I confess that most of my knowledge about A Streetcar Named Desire came from a classic Simpsons episode. But now I finally unwrapped the 1951 adaptation of Tennessee Williams’ stage play, after the DVD sat on my shelves for years.
This is only the second Christie novel in my re-readathon that I genuinely don’t remember ever reading before. I had the right instinct about who dunnit all along, but this Poirot mystery still boasts plenty of surprises and twists.
Somehow I spent the last fifteen years without ever once seeing this high school comedy classic, while still knowing its catchphrases (Stop trying to make Fetch happen). Watching it for the first time now, it still feels fresh and as deceptively effortless as a perfect pop song.
I couldn’t recall much about this stand-alone murder mystery other than a few stray details, but that’s an unfair reflection on the novel. While it may not be one of Christie’s true classics, it definitely deserved to be remembered better.
Evil Under the Sun marks an important milestone in my re-readathon – if Wikipedia is to be believed, I’m now precisely halfway through Christie’s back catalogue of detective novels with the book review no. 33! Since I officially committed to this challenge back in August 2018, I should probably complete it by August 2022. Let’s hope that the world is in a decent shape by then, or at least limping back to normality.
Playing catch-up with a long-time musical love and my new favourite Norwegian singer-songwriter.
This action comedy from Simon Pegg and director Edgar Wright is a little too long (seriously, which comedy from the last few years isn’t overlong?), but the enormously entertaining finale and the winning buddy chemistry between Pegg and Nick Frost more than make up for its flaws.
I felt that it was time to strategically sprinkle in another of Christie’s big-time stinkers into my re-readathon. Like The Big Four, Passenger to Frankfurt is another of Dame Agatha’s failed attempts at a spy novel about a world-wide conspiracy out to destroy the existing social order. While the former is just plain terrible, the latter also has the dubious distinction of being probably the weirdest book Christie ever penned, and not in a good way. It was first published in 1970 to mark her 80th birthday, and, at the most charitable, it can be seen as a window into Christie’s view of the world she found herself in the twilight of her years.