Poirot: The Dream

 "I am too understanding towards my employees!"

I may have been somewhat ambivalent towards this series- despite some solid acting and well-developed characters for a whodunit series- the scripts have been somewhat variable in quality, and I suspect that Agatha Christie's detective story talents lend themselves more to a longer format than the short stories upon which these stories are based. I shall, one day, return to Poirot.

Ot's pleasing, though, for the series to finish upon such a high. I love how the creative introduction to Farleys Foods via the nostalgia hit of British Pathe leads to a succession of scenes showing us how Benedict Farley is an old Victorian industrialist bastard who sneers at unions and is rude as hell. His thick glasses and muttonchops, surely an affectation in the much more modern 1935, mark him out as the pantomime villain he is, even sacking his daughter's lover for being too non-U.

The murder mystery is playfully clever, with Joely Richardson's character being almost metatextual in how she declares herself to Poirot to be so obviously guilty that she must surely be the red herring. I love, also, how Poirot has a comical moment of crisis with the Belguan sleuth equivalent of writer's block and the comical B plot with Miss Lemon's typewriter.

When I return tom Poirot, let's have more like this... but longer episodes, please. Until then, adieu.

Poirot: The King of Clubs

 "Dear oh dear! Here we go again..."

This is one of those stories with a very Agatha Christie twist about the very murder itself. It feels well-executed. It's well-acted and well-produced. Yet, once again, despite all this plus the very palpable period richness, it somehow isn't anywhere close to being as satisfying as, say, the Granada Sherlock Holmes.

It's clever, yes, but in a very clockwork, very typical Agatha Christie way. I suppose, being from a ahort story as all this series is- suggesting this format is not deal- this is inevitable, and perhaps explains why I feel so lukewarm about a firt series that,objectively speaking, seems to have much to recommend it.

Neverthleless... it's a nice glimpse into the film industry in the 1930s,with more than usual period charm. There is, again, a nicely judged ense that Japp, although Poirot may run rings around him, is nevertheless a seasoned and competent professional who is, alas, not a genius.

It's an entertaining and well-made fifty minutes, I suppose. Buta certain spark is missing,

Poirot: The Incredible Theft

 "No, no, no, Hastings! Women do not want to talk about Berninis and cubic thingummies!"

This episode was... actually pretty bloody good. By far the best yet.

It's a twist on that old detective story standby as epitomised by Conan Doyle's The Naval Treaty, where top secret plans are stolen.It's quite an interesting setting for such a story- the 's, with Hitler and Mussolini causing trouble and an arms race in full swing with the spectre of war looming while all this between-the-wars existence of country houses and passing the port carries on regardless.

The script and dialogue, far more than usually, are witty and fun, and the cleverness of the plot is fun in its own intricate way, not so much a whodunit as a devilishly clever howdunit with more than one big double bluff.  

All this, and the characterisation of Poirot, Hastings, Miss Lemon and Japp is in full swing by this point. I enjoyed this. At this rate I may even return to do the second series after this one. We'll see.

Poirot: Problem at Sea

 "One cannot hurry the little grey cells, captain."

This is another decent episode, not only as a whodunit which works well and does so in a shrt format but, for once, also as a drama. The poor murder does the deed because he is a vivtim of what we would today call coercive control. None of the characters, in 1935, would have used the phtrase, but they all knew damn well what was going on.

It's all nicely done. All the characters behave like real people with real motives and, again, 1935 feels not quite so long ago, despite the inevitable casual racism of the characters as they wander around the Alexandria of King Fuad. Yet, despite some differences in social mores, these people are not so different from ourselves, if somewhat posher on the whole.

The summing up is the best yet, as showman Poirot has a little fun with ventriloquism. This still is not exactly my favourite television drama, but it has its moments.

Poirot: Triangle at Rhodes

 "At least he's not a bottom pincher, Mr. Poirot."

This episode decidedly departs from the norm- no Hastings, no Miss Lemon, and the whole thing is set entirely on location on what looks genuinely to be Rhodes- the locations are truly breathtaking.

These episodes are based on Agatha Christie's short stories. She's better known for her longer form whodunits, so these are bound ro be somewhat basic in comparison, This is no exception, being relatively simple despite some minor cleverness. But the murder mystery is not so much the draw here.

No; this is an amusing and fascinating glimpse of the English on holiday, with their '30s bathing costumes, evening dress and casual racism, in 1935 as the papers discuss Italy's invasion of Abyssinia. Indeed, Rhodes at this time was part of the Italian Aegean, and the Greek natives are ruled by an Italian bureaucracy. Poirot has to deal with a local inspector who is, alas, no Japp, and has a portrait of Il Duce (why not the King Vittorio Emmanuele?) above his desk.

This is no more than mildly diverting, and it's still likely that I'll not be returning tomPoirot for a while after this first series, but I was happy enough with this.

Poirot: The Third Floor Flat

 "Birds do not run, Hastings."

Again, we have an episode that is rather clever. What initially looks like a murder with a dearth of suspects ends up having a rather clever and satisfying resolution, all being resolved in a classic summing up by Poirot, with added car chase. Suchet is excellent, yet again, with our four regulars being well-characterised by the use of plenty of gentle humour.

Yet there's also a clever bit of fun with the fourth wall as Hastings takes a hypochondriac Poirot to a whodunit play, and our esteemed Belgian gets the killer wrong, proceeding to criticise the author for blatantly failing to adhere to Father Ronald Knox's famous rules of detective fiction, something of which Agatha Christie can never be accused of doing without justification.

Again, too, the 1930s are a fascinating period. Things look and seem modern much of the time, but people living in upmarket flats will typically have a maid, while what passes for popular music is pre-rock 'n' roll and so utterly alien. I'm not sure I'll be blogging the second series any time soon, but I'm enjoying this first series more than I expected at first.

Poirot: Four and Twenty Blackbirds

 "Cricket. The English enigma. I know not of any other game where even the players are unsure of the rules."

This is rather good, perhaps the best episode far, and not just for seeing the novelty of Jim Branning from EastEnders as an attendant in the gents. I'm warming more to the little character quirks of Suchet's Poirot- the seriousness with which he takes his food, and his subtle humour.

The story is quite clever too, even if I twigged straight away that the change in Henry Gascoigne's eating habits was explained away by an impostor. There are a pleasing number of twists and turns, and for once there's some nicely judged and amusing character moments. There's a nice little guest spot from Hilary Mason as a stern housekeeper, and nice nods to Japp's embrace of deductive science- no Lestrade he- and the relaxed friendship between the two of them and Hastings.

The period continues to fascinate- the social attitudes, the cars, the clothes, the art, the architecture.

I may be getting into this series a little. May.

Poirot: The Adventure of Johnnie Waverley

 "See also under marriage?"

Well, after an improvement last episode... we have another disappointment. At this stage we're looking at one good episode from the first three. Not a good strike rate.

This isn't terrible; it's good telly. David Suchet is excellent, as is Philip Jackson as the nicely relatable and believable Chief Inspector Japp.Beyond that, however, we are struggling. The guest cast are ok in their functional roles, but Hugh Fraser really is appallingly silly as Captain Hastings.

And the plot, with its big reveal, doesn't work here. This may have worked better in print, but I for one worked out what was going on long before it was revealed, and that isn't usual for me. Yes, the clues were fair and it all worked like clockwork, but it was all a little transparent; so much for Agatha Christie's unique selling point.

Sigh. I'llcarry on until at least the end of the season...

Poirot: Murder in the Mews

 "Well, I should think it's a jolly good night for a murder."

Ok, that was better.

No snobbishly depicted working class characters here to remind me of what rubs me up the wrong way about Agatha Christie, and Poirot comes across as a more interesting and nuanced character.The Thirtes period detail is on point, and fascinating; an age where interior decor seems so much more contemporary that just a couple of decades earlier.

Yet none of that is the point- our second episode finally gives us one of Christie's signature clever twists,and it is this that gives the episode its glory. We have our first proper summing up by Poirot at the end, and all the clues are presented fairly to us. Interestingly, we see Inspector Japp's methods here. He's no Lrestrade r Gregson, but a professional with an eye for detail; he simply lacks Poirot's intuitive leaps.

I'm relieved to have enjoyed that. Perhaps I shall enjoy this series after all.

Poirot: The Adventure of the Clapham Cook

 "Ah, the stewed peaches! Quite!"

I've done the Granada Sherlock Holmes; why not make a leisurely start to Thames' Poirots? Incidentally, the Thames indent at the start gave me a nice nostalgic rush. ITV was a proper channel before the franchises were ruined in '91...

I've gone on record as saying I'm not an enormous fan of Agatha Christie. Her plots are as clever as their reputation, but she's a snob, and her prose and characterisation are not great. She is, in short, no Margery Allingham. However, I confess that my reasing of her novels, while extensive, was (ahem) a quarter of a century ago. I ought to revist one at some point.

However, I have to say that this episode bears out my prejudices somewhat. It's a well-made bit of telly, but the story upon which it is based is full of one-dimensional domestic servants and generally superficial characters. I suspect part of the reason this annoys me more than the Sherlock Holmes stuff is simply that, unlike the late Victorian setting of the other programme, this is set quite clearly in the 1930s, and the cars, clothing and general "look" are far less alien and more modern-looking, at least if one happens (just about) to remember a pre-digital world. There are no Hansom Cabs here. Also, the murder mystery is fine, but nothing special.

However, David Suchet is very good, and the woodenness of Hugh Fraser as Hastings probably owes as much to the character as the actor. I'll persevere, at least for a season.

Doctor Who: Knock Knock

"Landline??? What is this- Scotland?"

So that's four good episodes in a row for this quietly impressive season; we get a solid bit of teatime horror from Mike Bartlett, a writer new to Who but not to telly, more top chemistry from Bill and a bizarrely Tom-like Doctor, Hercule Poirot being splendidly sinister, and a satisfying and emotional conclusion. It's a story-of-the-week, yes, but that's what Doctor Who should be.

As with Clara, Bill maintains her life when not travelling in the TARDIS- a bit of a Moffat-era trope- and we're introduced to her uni housemates; it's interesting to ponder whether we'll be seeing any of them. It's too soon to get to know any of them yet, though, even if one of them is supposed to be Harry Sullivan's grandson. We know, of course, that this spacious luxury house offered as a student house at a knock-down price is going to come with a catch, but the fun is in the finding out, and fun it is. We get a kind of slasher narrative with the big alien woodlice (Are they alien or not? For the second episode in a row it's left deliberately ambiguous whether or not the monster is in fact just an undiscovered terrestrial beast. Is this an arc thing?) picking off flatmates one by one, but the fact they are all restored keeps things nicely kid-friendly. And the resolution is genuinely excellent. The episode as a whole is a subtle masterclass in how to write and structure an episode of television.

I like the obvious throwback to Susan early on, with Bill pretending the Doctor is her "grandfather", and her embarrassment at his hanging around in her fourth-wall breaking way ("Basically this is the bit of my life that you're not in"), and I love Bill's characteristic skewering of Time Lord pomposity as soon as she hears them mentioned. It's a good opportunity to seed the idea of regeneration early in the season though.

The end contains a half-revelation: the Vault appears to contain a person, or at any rate something both able to play Beethoven on the piano and with an interest in gory stories. I think I may have an idea of who it might be...

Richard II (Rupert Goold, 2012)

"For God's sake, let us sit upon the ground / And tell sad stories of the deaths of kings."

This is the first of four plays to be screened by the BBC under the title of "The Hollow Crown". Coming next will be Henry IV Parts 1 and 2, followed by Henry V, all of them, like this play, filmed as full dramas, with elaborate costumes, sumptuous location filming and the full visual feast of modern, high budget, television drama. And that isn't something that has been done since the 1970s, a very different age of television. This is not one of those occasional BBC 4 dramas, based on current theatre runs, which still have one foot in the theatre, with only limited use of the moving camera. This is the full medium of television being applied to Shakespeare. Modern methods of visual storytelling, unheard of the 1590s, are fully utilised. Realism is the rule; the locations and settings straightforwardly evoke the real world of the late fourteenth century. This is television, not theatre.

And that's very interesting, because there's a constant tension between the theatrical medium of Shakespeare's playscript and the medium of television to which that script is being applied here. Modern television drama, with its fast pace and fast cutting, adheres to a philosophy of "show, don't tell". This fits awkwardly with those scenes, so frequent in Shakespeare, where characters describe battles, gruesome happenings and other things which happen off-stage. This was a necessary device for the Elizabethan stage, of course, where it was best to avoid having to depict such things. But it sits awkwardly with the medium of television, where beheadings by the cliffside and location filming at real beaches, woods and castles are all possible. There are many scenes in which speeches are juxtaposed with a visual depiction of what is being described. On the one hand, all of this is brilliant. On the other hand, it is often made awkwardly obvious that Shakespeare was writing for a very different medium.

That isn't always the case, of course. The television medium can often serve instead to emphasise meaning; Richard's last minute decision to cancel the trial by combat between Mowbray and Bolingbroke is made all the more effective by the visual depiction of the sheer expense of organising the event. Nevertheless, there's a tension between the two mediums.

Ben Whishaw is superb as a fey and effete Richard, famously based on Michael Jackson and a little reminiscent of John Hurt's Caligula from I, Clavdivs.  It's a stand-out performance, showing us a Richard who seems to care little for affairs of state, and robs his nobles for his wars as but a casual afterthought. The pet monkey pretty much symbolises his fickle, pleasure-loving nature. This is a man who ill befits the rather warlike nature of mediaeval kingship. He's a camp king in a very butch world. I recall at University I studied this play in conjunction with Marlowe's Edward II. The parallels are strong in any case, but such a very camp Richard makes them all the more so. This is the first time I've seen Ben Whishaw (I've yet to see The Hour), but he's truly a revelation here. I don't doubt that his Hamlet would probably have been superb.

The rest of the cast is hugely impressive, too, from Rory Kinnear's troubled, more than usually conscientious yet determined Bolingbroke to Patrick Stewart's outstanding John of Gaunt. The "This Sceptred Isle" speech is delivered slowly, with deliciously bitter irony, in one of the standout moments of the production. Yet the highlight is undoubtedly Whishaw's self-pity, as power slips gradually away from Richard. David Morrissey's merciless Northumberland and Tom Goodman-Hill's anxious Sir Stephen Scrope are also worth singling out for praise. The play's awesomely rich themes of the nature of kingship, whether any subject has the right to depose a king anointed by God, and how Richard, in denying Bolingbroke his rights of succession, thereby undermines his own, are brought out anew by the performances. These themes may seem as if they belong to another age, but they don't really. They point forward, of course, to the follies and the death of Charles I. And we see the same power relationships everywhere, whether within the ranks of the Mafia, in the boardroom, or in the dynamics of teenage gangs. Because that's what mediaeval aristocrats and kings always were: gangsters.

This is only the beginning, of course. Henry ends the play in deep penitence, filled with a mixture of regret and paranoia. He's dismayed to hear of Richard's death. This original sin will lead to profound and bloody consequences…