stratford

Edward Hardwicke, son of the famous

English film star Sir Cedric Hardwicke, and

probably best known for playing Doctor

Watson to Jeremy Brett’s Sherlock Holmes

for eight years in ITV’s series about the

famous detective.

Lady Angkatell, the catalyst in Dame

Agatha’s story, who invites the guests to her

house party at The Hollow for the weekend,

was to be played by the legendary film

actress Sarah Miles, who had made her

name in Term of Trial in 1962, alongside

Laurence Olivier, and had then gone on to

appear in David Lean’s Ryan’s Daughter, for

which she was nominated for an Oscar.

Famously unconventional, Sarah does very

little television, but had been tempted to do

a Poirot with me.

The Angkatells’ butler, Gudgeon, was

played by another film star, Edward Fox,

forever remembered by me as the assassin

in Fred Zinnemann’s film The Day of the

Jackal. The appearance of not one but two

iconic movie stars alongside me was almost

overwhelming, and I talked to Edward about

filming Jackal whenever I could.

Meanwhile, Sarah enjoyed herself more

and more as the shooting progressed, and

would arrive on the set in the morning and

say to me – rather embarrassingly – ‘You’re

him. You’re him reborn.’ I was not quite sure

what she meant until I realised that she was

comparing me with Laurence Olivier.

I thought to myself, ‘I should be so lucky.’

I also loved being with my old friend

Edward Hardwicke. We had both been at the

Royal Shakespeare Company, although at

different times, and he had appeared beside

me in my first major television role, in

Oppenheimer. Between takes on the set, we

would tell each other stories about the

wonderful times we had had together all

those years ago. It all helped to make The

Hollow one of the most memorable Poirots

for me.

Sadly, the film itself did not quite live up

to the cast. Even though Nick Dear wrote a

terrific script, it could not quite save it. As

w i t h Sad Cypress, Dame Agatha herself

admitted that the story was not really a case

for Poirot – and it shows. No matter how you

look at it, he seems a little out of place. In

her autobiography, she admitted, ‘The

Hollow was a book I always thought I had

ruined by the introduction of Poirot. I had got

used to having Poirot in my books, and so

naturally he had come into this one, but he

is all wrong there. He did his stuff all right,

but how much better, I kept thinking, would

the book have been without him.’

In fact, when Dame Agatha came to turn

her book into a play in 1951, just six years

after it was first published, ‘out went Poirot’,

as she put it herself, and in came Detective

Inspector Colquhoun from Scotland Yard. She

believed that Poirot would have drawn the

audience’s attention away from the other

characters, whereas a blander policeman

would focus attention on them. It would also

be fair to say that she had not always

enjoyed the various stage Poirots who had

appeared in the first years after she created

the character.

Nevertheless,

I

think

our

two-hour

television version, under Simon Langton’s

direction, worked pretty well, and I believe it

stands up now, looking back. But it certainly

does not bear comparison with the fourth

and final film in our new series, a reworking

of one of Dame Agatha’s classic stories,

Death on the Nile. That was in a rather

different class.

But the honest truth is that all four of

these new films are very dear to me, and I

am exceptionally proud to leave them behind

as a legacy to Dame Agatha. I only wish that

she had been there to see them, because I

think she would have enjoyed them all, and

especially our new version of Death on the

Nile, which we shot mostly on location in

Egypt, from a new script by Kevin Elyot, and

directed by Andy Wilson. She would certainly

have enjoyed the fact that, for the SS

Karnak, we used the same river-steamer

that had appeared in Peter Ustinov’s all-star

film version of the story in 1978, starring

Bette Davis, David Niven and Mia Farrow,

among many others.

First published in 1937 and written during

one of her many trips to Egypt with Max

Mallowan in the first years after their

marriage, Death on the Nile is one of her

very finest, and most popular, stories. She

herself was to say later, ‘I think myself that

the book is one of the best of my “foreign

travel” ones. I think the central situation is

intriguing and has dramatic possibilities, and

the three characters, Simon, Linnet, and

Jacqueline, seem to me to be real and alive.’

In the eight decades that have passed since

then, I doubt anyone would disagree.

Mind you, our new version may have

startled Dame Agatha just a little, as it

opens with a young couple making love, not

something ever found in one of her novels –

no matter how much that possibility might

have been implied. It tells the story of a

spoiled, unlikeable, rich young socialite,

Linnet Ridgeway, who steals the handsome

but broke Simon Doyle from her best friend

Jacqueline de Bellefort, and then marries

him. The couple go to Egypt for their

honeymoon, only to be followed there by

Jacqueline, but when they try to escape on a

cruise down the Nile by boat, she follows

them again. It is on the steamer that Linnet

is killed and the mystery begins.

The other passengers on the cruise are

among some of Dame Agatha’s finest

characters, including an American grande

dame and her mousy companion, a lady

novelist and her daughter, a fierce young

socialist (who turns out to be an English

peer), Linnet’s shady American attorney, and

a senior officer in the British Secret Service,

Colonel Race, who arrives, in our version,

riding a camel out of the desert, in a suitably

mysterious manner.

While no match for Ustinov’s cast, ours

boasted some exceptional actors, including

James Fox, brother of Edward, whom I had

just played alongside in The Hollow, as

Colonel Race. There was also the English

actress Frances de la Tour, the American

David Soul, best known for his role in the

television series Starsky and Hutch, and the

beautiful Emily Blunt as Linnet. Our new

version, which we finished in the early

autumn of 2003, is one of my favourites of

all my Poirots. I remember the experiences

as though they were yesterday, and I am

very proud of it indeed.

One memory that sticks in my mind,

however, is that every single member of the

cast and crew were struck down at some

point during the shoot with a rather severe

stomach upset – everyone, that is, except

Sheila and me. Sheila had come on the trip

with me, as the children were no longer even

teenagers. Perhaps our good health had

something to do with the fact that we never

ate anything that had not been cooked, not

even salad or fruit, throughout our time

there. But I did not escape entirely. No

sooner had I finished filming and flown back

to London, than I was struck with the worst

form of ‘Montezuma’s revenge’. Unwisely,

after my abstinence, I had eaten some fresh

fruit salad on the plane, and that had taken

its toll. Thankfully, it was my only bad

memory of the shoot.

Death on the Nile also gave me an

opportunity to deepen my portrait of Poirot,

and underline his particular sense of

vulnerability and loneliness. There is one

scene, in particular, where he is standing at

the stern of the steamer, looking into the

falling dusk. I believe that it conveys

something of the sadness and loneliness that

Poirot feels because he has never had a

domestic life, nor had ever been able to love

a woman with such intensity.

Looking back, I think these four films were

one of the turning points in the years of

Poirot and me, for somehow they helped us

to grow even closer, with me as his protector

and guardian, and he relishing the chance to

reveal more and more of himself to the

watching

audience.

They

were

very

important to both of us.

There is one other rather remarkable thing

that occurred to me as we finished shooting

that tenth series, and it is this. At home in

Pinner, I discovered a picture of my

grandfather on my father’s side, who was

always known as the best-dressed man in

Cape Town, in South Africa, where he lived.

Taken in about 1895, he is dressed in a

brimmed hat, a three-piece suit, and he is

carrying a cane. It is uncanny – you really

would think it was Poirot.

Chapter 15

‘EASILY THE WORST

BOOK I EVER WROTE’

The British critics certainly seemed to like

the new-style Poirot, and, true to their

word, ITV made a considerable splash with

the four new films, not least by broadcasting

the first two in the peak viewing days of

December: Five Little Pigs went out on

Sunday, 14 December 2003, and Sad

Cypress on Boxing Day Sunday 2003 at the

prime time of nine in the evening.

The critics noticed at once that the whole

series had been renewed in a very particular

way. Peter Paterson captured it exactly, in

t h e Daily Mail, when he commented, ‘This

first of a new series of four Poirot stories was

slick and expensive enough to quieten those

who think that ITV has been performing

under par for far too long,’ and he described

Five Little Pigs as ‘entertaining and classy’. It

was a view that Sheila and I shared, as she

was particularly impressed by it when we

watched it together on that Sunday evening.

I n The Times, Paul Hoggart was equally

complimentary, and he too had caught on to

the stronger production values, commenting

on the strong cast and ‘the intriguingly edgy

quality of Kevin Elyot’s script. It was visually

adventurous too.’

In the Daily Express, Robert Gore-Langton

added, ‘The thing with Poirot is you can

watch it with the whole family and have a

sweepstake on whodunit’ and went on to

give me ‘a lot of credit’ for the show’s

success – kindly adding that I was ‘perfect’

as the detective.

Sad Cypress was every bit as well

received, though I felt personally that it was

not quite appropriate viewing for Boxing

Day. It is a fine story, but it is also hardly a

festive Christmas television treat. I worried

that this might affect the audience’s

enjoyment, but I was in no position to do

anything about the scheduling, as that was a

matter for ITV. In the end, the viewing

figures were very good indeed, and so I

clearly need not have been concerned.

The network then gave our new version of