Black Coffee: The Poirot movie where he forgot his mustache

If you are looking for a fast-paced thriller, stay away from this one. This is purely for the people who want to see every single piece of Agatha Christie history, no matter how dusty it is.

It is a bit of a relic. If you enjoy old theater or those movies that feel like someone just filmed a stage play from the front row, you might have a decent time.

Sir Claude Amory is the guy who dies. He is a scientist and, honestly, a bit of a jerk to everyone in his house.

He has this super secret formula for an explosive. Then the lights go out, the formula vanishes, and Sir Claude ends up dead in his chair.

It’s a classic setup. But the movie takes its sweet time getting to the actual point.

The most jarring thing is Austin Trevor as Poirot. He has no mustache.

I am not kidding. It is like watching a version of Sherlock Holmes where he hates hats and lives in a basement.

Trevor plays him more like a generic smart guy. He is missing that weird, fussy energy that makes Poirot actually fun to watch.

The house itself feels oddly empty. Like the producers could only afford three chairs and a very large rug.

There is a scene where everyone is just standing around in the library. They are all lined up like they are waiting for a bus.

I noticed one actor in the background just staring at a wall for a good ten seconds. Maybe he forgot his line, or maybe the wall was just very interesting.

The dialogue is very "1930s posh." Lots of people saying "My dear fellow" and looking shocked at nothing.

It reminds me a bit of the stiff acting in The Last Attraction, though that one had a bit more life in the eyes of the cast.

The actual mystery is fine, I guess. It’s Christie, so the bones of the story are solid.

But the way it's told is so flat. There is almost no music for long stretches.

You just hear the sound of shoes clicking on the floor. Click. Click. Click.

It makes the silence feel heavy, but not in a spooky way. More in a "I hope my neighbors aren't vacuuming" kind of way.

Things that felt weird:

• The way Poirot handles the coffee cup like it's a holy relic.
• The lighting is so bright in some scenes you can barely see the actors' expressions.
• Someone mentions a "deadly ray" and it sounds like a bad sci-fi movie for a second.
• The ending happens so fast you might miss it if you blink.

I did like the character of Richard Caryll. He has this shifty look that makes him the perfect suspect from the moment he walks on screen.

Actually, most of the suspects look shifty. It is that kind of movie where everyone has a "I am definitely hiding a secret" face.

It’s a lot like the atmosphere in Poslednyaya stavka mistera Ennioka where the tension feels a bit forced.

Is it better than White Pants Willie? Well, it's a completely different genre, but at least this one tries to have a plot.

The pacing gets slightly better toward the end. Once Poirot starts doing his "I know who did it" speech, things pick up.

But even then, it feels very polite. Nobody screams or tries to run away.

They all just sit there and accept their fate like they are at a very boring dinner party. ☕

One reaction shot of the niece, Lucia, lingers for way too long. She just looks confused, and then the camera cuts away awkwardly.

I think this was meant to show her inner turmoil. To me, it just looked like she was trying to remember if she left the stove on.

If you have seen every other Poirot, watch it. If you haven't, maybe start with something where he actually has his facial hair.

It’s a bit like a rough draft of a better movie. Interesting, but clearly still figuring out how to be a "talkie."

"I don't need a mustache to solve a crime, but it would have helped the audience recognize me." - Something I imagine the actor thinking.

The whole thing is over in about 75 minutes. Which is probably the right length because I don't think I could have handled another hour of that library.

It’s not a total waste of time. It’s just very, very average and a bit stiff around the edges.

Sometimes the old ways aren't the best ways. But for a Sunday afternoon when you're half-asleep, it's perfectly fine.