An American businessman's family convinces him to buy a Scottish castle and disassemble it to ship it to America brick by brick, where it will be put it back together. The castle though is ... See full summary »
Out on patrol in the war-time desert a Canadian corporal reminisces about the woman he has left behind in London and ponders whether she will fall for the charms of his rival in love. At ... See full summary »
John M. Stahl
A young singer, Marge Dexter, becomes involved in trouble when she works in a nightclub in which two of the band-members are in reality undercover-police officers who believe that the club is the headquarters of a dangerous gang of crooks.
Ten people are invited for a weekend on an island by a Mr U. N. Own, but he isn't on the island. At dinner a record is played, by that all the people are accused of murder, suddenly the first of them is dead, then the next... It seems to be that one of them is the murderer Mr. U. N. Own, but the person in suspect is always the person who is murdered next. At last only two people seem to be left. Written by
Stephan Eichenberg <firstname.lastname@example.org>
There is no dialogue at all in this film for the first five minutes. See more »
The accusations recorded on the phonograph record state that Mr. Lombard killed several natives in East Africa. Later, during the confession scene at the table, Mr. Blore says that Mr. Lombard killed natives in South Africa. See more »
The first line of the nursery rhyme appears onscreen - "Ten Little Indians Went Out To Dine...." - superimposed over a set of small statues of Native Americans - this is immediately followed by the film's title "And Then There Were None". See more »
No Agatha Christie story has ever been made into a better movie than this one. The movie has the altered ending from the book (which I'm told was changed by Christie for the stage version because let's face it. The book's ending would never *ever* work in a dramatized setting, film or stage) and the character of Tony Marston has become a Russian prince to accomodate the casting of Mischa Auer, but apart from that Christie's book has been flawlessly translated right down to the last detail. The look, the settings, the characters, all of it is just right. There are also some wonderfully comedic performances that veer into some delicious black comedy at times (my favorite being Louis Hayward's bemused response to Roland Young's bumbling deductions: "And then he takes the chopper and splits open his own cranium. Fact. I'd like to see you do that yourself.") About the only casting flaw is June Duprez, who is woefully bland and dull as Vera Claythorne, the lead female character.
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