Once again, ITV force upon us another hash and unwanted remake of a perfectly good predecessor. This episode may possibly be worse than the previous, The Body in the Library (equally dismal). The plot revolves around the murder of a hated local Judge, one Colonel Protheroe, in the vicarage study of St Mary Mead.
Whilst I don't like to keep repeating the comments of others, this is not a good interpretation of the book. Firstly, there is the tragic miscasting of Geraldine McEwan as Miss Marple. She performs the character as though she has never read a description of the woman, and fails in so many places where Hickson succeeded. Firstly, she has none of the subtlety that both the Miss Marple in the books and Hickson's portrayal still enduringly have. She is far too blatant and 'cheeky', which, invariably intended to add humour to the programme, does not come off at all well, a real example of over-egging the cake. Miss Marple was a spinsterish old lady, described as "assiduous" in the book upon which this particular programme is based, not some cheeky chappy as McEwan plays her. Also, whilst I don't like to be a pedant, the description Christie gives of Miss Marple does not match McEwan at all. For a start, she is described as a tall, prim, straight lady, because, as Miss Marple herself tells us in one of her books, "I was taught to sit up properly". Perhaps I am the only person who has observed this, but McEwan actually seems to positively slouch, and has not observed any of the mannerisms and fussy gestures that elderly ladies of Miss Marple's type notoriously committed - she is too laid back.
Also, the actually story is far too slow, despite having numerous sub-plots. The 1986 version went at a much faster pace, which gave an exciting and sinister edge to it, and didn't use half of the sub-plots used here, yet still managed to get a good hour and a half slot.
Thirdly, the direction and lighting is just awful. As I have already mentioned, the original version had a quite dark ands sinister edge to it, with low-key lighting and the rather brooding winter setting. In this version, however, the lighting is ridiculously bright, to the point that one feels as if one is watching an amateurish pantomime. It is quite revolting, and when coupled with the dire script, which is so saccharine one would not be berated for thinking it was laced with pixie dust and sugar, it gives a hideous effect of jolly-hockey-sticks village life, so stereotypical and contrived. It is as if the murder is a mere interlude between garden parties and afternoon tea.
Finally, the inclusion of a tedious throwaway plot, which sees Miss Marple in her younger days, embarking on an affair with a married man during WWI, is the final nail in the coffin for this series. It is so out of character that one is led to question if the writers have read a Miss Marple novel. She was simply not the kind of woman to do such a thing: she was a genteel, well brought up middle-class young woman in a strictly Victorian society, not some daring, romantic woman from a Jane Austen novel. She would never have done such a thing with a single man, let alone a married one, and mentions on many occasions that she has never had a romance, bar one young man by the name of Lionel, but "mother nipped it in the bud" before anything as mad as a fully-fledged affair could begin.
As another reviewer has already said, there is nothing wrong with remaking series, but in this instance it wasn't needed so soon after the Joan Hickson performance, generally regarded as the definitive. Maybe I am too purist, and too dedicated to the true canon of Christie, but this just doesn't ring true, and I hope this series is soon forgotten about.
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