Murder on the Orient Express (2001)

Normally, I am not the kind of critic who tears some film to pieces only because it tries to modernize a material already known. But in this case, I really don't know where to start with my complaints.

What good is there in modernizing a crime novel by Agatha Christie whose main character is liked by many mainly because of his slightly old-fashioned style? In this film, Poirot uses the internet to support his grey cells; the characters he interrogates are software tycoons and personal trainers; and, worst of all, he is shown terribly in love with a sexy Russian woman (who, moreover, is given the name of the original old lady on the train, who is here unnecessarily replaced by the widow of a South American dictator!). This is not Hercule Poirot, this is not Agatha Christie, and therefore, the whole movie itself doesn't make any sense. Sidney Lumet's brilliant 1974 film version starring Albert Finney, was perfectly all right.

Although they wanted to put as many fashionable modernisms into the story as possible, the filmmakers tried to retain as many elements of the original structure as possible – and suffered an embarrassing failure. A lot of logical problems arise out of this frantic `adaptation': In the year 2001, why does a business man whose life is under threat, awkwardly travel by train rather than by plane? Why can't, in a period of cell phones and internet (the availability of which is quite frequently demonstrated), police be at the scene of the crime in less than an hour? And watch out for the ridiculous pile of stones that is supposed to prevent the Orient Express from proceeding for more than a whole day!

The list of idiotic features is long. The essence of it is: Friends of Poirot, do not watch this TV movie! It is the most awful literary adaptation one can imagine. By the way, it is the first movie ever I have ranked 1 out of possible 10 points.