Agatha Christie's 1939 story idea captures the imagination. Ten strangers who each, in his or her own way, have gotten away with murder gather by invitation at an isolated mansion. Then their unknown host U.N. Owen systematically and mockingly murders them one by one. The idea was adapted into a film in 1945, 1965, 1974, and 1989. Each adaptation is worth seeing as an attempt to bring the idea to life. Unfortunately, neither Christie nor the filmmakers succeed in turning this compelling but at the same time confining plot concept into a truly fulfilling story.
The book's premise is clever and fascinating. Careful attention is paid to plot detail. Compared to the films, the book's assortment of past crimes and depictions of the characters' attitudes toward them are more varied, subtle, and interesting. The book gives the highly contrived events a certain plausibility. It is the least sentimental about the characters, treating them vaguely and suspiciously. This helps, even if it does not entirely succeed, in making them convincing as people who have killed in the past and could do so again. The book maintains more of a sense of fear, dread, menace, suspense, and purpose than the film versions. It explains at some length why and how Owen carried out the scheme.
However, once the imaginative premise is established, the story becomes thin and formulaic. There is little plot or character development. The storytelling seems flat, frigid, and, at times, slow-paced. There is no lead character to care about. The characters and their past crimes are sketched in summary fashion. Those crimes vary widely in originality, depth, and genuineness. The best are Claythorne's, the general's, Brent's, and Rogers'. The past crimes of Blore, the doctor, the judge, and Lombard are trite, unexplored, and ineffective. There are only two real plot twists. The second creates a major logical problem, which the book acknowledges and tries to overcome by weakly suggesting that the ploy would trick or "rattle" the murderer. The guests' murders are designed to follow the nursery rhyme and little more. Some cosmetic frills aside, the killings show, in themselves, no special cunning, skill, strategic advantage, or plausibility. Owen strikes crudely without detection too effortlessly.
Worst of all, the book (and each film) has nothing serious to say about the powerful themes of survival, justice, and criminality that are at the heart of the story. The story is inherently an observation of human nature in a desperate situation. How do the characters behave? How do they try to reason? How do they try to survive? Also by its very nature -- as the book's last pages acknowledge -- this is a morality play. How is each character a "criminal"? How is each "beyond the law"? Does each get "justice"? Is justice the point, or simply a "lust" to torture and kill? Is the story about breaking the law or enforcing it, about mistakes or abuses in pursuing justice? None of this is meaningfully explored.
Overall, the films are worse in some respects and better in some respects than the book. The 1945 version develops the plot better in some ways. While as tightly written as the book, it is richer in deductive theories, in taking stock at each stage of the story, and in survival techniques. The dialogue seems sharper than in the book and provides some memorable lines. This adaptation pioneers the technique (repeated in 1965 and 1974 and omitted only from the 1989 version, to its detriment) of playing the Ten Little Indians nursery rhyme on the piano. This brings it to life and sets the stage for what is to come. The cast is mostly outstanding. Many characters -- Lombard, Claythorne, doctor, judge, Blore, Brent -- seem as smart, strong, or distinctive as in the book, or more so. They are more entertaining. Generally, the films do a better job of showing characters interact. Except in 1989, the films make more of an effort than the book to explain the relationship that develops between two characters.
However, the 1945 version handles the past crimes even less effectively than the book. The movie presents the general and his past crime in an obscure, lifeless way; even the weak 1989 adaptation does better. The 1945 version makes a ludicrous change to the judge's past crime. It waters down Brent's. In changing the story to allow characters to survive, it distorts their identities and/or past crimes in fundamental ways. In the process, it replaces the book's most complex, interesting past crime with one that is bland, superficial, and false. This confuses the meaning of the host's actions, although it does suggest, but not develop, a new theme of false accusation not present in the book.
Generally, the film's attempts to make the characters entertaining (a re-named Marston, Rogers, doctor, judge, Blore) come at the expense of their plausibility as villains and of the story's seriousness. Characters confess their secrets and treat the horror unfolding around them as if it were a parlor game. Mischa Auer's farcical, clownish performance is a disaster. The character was poorly drawn to begin with, and the 1945 film does a particularly poor job of presenting his past crime. This, and the changed ending, are only the most extreme examples of a general problem with taking such a lighthearted approach to a fundamentally serious story.
Worst of all, the climactic scene, which reveals Owen's identity, means, and motives, is short, sedate, droll, unsatisfying, and leaves a lot unexplained. In 1945, Owen has a weary, rational, amiable armchair chat with the final victim precisely when the character should come alive as someone triumphantly and credibly capable of inflicting such horror. It is left to the otherwise flawed 1974 version to capture more of the tone and intensity of the book and to the generally inept 1989 film to provide an ending that is dramatic, reflects that a deadly serious killer has been at work, conveys a sense of Owen's menace and lunacy, and most fully explains Owen's behavior.
The book's premise is clever and fascinating. Careful attention is paid to plot detail. Compared to the films, the book's assortment of past crimes and depictions of the characters' attitudes toward them are more varied, subtle, and interesting. The book gives the highly contrived events a certain plausibility. It is the least sentimental about the characters, treating them vaguely and suspiciously. This helps, even if it does not entirely succeed, in making them convincing as people who have killed in the past and could do so again. The book maintains more of a sense of fear, dread, menace, suspense, and purpose than the film versions. It explains at some length why and how Owen carried out the scheme.
However, once the imaginative premise is established, the story becomes thin and formulaic. There is little plot or character development. The storytelling seems flat, frigid, and, at times, slow-paced. There is no lead character to care about. The characters and their past crimes are sketched in summary fashion. Those crimes vary widely in originality, depth, and genuineness. The best are Claythorne's, the general's, Brent's, and Rogers'. The past crimes of Blore, the doctor, the judge, and Lombard are trite, unexplored, and ineffective. There are only two real plot twists. The second creates a major logical problem, which the book acknowledges and tries to overcome by weakly suggesting that the ploy would trick or "rattle" the murderer. The guests' murders are designed to follow the nursery rhyme and little more. Some cosmetic frills aside, the killings show, in themselves, no special cunning, skill, strategic advantage, or plausibility. Owen strikes crudely without detection too effortlessly.
Worst of all, the book (and each film) has nothing serious to say about the powerful themes of survival, justice, and criminality that are at the heart of the story. The story is inherently an observation of human nature in a desperate situation. How do the characters behave? How do they try to reason? How do they try to survive? Also by its very nature -- as the book's last pages acknowledge -- this is a morality play. How is each character a "criminal"? How is each "beyond the law"? Does each get "justice"? Is justice the point, or simply a "lust" to torture and kill? Is the story about breaking the law or enforcing it, about mistakes or abuses in pursuing justice? None of this is meaningfully explored.
Overall, the films are worse in some respects and better in some respects than the book. The 1945 version develops the plot better in some ways. While as tightly written as the book, it is richer in deductive theories, in taking stock at each stage of the story, and in survival techniques. The dialogue seems sharper than in the book and provides some memorable lines. This adaptation pioneers the technique (repeated in 1965 and 1974 and omitted only from the 1989 version, to its detriment) of playing the Ten Little Indians nursery rhyme on the piano. This brings it to life and sets the stage for what is to come. The cast is mostly outstanding. Many characters -- Lombard, Claythorne, doctor, judge, Blore, Brent -- seem as smart, strong, or distinctive as in the book, or more so. They are more entertaining. Generally, the films do a better job of showing characters interact. Except in 1989, the films make more of an effort than the book to explain the relationship that develops between two characters.
However, the 1945 version handles the past crimes even less effectively than the book. The movie presents the general and his past crime in an obscure, lifeless way; even the weak 1989 adaptation does better. The 1945 version makes a ludicrous change to the judge's past crime. It waters down Brent's. In changing the story to allow characters to survive, it distorts their identities and/or past crimes in fundamental ways. In the process, it replaces the book's most complex, interesting past crime with one that is bland, superficial, and false. This confuses the meaning of the host's actions, although it does suggest, but not develop, a new theme of false accusation not present in the book.
Generally, the film's attempts to make the characters entertaining (a re-named Marston, Rogers, doctor, judge, Blore) come at the expense of their plausibility as villains and of the story's seriousness. Characters confess their secrets and treat the horror unfolding around them as if it were a parlor game. Mischa Auer's farcical, clownish performance is a disaster. The character was poorly drawn to begin with, and the 1945 film does a particularly poor job of presenting his past crime. This, and the changed ending, are only the most extreme examples of a general problem with taking such a lighthearted approach to a fundamentally serious story.
Worst of all, the climactic scene, which reveals Owen's identity, means, and motives, is short, sedate, droll, unsatisfying, and leaves a lot unexplained. In 1945, Owen has a weary, rational, amiable armchair chat with the final victim precisely when the character should come alive as someone triumphantly and credibly capable of inflicting such horror. It is left to the otherwise flawed 1974 version to capture more of the tone and intensity of the book and to the generally inept 1989 film to provide an ending that is dramatic, reflects that a deadly serious killer has been at work, conveys a sense of Owen's menace and lunacy, and most fully explains Owen's behavior.