Category Archives: Screen

Take Another Look: Michael Apted’s ‘pleasantly endurable’ Agatha

The third in a series of retrospective pop culture reviews revisits the mystery movie that Christie fans love to hate-watch …


THERE’S AN EVOCATIVE scene in the big-screen adaptation of Kathleen Tynan’s novel Agatha when Vanessa Redgrave as Agatha Christie and Helen Morse as her new bestie Evelyn Crawley, languish in a steam room at Harrogate’s Royal Baths in 1926.

In this tranquil, white-tiled, female-only space, the conversation between two fictitious women (Agatha is at that point pretending to be Teresa Neele of Capetown, South Africa; Evelyn is an entirely made-up character) drifts from ageing to the changeability of men.

Evelyn confesses to being very choosy with her lovers, a concept that Teresa is slightly shocked about and attempts to counter with a rather limp argument for faithfulness.

“It hardly seems worth it,” Evelyn replies. “That’s why choosing’s important. We can’t just let things happen to us.”

Up to this point in the film, director Michael Apted (1941-2021) and story writer Kathleen Tynan (1937-1995) had played reasonably fair with the facts, exploring significant gaps between the dots about the infamous disappearance of Agatha Christie (1890-1976).

Her disintegrating marriage, her car crash in Surrey followed by a night train to Yorkshire’s spa town Harrogate, her adoption of a new persona: these are all known facts.

The rest of Agatha (1979) could only be described as a masterclass in how to get away with portrayals of real-life people, or a cautionary tale about what can go wrong when you try.

Unarguably, the time was right. The ‘Queen of Crime’ had died in early 1976 when her cult was at its peak. Her posthumously released autobiography made no mention of her disappearance, but Tynan’s book Agatha: The Agatha Christie Mystery (1978), with its pitch of “an imaginary solution to an authentic mystery”, captured the interest of American and British film producers.

CINEMA’S CHRISTIES: Timothy Dalton and Vanessa Redgrave.

Agatha’s exposition beautifully portrays a collapsing marriage in the home counties between the wars. Timothy Dalton drives the scenes as the well-mannered but hardline Archie, the jaded husband who ignites the hidden survival instinct in Redgrave’s crumbling Agatha.

But American Gumshoe Wally Stanton (Dustin Hoffman in full flight) sniffs out a story in the ruins of the marriage, and as the tension rises, Timothy West’s pragmatic police detective delivers the cynicism that underpins the massive manhunt for the crime writer when she goes missing.

By the midpoint, Historic Harrogate serves up all the flavour of the Roaring Twenties, a decade that had been recaptured so exquisitely and profitably on film throughout the Seventies.

Tynan’s vision for Agatha was bold, yet her book and the subsequent film have been largely forgotten, something only devoted Christie fans love to hate-watch.

Woman in Crisis

Film critic Vincent Canby of The New York Times made allowances for Agatha “given the few verifiable facts of the case”.

“The result is a handsome, rudder-less sort of movie that isn’t quite a mystery story, not quite a love story and certainly not a biography,” he wrote, concluding that the production felt “unfinished”, “aimless” and “pleasantly endurable”.

Pauline Kael of The New Yorker saw “the oddness of genius” in Redgrave’s portrayal, but believed the production team, “haven’t come up with enough for their sorrowful, swanlike lady to do.”

It wasn’t until 2020, in a broad-ranging article Re-writing the Past, Autobiography and Celebrity in Agatha by academic Sarah Street, that we got a thorough examination of what happened to Tynan’s story when it was committed to film.

Street concluded that Tynan’s adaptation of her own novel had a “sympathetic premise” towards Agatha Christie, but unearthed a movie production she described as “torturous”.

“Apart from exploiting intense public interest in Christie, the film involved conflict between other celebrities and professionals who in their different ways struggled to make sense of this puzzling event in Christie’s life,” Street wrote.

Given access to transatlantic film production archives, she was able to examine correspondence between key creatives, tussling over the narrative.

In a 1977 letter to Apted during hurried, late-stage rewrites, Tynan described the characters of Evelyn and Wally as catalysts for the personal growth of Agatha Christie, a “woman in crisis”.

In recent years, much has been written about the mental health struggles of Agatha Christie in the 1920s. But in the 1970s, Kathleen Tynan was one of the first writers to suggest the author’s flight to Harrogate played out a desire for reinvention.

Evelyn Crawley was the emotional guide Tynan gave her, through a reckoning that had been intended to play out in the hands of women.

The original casting for this glamorous, independent character also became apparent in the details unearthed by Street: Julie Christie, who pulled out of the film due to illness. Helen Morse deftly stepped in, but late screenplay rewrites supplanted Evelyn with Wally in the film’s second half. The gumshoe becomes the wayward crime writer’s love interest, something Tynan never intended, according to her archived correspondence.

The major consequence was the unravelling of the feminist thread in Agatha. There’s a trace of it in that steam room conversation, when Evelyn encourages Agatha about not letting things just happen to her. Like a moment of insight in a fever dream, it feels as close to the emotional truth as anything.

Hang onto it when you watch this problematic but gripping film, to make sense of what Agatha does next.

Agatha is streaming on Apple TV and Prime.

Take Another Look: Maggie Smith is ‘Almost Too Good’ in The Lonely Passion of Judith Hearne

The second in a series of retrospective pop culture reviews examines the late actor’s overlooked triumph as an Irish spinster caught up in a crisis of faith…


WHEN A COMMUNION wafer gives genteel young Judith Hearne (Emma Jane Lavin) the hiccoughs and other girls in the congregation start giggling, a painful demonstration of Catholic self control is delivered by a pious aunt played by the formidable Wendy Hiller.

It’s the opening scene of The Lonely Passion of Judith Hearne (1987), and young Judith’s stoic face fades to that of middle-aged Maggie Smith (1934-2024) as she’s delivered to the door of a devout 1950s Dublin boarding house. 

Now so down-at-heel that she ascends to her latest shoddy digs with the resignation of a martyr, the question of why nothing appears to have changed for Judith in the intervening decades is masterfully explored in the big-screen swan song of British director Jack Clayton (1921-1995) .

Yet despite Smith winning the BAFTA for Best Actress, the role of hapless part-time piano tutor Judith Hearne was commonly overlooked in her obituaries, basically because hardly anyone got a chance to see it.

After portraying a series of upright matrons in the 1980s (most successfully as Charlotte Bartlett in Merchant Ivory’s A Room With a View), Judith Hearne offered Smith another “prime” akin to the global attention she garnered as Jean Brodie.

Miss Hearne exhibits all Miss Brodie’s blind passion, but where the schoolteacher used bravado to stave off scandal in a conservative society, the piano teacher is shamed into silence; and this exquisite production from the Handmade Films’ stable was similarly humiliated at the box office.

There had been warning signs. The source material – Brian Moore’s 1955 debut novel – was banned in the Republic of Ireland as anti-religious, and notorious for its unsatisfactory ending. Director John Huston optioned the material in the 1960s but failed to mount a production, even with Katharine Hepburn onboard as Judith. During Clayton’s shoot, no Irish church would permit a location crew into their altar to recreate the protagonist’s crisis of faith.

PASSIONATE PAIR: Bob Hoskins and Maggie Smith

Yet this lapsed-Catholic director and his screenwriter Peter Nelson saw great potential in the story’s quite ordinary setting. We wince with Miss Hearne as she nervously pokes her way into the breakfast room, but we cringe when she’s instantly attracted to fellow boarder James Madden (Bob Hoskins, a dose of American vigour in austere postwar Dublin). 

Once Miss Hearne’s delusion takes hold – that Madden’s hints about a business partnership are a reciprocation of her romantic availability – we want to look away.

But we cannot, especially once deadly sins start to boil up. Madden’s sister, the landlady (played with deviously good manners by Marie Kean) and her corpulent dilettante son, Bernie (pitch-perfect Ian McNeice) conspire to ruin Judy’s dreams by exposing the penniless truth about James.

Achingly, he can’t help but see money in Miss Hearne’s heirloom jewels as she prays at mass; an occasion she construes as a first date ahead of a brand new life as a hotelier’s wife.

Augmented by Georges Delerue’s heartbreaking score and a supporting cast that includes Prunella Scales as Judith’s indifferent school friend, this powder keg burns inevitably towards the exposure of the heroine’s real passion, and the unforgivable expression of Madden’s lust.

All in the wrists

Caught up in a financial dispute between producer Handmade Films and distributor Cannon, Clayton’s passion project had a limited US release in late 1987 before being shelved. Despite awards attention for Smith and Hoskins in 1988, the film disappeared into the wallpaper, much like its heroine.

Reviews were polarised. Janet Maslin described Smith as “almost too good” in the role, because her subtlety only highlighted the production’s “obviousness”. Yet Pauline Kael called the film “a phenomenal piece” and recognised Smith’s pioneering task: “There has probably never been another movie in which a woman rejected the Church fathers’ ready-made answers.” 

Long known for the ‘wrist acting’ that she admitted in a 2018 documentary was appropriated from her longtime friend, actor Kenneth Williams, Smith puts her fine joints to expert use when charting Judith Hearne’s inescapable weakness – her alcoholism.

Like voyeurs, we get a glimpse of how far Judith is likely to fall when Smith has her impersonating Hedy Lamarr, all hips, elbows and chin as she poses sensually on her bed after returning from what she believes was her second date with Madden.

This is the comfortable comic schtick of Smith’s matrons, yet something else emerges once the booze flows and Judith’s religious conflict bursts like a shockwave.

Her wrists aimed upwards like a drowning woman, Miss Hearne appeals for help from a priest. But when it’s apparent that he’s as doubting as she is, Smith has Judith slam a suddenly powerful, un-bent forearm into the stone font as though daring the holy water to cleanse her lack of faith.

Unsatisfied, she aims both wrists at the tabernacle and attempts to claw her way into grace.

After taking her passion right up to her god, it’s arguable whether Miss Hearne ever reconciles her addiction within the patriarchy she so powerfully bucks. Wrists ultimately manacled by nothing more than dressing gown pockets in the convent asylum for her last ‘date’ with Madden, Maggie Smith appears to recognise Judith’s ultimate surrender as a feminist triumph of self forgiveness, just for today.

Witnessing her inhabit that discovery – when Moore, Nelson and Clayton all seemed to overlook it – Smith’s work here is much more that “almost too good”. It’s unmissable.

The Lonely Passion of Judith Hearne is streaming on Amazon.

Take Another Look: Bruce Beresford’s ‘grandly messy’ Paradise Road

First stop in a new series of retrospective pop culture reviews examines why Australia’s best female ensemble since Picnic at Hanging Rock disappeared almost without a trace…


IN THE OPENING scene of Bruce Beresford’s WWII epic Paradise Road (1997) the dignity of the Imperial Japanese Army is torn to shreds by privileged white plantation growers and their wives, chatting during a military ball at Singapore’s Raffles Hotel in February 1942. 

Adrienne Pargiter (Glenn Close) and Topsy Merritt (Julianna Margulies) throw in a few reminders about the effectiveness of the attack on Pearl Harbour, yet even as bombs start interrupting the dancing, Western denial on the imminent fall of Singapore remains dangerously intact.

It’s an apt metaphor for a film that tanked at the global box office after critics swooped, leaving stakeholders baffled about exactly where Paradise Road failed to deliver.

The ingredients for success were all in place. Beresford had a proven track record on war movies like Breaker Morant (1980) and award bait such as Driving Miss Daisy (1989). Producer Sue Milliken had global success with period piece Sirens (1994). 

ENSEMBLE EFFORT Frances McDormand (left) and Cate Blanchett

The Australian film industry’s strongest female ensemble since Picnic at Hanging Rock (1975) was headed up by multi Oscar-nominated Close and 1995’s best actress recipient for Fargo, Frances McDormand. Pauline Collins (Shirley Valentine), Margulies (ER), Jennifer Ehle (Pride and Prejudice), Elizabeth Spriggs (Sense and Sensibility) and a swag of established and emerging Australians (including Cate Blanchett in her feature debut) joined an international supporting cast working in four languages.

Production values were extremely high, particularly as a shipload of escaping women and children get scuttled by Japanese pilots and end up in a civilian internment camp in Sumatra. As they enter its barbed-wire gates, this band of socialites, plantation owners and nurses must cohabit with Dutch women, missionaries, nuns and Asians. Hard labour, starvation and brutal physical punishments await, as does the expectation to serve as “comfort women” for enemy officers.

After the hubris of Raffles, their dignity now lies in tatters.

But when Pargiter is overheard crooning a snippet of Elgar before lights out, British missionary Margaret Drummond (Collins, in a beautiful performance with her usual light touch) suggests a plan to raise morale with a vocal orchestra.

“It’s just humming,” complains the camp’s serial spoilsport and comic relief Mrs Tippler (Pamela Rabe), “anyone could do that.”

Which is the point. The pulsating, otherworldly voices make even the Japanese guards hold fire when ordered to break up the first performance of the fledgling ensemble, which requires no language to work its magic. 

Wasn’t dinkum

The real shame of the film’s failure to connect with a wide audience is that the Women’s Vocal Orchestra of Sumatra was real. Pargiter was based on Singapore-born chorale conductor Norah Chambers (1905-1989), and Drummond on British missionary and poet Margaret Dryburgh (1890-1945), both interns of the civilian camp at Palembang, Sumatra. Yet even Close wasn’t sure why Beresford chose to fictionalise these characters.  

Australian critics were lukewarm. There was a sense that the storyline, purported to be well-researched from intern diaries and interviews, just wasn’t dinkum, in part because of the atrocities it omitted.

International critics admired the “grandly messy” production but disliked the lack of narrative, pointing to the “predictable” aspects of the “sprawling” and “linear” story. 

CLOSE CONDUCTING Glenn Close (centre) as orchestra leader Adrien Pargiter

Yet revisiting it recently I finally discerned what’s at work in this deeply moving film. The key is in the conducting, not just Close’s determined and noble portrayal of orchestra leader Pargiter, but Beresford’s.

Unlike many of his contemporaries, he’s had a long career as a director of opera. Adapting the wealth of stories about real-life women caught up in war into a 120-minute screenplay required compressing facts into a grand lyrical narrative, in which the exotic setting feels operatic.

So war crimes are punctuated by hummed music and poetry, not big speeches; but when we get those, Close’s English accent is delivered almost as recitative. Emotional instrumental refrains run from Raffles right to the impenetrable jungle, where ever-increasing numbers of handmade crosses mark the lives cut cruelly short by war. Privileged women in reduced circumstances are like a chorus, with plenty of rueful pathos between the big arias, particularly in the hands of stalwarts Wendy Hughes and Penne Hackforth-Jones.

This is no Orange is the New Black (2013-2019), female-driven prisoner stories with 91 episodes to foreground the lives of every ensemble member; Paradise Road is high tragedy shaped by Beresford’s broad baton strokes.

In the release of death or liberation for the camp interns, he conducted a grace note that fell flat in the late 1990s, too close to real events to get away with anything but the complete truth. Watching it in an era that’s in need of all the grace we can get, the way this movie restores the dignity of sworn enemies with “just humming” is sublime.

Paradise Road is streaming on SBS On Demand, ABC iView, Apple TV and Amazon Prime.

Production stills by Jasin Boland.