MURDER ON THE ORIENT EXPRESS (1974)

A child is kidnapped. Daisy Armstrong, the daughter of a wealthy family, is held for ransom. The Armstrong family deliver the payment as instructed, yet tragedy still strikes: Daisy is murdered, and it sends the family into an irrevocable spiral of despair. But what could these sorrowful events have to do with a luxury train travelling between Istanbul and London in December 1935? As it turns out, more than one may initially suspect…

Sidney Lumet’s adaptation of Agatha Christie’s 1934 novel Murder on the Orient Express is perhaps the best adaptation of this particular whodunnit. Featuring a slightly incomprehensible central performance from Albert Finney as the meticulously attentive Hercule Poirot, along with a stellar ensemble cast that includes Ingrid Bergman, Lauren Bacall, and Sean Connery, the 1974 version of this snow-bound murder mystery is exquisitely stylish. Along with deft, claustrophobic camerawork, shrewd storytelling, and a palpable atmosphere, Lumet’s vision becomes a suitable benchmark for all lavish period pieces, even if the central narrative doesn’t especially create much tension.

Perhaps there’s little to no suspense because the entire film essentially serves as one long interrogation. The screenplay is a single, protracted inquiry, and the lack of variation becomes a little monotonous. Not in an off-putting way (there are few atmospheres you want to stay in quite as long), yet it still isn’t conducive to creating a tense mood. Moving from one suspect to another in quite prosaic fashion, there are practically zero shocks, and few revelations of any genuine consequence, besides the final unveiling.

One might think that this style of writing works best purely in written form: each discussion in Christie’s work practically leaps off the page, with your eyes combing every line of dialogue to ensure you’ve gleaned all the information you possibly can (though it’ll always be less than what the great Poirot can extract). However, this isn’t exactly true. René Clair’s And Then There Were None (1945) is massively suspenseful, while John Guillermin’s Death on the Nile (1978) was similarly tense. Maybe it’s simply because the conflict in Christie’s Death on the Nile is more compelling, with all the passengers on the paddle steamer at each other’s throats, or that the solution to the puzzle is more plausible than it is here, yet just as clever.

Regardless of the reasons why, suffice to say that Lumet’s film doesn’t feature any edge-of-your-seat moments. However, that’s not to say that Lumet’s narrativity isn’t commendable—quite the opposite. Character introductions command your attention. It’s particularly because they’re done with such subtlety that we stop and take note: we don’t want to lose the opportunity to put traits, personalities, backstories, and potential motives to faces. Similarly, seemingly arbitrary shots are included in otherwise coherent sequences and draw the viewer into the frame. They intrigue specifically because they’re not quite congruous, forcing us to question whether the frame holds something of great importance.

Modern filmmakers should take note of this. While he may not create an air of excitement or anxiety, Lumet does turn his viewer into an amateur detective: we only possess the same information that Poirot does. He’s in every scene, and it’s reasonable to assume that he isn’t privy to any explosive details that we ourselves haven’t been given the chance to gather. As such, Lumet provides a masterclass on how to create involving cinema. At the mention of the name “Poirot,” all the train’s passengers glance with a look of apprehension. We’re not sure what’s going on, but these surreptitious looks are all we need to understand that we should watch closely.

In his endeavour to turn a whole cinema into prospective sleuths, Lumet is aided by the superlative cinematography of Geoffrey Unsworth. Much like the passengers on the Orient Express, which has been engulfed by a snowdrift, we feel trapped within the confines of that magnificently designed train. At times, it even feels as though the camera is the 14th traveller aboard. As Poirot squeezes himself through narrow corridors, walking right past the lens, we feel as though he’s moving next to us, that we are right there on that railway line, in desperate need of an answer.

The result is a suffocating one. We certainly haven’t committed the murder, yet we feel uncomfortable all the same: rooms feel too small to contain as many people as they do. Sidney Lumet, who had a penchant for making cramped, claustrophobic films —12 Angry Men (1957), Fail Safe (1964), and Dog Day Afternoon (1975) all fit this description rather aptly —turns the luxury train into a motorised coffin. There is no warmth, or cosiness on this locomotive.

However, what can be found here is an exceptional display of blocking and staging, as not a single scene in this film is shot from the wrong angle. Occasionally dipping into the author’s theatrical roots, Lumet and Unsworth sometimes rely on simple master shots, with all the performers facing the audience as though they were onstage, to convey the multitude of reactions as Poirot reaches his conclusions. With a litany of accusations abounding, such simplicity is actually the smartest means of capturing the drama: fast cuts and close-ups would have felt both too dramatic and too forced.

As enjoyable and quaint as Lumet’s Murder on the Orient Express is, it’s undeniable that it will feel a touch simplistic for modern audiences. Compared to the increasingly dynamic murder mysteries we’ve enjoyed in recent years from Rian Johnson, Lumet’s effort here feels decidedly static. Of course, Johnson’s Knives Out (2019) and Glass Onion (2022) have borrowed heavily from the Queen of Mystery, as the director himself would readily admit, so it could be that Lumet walked so that the likes of Johnson could run.

Moreover, Lumet’s efforts remain impressive when we consider there are filmmakers today who still can’t walk at all, merely stumbling through these plots without mood or intelligence. Particularly, Lumet’s film towers over Kenneth Branagh’s terrible adaptation of the same story. All style and zero atmosphere, Murder on the Orient Express (2017) completely eviscerates the claustrophobic setting and garnered such hokey performances from its cast that it would have felt ridiculous no matter what period the story was set. Furthermore, Lumet goes for a moving, nuanced ending, which Branagh inexplicably abandons — possibly for more screen time? —as he includes pointless, irritating theatrics.

All of this to say, Lumet’s film isn’t the best murder mystery ever to do it, but it’s still head and shoulders above some other offerings you’ve undoubtedly seen. And while I much prefer Peter Ustinov’s interpretation of Poirot, Finney is still great to watch as the fastidious Belgian, even if his performance frequently elicits unintentional laughs from the audience. His voice is so gravelly and his accent so questionable that I do wonder if his supporting cast had difficulty keeping a straight face. Mostly, I wonder if a Belgian actor will ever be given the chance to play a part that historically has always been played by Brits and Yanks.

The ending is a surprisingly poignant one, regardless of how many times you’ve seen it. Moved by what is less a crime of passion than a crime of persevering despair, Poirot rightfully gauges that no true good can come from divulging the truth. Some mysteries, it would seem, are best left unsolved (or, at the very least, are best covered up). His powers of deduction are superhuman, but he is still in possession of a human heart, and that’s all one really needs to know what the right thing is to do.

Of course, as clever as the solution is, we are still left with one question that Poirot neglected to reveal. Namely, what on Earth did our conspirators do with the regular train staff?

UK | 1974 | 128 MINUTES | 1.85:1 | COLOUR | ENGLISH • FRENCH • GERMAN • TURKISH • ITALIAN • SWEDISH • HUNGARIAN

Cast & Crew

director: Sidney Lumet.
writers: Paul Dehn & Anthony Shaffer (uncredited) (based on the 1934 novel by Agatha Christie).
starring: Lauren Bacall, Martin Balsam, Ingrid Bergman, Jacqueline Bisset, Jean-Pierre Cassel, Sean Connery, Albert Finney, John Gielgud, Wendy Hiller, Anthony Perkins, Vanessa Redgrave, Rachel Roberts, Richard Widmark, Michael York, George Coulouris, Denis Quilley & Colin Blakely.