This is usually "explained" by having one or more of the characters puffing away on cigarettes-so obtrusively (including many crushed out under foot) that you begin to assume that cigarette smoking has something important to do with the plot. The director also resorts to the very tired effects of an extraordinarily unimaginative mind: virtually every set, including some exteriors, is drenched in thick, almost impenetrable smoke. Furthermore, many of the closeups are hand-held, an extremely poor choice of technique for a story set in the 1930s. There are no establishing shots of buildings, no wide shots of ballrooms and the like, and there are dozens upon dozens of off-center closeups. "Mystery of the Blue Train" has a pretty good Poirot plot with some colorful supporting players and a few effective performances, but it is so badly directed-no, ATROCIOUSLY directed-as to be a headache-inducing pain to watch. These were virtues they are sorely missed. Not only are Hastings, Japp and Miss Lemon gone (along with the fine actors who played them), but so is Poirot's Arte Moderne apartment building-and any reasonable sense of time and place. It's easy to tell this latter-day batch of Poirot adventures are not being made by the production company that turned out the hour-long episodes and the first group of feature-length TV movies with David Suchet.
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