SUMMARY: Running Time: 1 Hr., 29 Min. (Black & White)
Directed by George Pollock, this retitled 1965 remake (of 1945’s And Then There Were None) shifts Agatha Christie’s secluded Indian Island to a wintry mountain chalet, presumably in the Austrian Alps. As the prior film did, some character names, nationalities, and/or their crimes are altered in a loose adaptation of Agatha Christie’s stage play of her own classic novel.
For instance, secretary Vera Claythorne is now ‘Ann Clyde,’ while condescending middle-aged British spinster Emily Brent is replaced by a glamorous German movie star. Obnoxiously stupid British playboy Anthony Marston (in the 1945 film, he is a boozy, free-loading Russian expatriate) is now Fabian’s obnoxious American crooner ‘Mike Raven.’ Likewise, the names of the judge and the servant couple have been modified to better suit the actors.
Transported by train, sleigh ride, and then gondola, eight strangers attend a weekend house party—isolating them at least fifteen miles from the nearest village. Left to entertain themselves, the guests and the married servant couple are mortified by accusations of ghastly crimes from the ominously recorded voice of their absent host, ‘U.N. Owen.’
Adhering to revised lyrics of the “Ten Little Indians” nursery rhyme (a copy of which appears in each guest’s room), the ten captives are subsequently murdered, one by one. Alliances will be made, but will anyone evade a predator’s vengeful wrath?
Hugh Lombard: Hugh O’Brian
Ann Clyde: Shirley Eaton
William Henry Blore: Stanley Holloway
Dr. Edward Armstrong: Dennis Price
Ilona Bergen: Daliah Lavi
Judge Arthur Cannon: Wilfrid Hyde-White
Herr Grohmann: Mario Adorf
General John Mandrake: Leo Genn
Frau Grohmann: Marianne Hoppe
Narrator: Bill Mitchell
U.N. Owen’s Voice: Christopher Lee (uncredited)
Note: One of the film’s producers, Harry Alan Towers, remade this same movie twice more — once in 1974 (reverting to the British title of “And Then Were There None”), with an ‘all-star’ European cast in an Iranian desert locale. The last Towers remake is a cut-rate 1989 rehash set amidst a 1930’s South African safari. The 1989 title is switched back to “Agatha Christie’s Ten Little Indians.” Of interest is how these increasingly muddled remakes insist on mixing-and-matching Christie’s source material, the 1945 film, and this 1965 film’s own plot variations and name changes.
REVIEW:
Viewing this remake, either in comparison to its classy 1945 predecessor, or strictly on its own merits, the result is still the same. Unlike And Then There Were None’s droll black comedy charm, 1965’s incarnation blandly rolls through its motions geared for a different generation that is more attuned to Sean Connery’s James Bond films.
Replacing the original film’s witty banter, sensuality (i.e. implied sex) and gritty violence (i.e. a destroyed cable car; a lengthy fistfight) are weakly substituted in, if only for sensationalism’s sake. Further, this cast’s wooden chemistry doesn’t help – for instance, Blore, the general, the judge, and the doctor blend far too much together as the older British guests. As Dr. Armstrong, Dennis Price, in particular, is guilty of an apathetic, reading-off-the-script performance.
Stanley Holloway and Wilfrid Hyde-White gradually assert themselves as Blore and the judge, as their work becomes the film’s best asset. The same doesn’t apply to romantic co-leads Hugh O’Brian and Shirley Eaton. While Goldfinger’s Eaton has a likable screen presence, her one-dimensional ‘Ann Clyde’ is merely a blonde damsel-in-distress. O’Brian’s macho engineer shares hardly any resemblance with Christie’s scoundrel, Phillip Lombard, short of the same last name.
Another stale re-imagining is Fabian’s mercifully brief role. Overplaying the smug ‘Mike Raven,’ Fabian appears out of his acting league. Case in point: he delivers one the most amateurish-looking death scenes in movie history. Dalilah Lavi’s effort is marginally better, but her conceited ‘Ilona Bergen’ is an unnecessary (and far younger) substitute for the morally shrewish Emily Brent.
As the ill-tempered servant couple, Marianne Hoppe and Mario Adorf are the most compelling, largely because they are the only ones conveying a believable sense of panic. Portraying the volatile ‘Grohmann,’ Adorf at least brings a new variant to Christie’s storyline.
Note: Curiously, despite playing the butler, Adorf resembles the novel’s physical description of Blore. Had Adorf switched roles with the affable Holloway (and instead making it a Lombard/Blore fistfight), that might have inspired a welcome boost to the script.
The unremarkable changes re: the killer’s methods can be shrugged off … that is, with a notable exception. One death pits the syringe-packing killer slowly closing in on another hapless victim – who doesn’t bother screaming or even make a token effort of resistance (supposedly, this wide-awake character is just too terrified). No matter how the director rationalized it, this sequence is a ludicrous Hollywood ‘homicide.’ Another element that sabotages suspense is composer-conductor Malcolm Lockyer’s inability to shift his misguided jazzy score into something appropriately menacing.
A final straw is the goofy ‘whodunnit?’ interactive time-out at the climax where an unseen narrator implores viewers to guess the culprit. Let’s dismiss this ridiculous intrusion as a best-forgotten 1960’s Hollywood gimmick. Despite its surplus of weaknesses, this take on Ten Little Indians still isn’t half-bad by comparison.
Think of this way: between Towers’ three remakes (1965, 1974, and 1989), sliding into mediocrity becomes inevitable. It’s really the fallacy of excessive recycling. By that reckoning, 1965’s Ten Little Indians ranking second-best to the original film is a back-handed compliment.
BRIAN’S ODD MOON RATING: 6 Stars
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