We are closer to MR James than Miss Marple. How ingenious, moreover, of Phelps to flesh out the supernatural aspects of Christie's 1961 novel and to nudge the story towards an older English gothic tradition. And with the bodies piling up at a steady clip you can't accuse it of not doing what it says on the tin. And while Sean Pertwee gives it the full gruff geezer as Detective Inspector Lejeune he's no Hercule Poirot (reimagined so grippingly as a priest with PTSD by John Malkovich in that same series). Rufus Sewell's philandering anti-hero Mark Easterbrook is a notch down from Phelps's 2018 take on Christie's ABC Murders and its loathsome Mr Cust. That's half the bingo card ticked, and we're only midway through the first of two episodes.īut it loses its footing at moments too. Suspicious deaths, a coven of witches (headed by a dead ringer for Kate Bush circa Cloudbusting) and a mummers walk straight out of the Wicker Man. Sarah Phelps' latest Agatha Christie adaptation (BBC One, Sunday, 9pm) has something for everyone.
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