The Pale Horse

Agatha Christie's "The Pale Horse" is not one of my favorite Christie books. There is no Poirot or Miss Marple to liven things up, and the witchcraft motif seems contrived.

The film of the same name is a 1997 British TV production, loosely based on Christie's novel. I wasn't expecting much from this film, and not much was what I got. The film's confusing plot meanders around, seemingly without direction. There are too few suspects. And the ending is a letdown, and potentially unclear for anyone not familiar with the book.

On the other hand, the acting is OK, though a bit hammy at times. And the film has good production design.

Overall, this film is not terribly bad. But it's not particularly good either. There are other Agatha Christie movies out there that are so much better. If these films were in competition with each other, most of them would leave "The Pale Horse" at the starting gate.

Taken from the 1961 novel of the same name, this Anglia TV rendition of The Pale Horse was filmed in Buckinghamshire, Hertfordshire, Oxon, and London. Notable differences from the novel are the absence of Ariadne Oliver and some of the other characters from the book.

The story concerns young sculptor Mark Easterbrook (Colin Buchanan) who discovers a priest dying from a head wound-the man gives Mark a list of names before he dies. The police don't exactly believe Mark's story, even to the point where they suspect him in the priest's death, but Mark determines to follow up the list-which leads to other murders before he finally solves it with the aid of Kate Mercer (Jayne Ashbourne), a friend of one of the victims.

The Pale Horse is nothing superlative, rather more like average, and the two young leads are somewhat bland. The good things about this production are the photography, and very fine performances from Sir Leslie Phillips and Michael Byrne-that alone makes it worth watching. Martin Kennedy is also quite good in the small part of Tate, a tough henchman. Jean Marsh plays one of the three witches who reside at the house known as The Pale Horse.

This is a 1997 version of "The Pale Horse," based on the 1961 novel of the same name by Agatha Christie.

Ariadne Oliver is in the book, but she's not in this production.

The story concerns a sculptor, Mark Easterbrook, who finds a priest dying in an alley. The priest has a list of names. When the police arrive, they take the list away from Easterbrook and accuse him of murder.

He and an art restorer, Kate Mercer, work to prove his innocence, using whatever Mark remembers of the list. He's shocked to learn that everyone on the list is dead, save one, and all from natural causes.

Mark and Kate are led to a house called "The Pale Horse," where three women who claim to be witches live. Can their spells actually kill people? What about the booking agent Mark meets? Can he think someone dead, or does he set it up? This could have been a more interesting story, but it isn't, due to the fact that it's somewhat confusing. Also, while some of the women's clothing appears to be from the '60s, nothing else seemed very '60s to me with Easterbrook walking around wearing a leather jacket. The era is amorphous.

The acting was okay. I enjoyed seeing Hermoine Norris in a different kind of role from the one she played on MI-5 and her character on Wire in the Blood. She was very good. Also, Michael Byrne and Leslie Phillips give outstanding performances. The rest of the acting was so-so, as were the production values.

After watching the Hercule Poirot series, it's hard to go back to anything less than the characterizations, production values, and costumes found in them.

After Sarah Phelps' butchering of the story, I was hoping this adaptation was better...

It isn't.

A lot is ommited from the book (as usual with any adaptation that isn't Agatha Christie's Poirot, which makes changes but always keep the core of the story intact), including the best character- Mrs. Oliver.

In this one, Mark witnesses the murder and puts himself in the frame, then (reluctantly) investigates to find the real killer.

Our first issue, beyond the budgetary constraints that makes the supposedly 60s setting feel token and badly done, is Mark himself. Our hero is pretty dim here, obstinate, and kind of a moron. Even though he's in the frame and a supposed artist (he doesn't seem to know anything about art), he refuses to believe anyone telling him that the other deaths are connected.

Next we have the cops, who are complete idiots on the level of a Monty Python sketch, complete with Andy Serkis with ridiculous hair and a chief inspector that constantly looks to camera with a devilish smile. I realise cops in reality are probably this inept sometimes, but I doubt they look to camera and grin about it.

Everything else just annoyed me. I think it is Mark's attitude throughout, a kind of cooler than thou attempt at James Dean that falls flat.

He looks so disinterested and dismissive, sulking his way through scenes as if his life doesn't hang in the balance.

And the rest of acting is more panto than murder mystery. Even Serkis is bad.

The women fare a lot better, with better acting from them. None of it saves the adaptation, though, which would have been a lot better if they'd stuck to the book more.

We rented this expecting to have a cozy evening at home. I came away very disappointed. Most Agatha Christie adaptations are very good, and I was not familiar with this particular story. The first 15 minutes promise an entertaining experience, but then it more or less runs off the tracks.

The writing is pretty poor and should have provided additional exposition. Watching this was like reading a novel and skipping the even numbered chapters. I had only a faint clue as what was going on and could not figure out why the characters were doing or why they were doing it, mostly the latter.

In the future, I will stick to the Hercule Poirot or Miss Marple stories. With them, you know what you are getting and won't be disappointed.