I read with abject sadness this BBC article last week. I know that Downton Abbey has been all the rage for small-screen Anglophiles of late, but I’ve especially loved Agatha Christie’s Poirot for years.
The series was an unabashed love letter to the period settings, with little bombast and constantly restrained dignity from all characters. Watching these subdued murder mysteries always felt, oddly enough, calming in their quiet culture.
David Suchet’s portrayal of the cool, mincing Belgian genius who loves exercising his “little gray cells” was masterful. Suchet truly loved the character, and it showed. Such acting is rare, and a treat to enjoy.
Over 25 years, Suchet has made several dozen Poirot episodes and films–now encompassing everything Christie ever wrote about the detective. I didn’t realize there were so many. I think I’ve only seen about fifteen. I’ll catch up on the rest before the final episodes air here in the States next year.
My favorite Poirot memory: a few years ago when they made Murder on the Orient Express. My eldest son and I watched it, including a charming documentary about it beforehand. We were both very impressed. It was a delightful evening.