Is This Lost 1932 French Poirot Actually Any Good?

Is Le coffret de laque worth your afternoon? Yes, but only if you have a soft spot for early sound-era creakiness and French actors trying to look British. Modern thrill-seekers will absolutely hate how much time people spend standing around a fireplace. 🕵️‍♂️

It is basically a French version of Agatha Christie's play Black Coffee. A mean scientist gets poisoned, some secret formula papers vanish, and everyone in the room has a reason to smile about his death.

The movie feels incredibly theatrical, almost like they forgot they were shooting a film and not a stage play. The camera barely moves, just staring at people talking in a big, dark room.

Actually, it reminded me of the stiff staging in The White Devil, though that one had way more visual flair.

The biggest draw here is a teenage Danielle Darrieux. She is incredibly young here, practically glowing, and she already has that natural screen presence that makes everyone else look like they are reading off cue cards.

Her character gets caught up in some romantic melodrama that does not really matter, but you cannot take your eyes off her.

Then there is the detective. He is not exactly the Poirot you expect from modern television.

He is a bit more blunt, and his mustache looks like it might fall off if he sneezes too hard. I swear it looked crooked in one shot.

There is this one incredibly long scene where they pass around cups of coffee. The sound design is so primitive that every time a cup touches a saucer, it sounds like a car crash. Clank! Clank! It genuinely made me laugh.

Some of the acting is... well, let us call it passionate. The suspect characters spend a lot of time clutching their chests and looking guilty.

It is a bit like the over-the-top energy in One Hysterical Night, but without the jokes.

I did love the look of the actual lacquer box, though. It has this shiny, dark texture that actually stands out in the grainy black-and-white print.

But the resolution of the mystery feels incredibly rushed. The detective basically points a finger, someone gasps, and the movie is over.

It is definitely not a masterpiece. But for a dusty piece of 1930s history, it has a strange charm.

If you can find a copy with decent subtitles, give it a go on a rainy Sunday. Just turn down the volume when they start drinking tea. ☕