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,

The Case-Book of Sherlock Holmes: The Disappearance of Lady Frances Carfax

 "I've failed".

Granada's Sherlock Holmes, after a couple of yars' absence, is back for the '90s, a new decade and a new title. It's interesting that we begin with an adaptation of a later short story, written in 1911, and one clearly set after the the turn of the century- Suffragettes are mentioned, and the Boer War has ended, so it can be no earlier than 1902. Holmes and Watson are middle-aged, and it is no longer obviouly trues that Jeremy Brett and Edward Hardwicke are really too old to play their characters, wh would both have been aroung fiftyish.

There's also a hint that Holmes' faculties may be declining with age; he solves the case- and prevents poor Lady Frances from being buried alive- soon enough to save her life but too late to prevent what appears to be severe PTSD. His sense of failure and guilt is very much played up by the direction and the excellent performance of a mildly frailer-looking Brett.

The filming in the Lake District is breathtaking, and the early scenes, with Watson on holiday writing to Holmes. Lady Frances' delightful eccentricity in these scenes is in horrible contrast to the tragedy that is to befall her- and Michael Jayston's superb performance as her aristocratic brother reminds us that, privileged though she may be, Lady Frances exists at the whims of men who control the purse strings.

The air of religiosity around the earlier scenes feels most odd in a Sherlock Holmes story but it is, of course, a clever piece of misdirection: it is the saintly missionary who turns out to be not only a confidence trickster but a murderer.

This is a strong opening, but possibly one that may herald an older and less confident Holmes?