My review of the previous episode: The Labours of Hercules
I promised myself that I wouldn’t start this review with a personal anecdote.
I wouldn’t say that I’ve been watching Agatha Christie’s Poirot since I was around five or six, that Poirot and co. have been constant comfort food throughout my childhood. I wouldn’t say how very close David Suchet’s little Belgian was to me.
I promised myself that I wouldn’t start this review with a personal anecdote.
I wouldn’t say that I’ve been watching Agatha Christie’s Poirot since I was around five or six, that Poirot and co. have been constant comfort food throughout my childhood. I wouldn’t say how very close David Suchet’s little Belgian was to me.
So
now I haven’t said all that, I will say:
AGH IT’S OVER. MY CHILDHOOD HAS DIED.
QUOTHTHERAVENNEVERMOREAAGH.
Okay, that’s done.
Curtain
brings Poirot full circle, back to Styles, where he first met Arthur Hastings. The
old house (sadly not the same filming location) has been
converted into a nursing home, where an ailing Poirot lives. When he summons Captain Hastings, he tells him that (shocker) there’s a
murderer on the premises, but, in the grand tradition of detective and
Watson since time immemorial, refuses to inform his old companion of the
killer’s identity. Could it be an unusually posh Philip Glenister as Sir William
Boyd Carrington? Or is it Judith Hastings, daughter of our beloved Captain? Toby Luttrell or his nagging wife Daisy? What about (my favorite of the line-up), the unassuming Stephen Norton (Aidan McArdle)? Or Judith's mild-mannered boss and his glamorous wife?
