In René Clair’s 1945 adaptation of Agatha Christie’s And Then There Were None, a dinner invitation turns into an accusation of murder. The man behind it, a mysterious host named U. N. Owen, has designed a trial with a verdict already built into it. What surprised me about this film was how sharply it questions the certainty of a man who thinks he’s setting things right.
The cast includes Barry Fitzgerald, Walter Huston, Louis Hayward, Roland Young, and June Duprez.
Eight strangers arrive at a mansion on an island off the English coast, where a butler and a cook are waiting. Their host is absent. On the first evening, a voice on a gramophone record accuses all ten of causing deaths for which they escaped punishment. When the group decides to leave, they learn the boat won’t be back until Monday morning. Then the people in the house start dying, and the ten figurines on the dinner table begin to disappear. Clair gives us a way to count down the dwindling group, even as the people in the house have fewer and fewer reasons to trust one another.
Owen singles out a judge, a doctor, a general, a butler, and a cook, among others. Consider two of the accusations. One involves a fatal driving incident. Another involves a general who ordered a man under his command to his death. What would the evidence show about each man’s intent? How much responsibility would each bear? Owen assigns both men the same punishment before either has a chance to answer. Once the people in the house start telling their own stories, his certainty looks less and less justified.
I also read the film as a warning about capital punishment. A trial gives the accused a chance to challenge the evidence, but even a jury can get it wrong. Once a death sentence is carried out, correcting the verdict can’t undo the punishment. Owen sets out to punish people he believes escaped justice, yet his plan depends on the assumption that he could never be mistaken about anyone.
TF’s Notes
In her author’s note, Christie explained that the difficulty of pulling off the plot was what drew her to it. I can see why. In a familiar kind of whodunit, a murder sends a detective looking for suspects among the people who had a reason to want the victim dead. Here, each new death changes the list of suspects. The fewer people left in the house, the harder it should be for the killer to act without being seen. Yet the deaths keep coming. That’s what I admire about Christie’s plotting. Every death makes the circle smaller and the puzzle harder to solve.
If you like a whodunit that gives you something to argue about after the killer is revealed, René Clair’s And Then There Were None is worth seeking out.