Ten Little Indians

For the most part this film is populated by some wonderful character actors.

Agatha Christie's original storyline is beyond reproach.

With building blocks like that to work with it's a wonder that director Alan Birkinshaw wasn't able to deliver something a little closer to the quality that thousands of Agatha Christie fans have come to expect. "Ten Little Indians" failed at nearly every level, from a poor script, to inept blocking and unimaginative camera angles, to cheap dime store sets and props, to trying to sensationalize Christie's wit by replacing it with crude graphic violence.

There have been other film adaptations of "Ten Little Indians" all of them head and shoulders above this one. On three prior occasions I've tried to sit through this film but without success. Today, just after having seen "And Then There Were None" (an excellent adaptation of "Ten Little Indians") Birkinshaw's version came on and I determined to sit through it all the way. My reward for that ordeal was to have the right to pan it publicly.

The 1989 film has some good points, but, unlike the 1945, 1965, and 1974 versions, it grows less enjoyable with each viewing. Everything about it seems low-budget. The cast and script are undistinguished. The set is drab. The clothes look like cheap costumes. The plot takes too long to get going. Once it does, it unfolds well at first, with the early deaths resembling accidents. And, bettering all prior versions, the ending is dramatic, conveys murderous host Owen's menace and lunacy, and most fully explains Owen's behavior.

Overall, however, the storytelling is inept. Too much is out of Owen's control, such as natives cutting down the basket that carries people down from the cliff and Lombard repairing the radio. After the third death, someone abruptly announces without any discussion or reasoning that "Mr. Owen is one of us." Unlike the other versions, the characters engage in no deductive reasoning or survival techniques.

The story drags. Only making matters worse are cheap, forced attempts to gin up suspense. These include the camera suddenly coming up short on characters; a character acting "awfully nervous" for no reason; and pratfall-type death scenes, with a body tumbling down from on top of a tent, another toppling out of a closet, mouth gaping, and another slumping forward with an ax in the back of the head.

Touches that made earlier versions entertaining are botched in 1989. The other films recite the full nursery rhyme up front, creatively playing it on the piano. But this script dribbles the rhyme out line by line upon each murder. Instead, it chooses to play "Mad Dogs and Englishmen," an annoying, madcap, out-of-place Noel Coward song with no apparent connection to Christie or appropriateness to this adaptation, which has so few British characters. This film makes an embarrassing hash of the scene in which the phonograph record is played accusing each person of a past crime. Repeatedly, the person whose name is unexpectedly about to be called next happens to pipe up with some exaggerated utterance, on cue, right before being named.

The 1989 film fails to discuss some past crimes at all (doctor, judge, Lombard). It distorts others (Blore, Marshall), to no good effect. In place of Christie's subtle crime of withheld care, Rodgers merely refers to an old lady in his care who "died of a massive stroke." In the film, Marston refers to a "couple running out in front of his car," without any mention of them being newlyweds or of him driving fast and drunk. The film dumbs down the book's most complex, interesting past crime to a bland reference to a child in Vera's care drowning.

All the good lines from other versions are gone in 1989, like "a feeling that some sort of macabre joke is being played on us," "game of the mind." In 1989, other than Owen's line "My own private big game hunt," there are just limp banalities ("The devil is among us"; Our duty, that's all any of us can hope to do"; "I never bet"; "When we get out of here, I'm going to teach you to shoot straight") or lines memorable only for making you cringe (judge, "I left immediately...to relieve myself"; Lombard to Vera, "Feel it, smell it," about gun).

In 1989, the casting and acting, strong points in past adaptations, go badly awry. An exception is Herbert Lom's delightfully dotty performance as the general, better than 1945, including a touching scene with Vera explaining his past. But Donald Pleasance is adrift, mostly acting detached and insipid, then suddenly erupting in a panic outburst or frantically pawing in a snuff box. Not until his final moments on screen does he play his character coherently and effectively.

Sarah Maur Thorp brings youthful energy and emotion to the role of Vera. But her acting becomes erratic and mechanical as she turns increasingly into a mere screaming hysteric, unlike June Duprez, who keeps a strong, intelligent presence during the 1945 film.

Brenda Vaccaro's uninspired, formless performance as actress Marshall consists of sighing, huffing, lounging around, and boozing. It is unbelievable that this plump, pampered lush would go on an African safari. Her only explanation? "I was invited. I received a letter in the post."

Blore's character has always been well-defined and well-acted before. But here, played by a bit-part TV character actor, he is just roly-poly, rough, loud, and sulky. His mumbled confession of his past crime is confused and miserably ineffective.

Marston, who rushes through a 2-second singing bit, the worst musical performance of any version, is a caricature of a fop. The film fails to place him in the context of a dissolute career or even mention his penchant for liquor and fast sportscars.

Paul Smith as Rodgers tries to let his hulking body do his acting for him, as Moira Lister, the wife, does with her shrill voice. He lumbers around scowling and bellowing laconically. She overacts as a loud, whiny motormouth. Their characters and relationship are not remotely believable.

Apparently, Frank Stallone's only qualification for Lombard was being a "hunk." His weak, vacant expressions and flat delivery are evident from his very first line. His acting is exemplified by the scene in which he shoves a pistol in Vera's face and cocks the trigger, oblivious that he has already started mouthing the line, "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to scare you." Stallone's constant, supposedly sly, cocky grins destroy any sense of suspense. His only explanation for being there: "Owen had already paid [a friend's] way out, so I came instead."

Worst of all, Yehuda Efroni ruins the important character of the doctor. His bizarre, introverted, bug-eyed portrayal lacks any air of authority, intellect, charm, or even social skills. Through a heavy accent, he either stammers or, like a snapping turtle, spits out snippets of inarticulate dialogue. At one point, he cackles, at another acts befuddled, for no reason at all. Unlike any prior version, the doctor has no rapport with any other character.

Ten people are invited on a safari in Africa. One by one they are killed off. Clearly one of them is the murderer. But which one?

Fairly weak adaptation of the Agatha Christie novel. Not at all intense, and the intrigue is very diluted. Pretty much a paint-by- numbers rendition. Bland, unimaginative direction.

Consequently, the actors appear to be sleep-walking for most of this. No spark at all. Dead giveaway that this isn't exactly going to be Citizen Kane - it stars Frank Stallone, Sylvester's even less talented brother.

Agatha Christie's Ten Little Indians has been set in some strange places. This version is no exception. Instead of being set in a Ski resort/castle, or a Hotel in the desert, this version has them on Safari in the middle of Africa! While this would not be my first choice of setting, it's actually pretty good. The acting is not the best, but it's still watchable. This is the first version Saw, basically because Herbert Lom was in it, and I was suprised when the murderer,(I can't say who)was revealed. This version, however, did something that the 1966 and 1974 versions didn't. they actually changed the dialog. Anyone who has seen the 3 previous versions (I have seen all four)will certainly remember the 2 englishmen on an island story . While I can't lie and say this is the best of the versions, it's still one you should see!

trivia: This is Herbert Lom's second appearance in a Ten Little Indians movie. He played Dr. Armstrong in the previous version!

there have been three (3) remakes of And Then There Were None, my question is WHY? the original version, except for the hockey hollywood type ending, was well nigh perfect. Agatha Christie wrote a fantastic mystery yarn of ten people brought to an isolated island, and eliminated, one by one, until "there were none". the book needed an epilog to explain the solution to was seemed a supernatural tale of punishment. i can understand why Ms Christy's tale had to be somewhat edited for the screen, as there were several overt racist comments and attitudes that had to be expunged. i likewise understand the hollywood need for a happy ending at all times, though i don't agree with that premise. the original And Then There Were None had a superb cast and original story. the only problem is the happy ending, which was a hollywood decree. this film did not need one remake, much less three. i can never understand why the powers that be continually insult the intelligence of their audience, but it seems to be an ongoing problem with them.