The Times Literary Supplement asked sternly, ‘What has become of the blitheness, the invigorating good spirits with which the game of detection is played in so many of her stories?’
To put it another way, it was all a bit dark. The earlier ITV adaptation with Geraldine McEwan as Miss Marple (who was not in the book) – and casting Julian Rhind-Tutt as a splendidly vague botanist – attempted to put some ‘good spirits’ back in.
That was not the author’s intention though and this adaptation, penned by Sarah Phelps is surely truer to what the late, great crime writer wanted. Jack Argyll (Anthony Boyle), the ne’er-do-well adopted son of philanthropist Rachel Argyll, is sentenced to hang for her murder. He dies in jail, protesting his innocence, his alibi – a lift from a stranger – remaining unproven.
While it questions justice, the story’s bigger task is to question innocence.
Among Rachel Argyll’s large brood of adopted, now grown-up children, there is no one without a secret, no one without a grudge against their steely, controlling saviour. Even her husband Leo (Bill Nighy), who married his secretary so soon after Rachel’s sudden demise, has a giant question mark hanging over him.
On first impressions, shadier still is Arthur Calgary (Luke Treadaway), the scientist who blows into the grand country estate with big news. Having spent the past two years in the Arctic Circle, he only reads about the murder on his return and realises he has the vital proof that could free Jack.
What he does not seem to realise is that Jack has died and if he was in his car while Rachel (Anna Chancellor) was being murdered, another member of the household must be guilty.
Then again, why is Calgary reading old newspapers? Why does he not also read of Jack’s death?
Why does he show up with a bleeding hand that he blames on thorns? When he is told to go, why doesn’t he?
Even if you know the story, you still find yourself drawn in by Phelps’ adaptation. It is by no means an ordeal watching it but nor is it the innocent country-house puzzle Poirot or Marple might have faced.
When the third season of THE DURRELLS (Sunday, ITV) began a few weeks back, this critic said it was firmly in sitcom territory.
Now, I am not so sure. It is more accurate to say that, week by week, you never quite know what you’re going to get.
I was relieved they did not do any gags with missing bodies and mixed-up coffins as Louisa Durrell (Keeley Hawes) and son Larry (Josh O’Connor) escorted the late Aunt Hermione back to Blighty – but the lever was set to High Farce nonetheless.
Novelist Larry and his mum bunked up in a house of bohemian arty friends, including a naked Arthur Miller.
Enter stage left the Bournemouth cousins, improbably convinced Louisa had pinched Aunt Hermione’s jewels.
Back on Corfu, though, it was more like sun-drenched soap opera, with Spiro (Alexis Georgoulis) slowly acknowledging his feelings for Louisa and gun-mad Lesley (Callum Woodhouse) facing up to fatherhood.
An awkward mix or a unique combination? As long the sea stays blue and the sun keeps shining, I am not sure I mind.
