wadsy333 Say what you will about Agatha Christie's prose, but at least she could cobble together a reasonable plot. There were some dreadful Christie movies made in the 1970's and 80's, mainly for the US market. However, more recent treatments for UK TV starring Joan Hickson as Marple and David Suchet as Poirot lifted the game somewhat.Sparkling Cyanide was far from being Christie's worst book. This movie, on the other hand, is a strong contender for worst adaptation of one of her books. The dialogue is so stilted that even Christie would blush and the clunking efforts to modernise the story are cringe-making. The writers clearly thought the idea of retired people using mobile phones and email so original that it should serve as a major plot line. The lead actors are miscast and, at times, look as if they are mentally firing their agents as the execrable dialogue sticks in their throats.The script is leaden, the plot turgid and the final product shameful. Avoid.

NineLivesBurra This movie is not worth the money they spent to make it. Poirot has gone and in his place, instead of people using their little grey cells, we have people using great big grey cells which were not in use at the time Christie wrote the book. To me, a Poirot novel is all about the psychology and the use of the little grey cells and without him and them, you just have another television murder mystery like all the rest.Poirot has something more as do all of Christie's detectives and this movie just does not do anything for me. Even David Suchet's Yellow Iris was far better than this and even that was not a brilliant interpretation of this Christie novel.

Sjhm Dreadful, slow, flabby, "modern" updating of Agatha Christie's novel. The entire story could have been over and done with in under an hour, but this bloated modern monstrosity drags on for over two.The problem with "updating" the storyline into the modern idiom of footballers and self-made men is that the social structure in which the original story was written has no modern equivalent. So there is no hook upon which to hang the theme.Oliver Ford-Davies and Pauline Collins drift around in the middle of this background-less mess and there is a lot of vague talk about spies and Berlin and Cambridge. I was uncertain at one point exactly what I was watching, a bad Agatha Christie or an even worse John Le Carre. With a script that makes little sense, and the addition of a cloyingly annoying grandchild, this is truly flat champagne.

lucy-19 This Christie adaptation was flagged as "in a modern setting, with a contemporary twist". There was so much twist they forgot to tell the story, which is a good one. Characters were introduced briefly, with thumbnail descriptions in voice-over, instead of being allowed to show us who they were. Then the "contemporary, modern" angle was shoved in our faces. "And this is my wife, Alexandra, a high-flying barrister, you know, not like in the olden days when women didn't have jobs, and here's Rosemary's sister, who's a personal trainer to the stars and has a black footballer boyfriend, not like in the book which is old fashioned, twee, quaint and weedy and she's a debutante who possible works as a secretary." Instead of a dashing male detective we have two old buffers obviously based on Christie's characters Tommy and Tuppence - former secret service agents who are occasionally called out of retirement. Of course they have to use computers and mobile phones the second they are introduced, and get themselves offstage with "You shadow the husband, I'll go and DO SOME RESEARCH ON THE INTERNET, you know, that modern thingy that they didn't have when Christie wrote her books I mean in her day they probably sent messages by a man in a cleft stick and were hopelessly dull and oldfashioned and never never did anything interesting like having sex." Actually the original Christie story is teeming with adultery - read the book! Read the book! And then watch the enjoyable 1983 film with Anthony Andrews which has the sense to stick to Christie's story. Updating from the 50s to the 80s, and moving from England to America, makes perfect sense. But avoid the TV version with David Suchet, filmed as The Yellow Iris, which muffs the story badly, introducing an unnecessary trip to wartorn South America (!?) and not even showing the second dinner party (filling in time with an equally otiose "South American" dance rehearsal).