Mord im Orient-Express

Poirot, voll von Manierismen der siebziger Jahre, stand am Anfang einer neuen Ära von Agatha-Christie-Verfilmungen. Denn während der aktiven Karriere der Autorin als Schriftstellerin entstanden zwar viele interessante Filme oder Fernsehaufzeichnungen, aber die Haupthandlung spielte sich immer noch auf den Seiten von Büchern, Zeitschriften und auf der Bühne ab (idealerweise in ihrer Dramatisierung). Der heutige Kultstatus entwickelte sich praktisch erst, nachdem Albert Finney seinen Poirot Ustinov und dann Suchet überließ. Im Hintergrund blieben leider solche Perlen Die Abenteurer G.m.b.H. (1928), Zehn kleine Negerlein (1945) oder Zeugin der Anklage (1957). Dieser Mord im Orient-Express hingegen steht ständig zur Verfügung, um die schauspielerischen Leistungen von Bacall, Bergman, Bisset, Redgrave, Connery, York und anderen immer wieder neu zu würdigen. Und natürlich wegen der Geschichte, die von der Tragödie des Lindbergh-Kindes inspiriert ist, aber von Branagh viel besser umgesetzt wurde. (02.04.2009)

As time went on, my tastes in entertainment and art changed. However, a few things remained constant. Among them is my dislike for classic detective stories, where a brilliant private detective searches for a sophisticated criminal, and the reader/viewer witnesses the battle of two brilliant minds, usually culminating in a scene that I suffer the most from. Yes, I mean that countless cliché when all the suspects gather in one room, the great detective analyzes their statements, discovers subtle inconsistencies, destroys alibis, and infallibly points his finger at the perpetrator who hangs his head, confesses under the weight of the arguments, and obediently allows himself to be taken to the police. No, Agatha, that's not how things work in real life, and I prefer something else over your fairy tales. In the film, I was drawn in by the cast, the director's name, and the positive reviews, including an Oscar award. But alas, cold water was poured on my expectations. Poirot was miscast, the actors in supporting roles were divided into those who acted poorly and the rest who were outright bad. If I hadn't seen Murder on the Orient Express, I would never have believed that Ingrid Bergman could be so wooden. The only acceptable actor is perhaps Anthony Perkins. The resolution of the case presents an indigestible bizarre scenario even within the artificial world of classic detective stories, which slides toward the unwanted edges of parody. Lumet's direction could have fascinated American scholars only thanks to the producer's brilliant marketing strategy. Murder on the Orient Express once represented the symbol of the Belle Époque era and opulent luxury, and Lumet at least could have captured the beautiful nature of the Balkans and created an atmosphere centered around the train, a symbol of romantic journeys beyond ordinary life and the adventures of wealthy travelers seeking exoticism - then I would be more generous. I would also give it another star if I were a fan of the genre. But the way it is,  I have to be very sparing. Overall impression: 25%. (25.10.2018)

From the flood of steam and optimistic start of a sudden adventure to the suffocating culmination of all traces and an avalanche of snow. And the little man Poirot in the chaos of suspicious acts and hints, from the first boarding on the train to the final revelation. The twist, however, is not at all difficult and everyone would surely hit it with a moment of confused guessing. But the ingenious and atmospheric journey to it is unforgettable. (29.03.2008)