From England to Egypt, accompanied by his elegant and trustworthy sidekicks, the intelligent yet eccentrically-refined Belgian detective Hercule Poirot pits his wits against a collection of first class deceptions.
While on vacation at a resort hotel in the West Indies, Miss Marple correctly suspects that the apparently natural death of a retired British major is actually the work of a murderer planning yet another killing.
Dr. Watson, finds a mystery in an empty house, while Holmes and he later solve the mysteries of an abbey grange, the Musgrave ritual, a second stain, a man with a twisted lip, the priory school, and a half-dozen plaster busts of Bonaparte. Written by
Jeremy Brett was my generation's Sherlock Holmes, the way Michael Praed is my generation's Robin Hood.
Both series have been done before (and since), but never better. The only series that comes close is the pre-Holmes/true life version of Arthur Conan Doyle's apprenticeship at the feet of the brilliant dr. Bell, called "Murder Rooms".
Jeremy Brett is excellent as the cultured, sensitive (gay?) king of detectives. Australian actors David Burke, and later on Edward Hardwicke (in the follow-up to this series "The Return Of Sherlock Holmes", also with Jeremy Brett) hold their own as the experienced everyman versions that are really Arthur Conan Doyle himself.
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