An American movie actress, best known for playing dumb blondes, is Scotland Yard's prime suspect when her husband, Lord Edgware, is murdered. The great detective, Hercule Poirot, digs deeper into the case.
Hercule Poirot attends a dinner party in which one of the guests clutches his throat and suddenly dies. The cause seems to be natural until another party with most of the same guests produces another corpse.
The Belgian detective Hercule Poirot investigates a series of murders in London in which the victims are killed according to their initials. The first victim is A.A. the second B.B. and so on. Poirot is assisted in his investigations by Captain Hastings and Inspector Japp. Written by
Mike Hatchett <email@example.com>
Albert Aachen climbs to the top of the diving boards during his aquaclown rehearsal, picking up a bottle with his right hand to take a swig from it, with the left theatrically outstretched. The shot changes to a close-up, and Aachen now has the bottle in his left hand. He smiles and the shot changes to a long one - where the bottle is now back a few steps behind him on the platform as he dives. See more »
Where have you been? What have you been doing?
Arranging a little extra insurance my friend.
Oh really? Personally I always feel perfectly safe with British railways. Mind you its very different in France, isn't it?
I wouldn't know. I am not French, I am Belgian.
Well it's the same thing, you both eat horsemeat.
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Tony Randall emerges from Borehamwood Studios' Stage 4 to introduce the film and acknowledge his own starring credit, first as himself and then in full Poirot make-up and character. See more »
Being one of the more elusive films this side of the pond, The Alphabet Murders delivers no more or less than expected (hence the 5/10). But I think you have to ask yourself why your watching it before you condemn it. Christie purists are up in arms, Randall fans defend him, yadda yadda yadda. Personally, I got it for the all too brief Dame Margaret. That said, there's little else to say about it.
Tony Randal is an acquired taste as Poirot, almost getting up your nose with an abysmal accent and acting as if he's the only one with grey cells, and overdoing that. The constant referring of him as a 'short' Belgian is the biggest mystery, as he's taller than most in the film. Poor Robert Morley tries his best, but the tedium of the film mainly comes from the rather repetitive score. Plotwise it doesn't really test the viewer, but enough is happening to keep you guessing. 30 seconds of Margaret Rutherford and spouse puts a much needed grin on the face, but it's not enough by far.
Certainly one to add to the collection, but don't rush for it at the garage sale. Overall, a huge waste of talent. Pity.
Oh, and a reviewer thinks Finney's Poirot was a masterpiece? Yeah. Right.
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