Agatha (1979)

Agatha (Michael Apted, 1979) The disappearance of Agatha Christie in 1926 is one of those black holes of history that intrigues history buffs, mystery aficionados, conspiracy theorists, and speculative fiction writers. There is the delicious irony that one of the great writers of mystery fiction would also have a mystery in her own life, one that would interest the gossipy impulses of Miss Marple and the behavioral insights of Hercule Poirot, two of her better known creations. 

 

There was a book about the "missing days" published last year—"The Mystery of Mrs. Christie" by Marie Benedict—but, before that, a screenplay focusing on the matter had been written by Kathleen Tynan, at the instigation of producer David Puttnam, after suggesting that her explorations for a Christie documentary might make a better fictional film. Michael Apted (known for the "Up" documentaries and Stardust) was chosen to direct and, after casting Vanessa Redgrave and Dustin Hoffman (Hoffman was also a producer), a re-write was done by Arthur Hopcraft and—at Hoffman's instigation—an uncredited Murray Schisgal, causing Hoffman enough tsuris that he sued the production for breach of contract after the fact. The Christie Estate also sued to prevent the film being made—Christie had died in 1976—but, the film continued on, estate approval or no.

Agatha postulates—it opens with a title that says "an imaginary solution to an authentic mystery"— the writer (played by Redgrave) confronting a crisis in her marriage to Colonel Archibald Christie (Timothy Dalton in full "bastard" mode), who tells Christie that he is divorcing her with the intention of marrying his mistress Nancy Neele (Celia Gregory). In an earlier sequence, we've seen his disdain in the marriage and his seething impatience with Christie's fame from her writing career, a trait noticed by an American newspaperman Wally Stanton (Hoffman), who has arranged an interview with the author.

 

But, before he can meet her, she goes missing. Her car is found, wrecked, abandoned, and the Colonel is decidedly blasé about her disappearance, and is no help to the police in the matter. "She'll turn up" is his taciturn reply and makes plans to return to his mistress.

Stanton, meanwhile, instead interviews Mrs. Christie's secretary, who tells him that her employer had left her a note in code. Stanton is able to deduce from it where Agatha has gone. That would be the Harrogate Hydropathic Hotel for a two week stay under the name of Theresa Neele—the choice is not coincidental. While the police are embroiled in a nationwide search and the nation is reading of her disappearance on the front page, Agatha is taking treatments, awaiting the arrival of her husband's mistress, who she knows has also booked herself at the baths.

Stanton checks in, as well, also under an assumed name and observes and ingratiates himself with Christie, never acknowledging that he knows who she really is, or he himself is not what he pretends to be. What he finds is a vulnerable, guarded, somewhat fearful woman not sure of what she's doing herself, but as she indulges in treatments she becomes fascinated with a hydro-electricity therapy using a Bergonic chair and takes an interest in rheostats. What doe she have in mind...and how does it involve her husband's mistress?

The story is intriguing—one could even say shocking—but for all the loveliness on display thanks to Vittorio Storaro's photography,* the film is strangely bloodless, and for the very reason it stands apart from most period films. It's entirely true to its period, all the characters being very British and undemonstrative because...well, that just wouldn't do, of course. Unseemly, don't you know. Lips are upperly stiff and not even trembling under the strain of socially unacceptable behavior. We, as contemporary audiences, expect a bit of mannered stuffiness to pass (and pass judgment) for rectitude under all conditions. But, here the players aren't panto-ing melodrama, they are playing people playing by the rules of decorum and playing it very close to the vest. All the while, in bromidic anonymity, lest they give themselves away. Redgrave can be just as fascinating playing passivity as anything else, but Hoffman gives the least "ticky" performance of his career, his Stanton maintaining a straight-backed chivalry, even to those he considers cads. Speaking of which, Dalton comes off the best as the arrogant Archie, all diffident entitlement.

So, Agatha is an intriguing misfire. It's just interesting enough to keep you engaged, but so cosseted as to prevent one from being satisfied...or entertained.

* His next film would be shooting Apocalypse Now in the Phillipines.