it,
but in my heart, I very much doubt it. I think
it would have made continuing to play Poirot
much more difficult for me, as I would not
have been true to the man I had come to
know so well.
Yet the irony is that in the final cut of The
Adventure of the Clapham Cook, the one
that was eventually broadcast around the
world, you only see Poirot, umbrella in hand,
standing beside Hastings, who is sitting on
the park bench. Poirot never actually sits
down! The scene of Poirot wiping the park
bench with his handkerchief ended up on the
cutting-room floor. When I saw that, I
allowed myself a wry little smile.
I am not sure that it made the slightest
difference to the audience’s enjoyment of
the story and, if I am truly honest, I do not
believe that it diluted my interpretation of
Poirot, but, in spite of that, the ‘affair of the
handkerchief’ mattered desperately to me at
the time. Someone had to stand up for and
protect Dame Agatha’s Poirot, and that
person was going to be me, no matter what
the consequences might be.
I felt that responsibility more and more as
the weeks passed on the first series,
because I knew that by putting myself in
that position, I was getting closer and closer
to the character I was playing. The more
that I knew about Poirot, the more I could
protect him.
What began as my exploring Poirot and his
character gradually developed into a
relationship in which we began to merge into
one – so much so that by the end of the
series, I knew that I could have gone out
into the real world, rather than a television
studio, dressed in his costume, and lived his
life exactly as he would have lived it, and
still have beeen myself.
Poirot and I steadily became one and the
same man. Suddenly it was Poirot and me.
Chapter 4
‘I’M AFRAID THEY’RE
GOING TO BE TOO
TAME, OR TOO
ECCENTRIC’
The second Poirot story we shot, though
it was the third to be transmitted,
started exactly two weeks after our first. It
was The Adventure of Johnnie Waverly – the
case of an attempt to foil a threatened
kidnap of the son of a wealthy landowner,
Marcus Waverly, played by my old friend
Geoffrey Bateman.
Geoffrey and I had definitely worked
together before – at the Connaught Theatre
in Worthing in 1971 – when he played a
Samurai warrior in a stage version of the
classic 1950 Japanese film drama Rashomon.
It was very early in my career, and I directed
all the fight scenes, as well as playing the
bandit. Now Geoffrey was playing the
landowner whose huge country house seems
to be falling down around his ears, while his
son is in danger.
For this story we had a new director,
Renny Rye, who was then only forty and
would go on to direct five episodes of that
first Poirot series. Renny started his
television career producing the children’s
programme Blue Peter, before graduating to
drama. He was to stay with Poirot until
1991. Since then, he has gone on to direct
episodes of the British television series
Midsomer Murders
and Silent Witness,
among many other things.
Because of the schedule, Ed Bennett,
who’d directed Clapham Cook, disappeared
into the cutting room to edit his film, while
Renny worked on Johnnie Waverly. Then Ed
would return to direct the third, while Renny
went away to edit his. Alternating the two
directors was the only way we could be sure
to produce the films within the twenty weeks
that we had been given by London Weekend,
who were keen to transmit the series in
January 1989, barely three weeks after we
would finish shooting.
Johnnie Waverly again reminded everyone
how much Poirot loathed the countryside,
especially when he is forced to walk across
the fields after Hastings’ Lagonda breaks
down just minutes before the threatened
kidnap is about to take place. The resilient
Chief Inspector Japp arrives with a team of
constables in an effort to foil the crime, but
to no avail, although Poirot realises that