There's been a murder

A new version of Murder on the Orient Express. Really? There have been several versions for TV and film, and yet we have a new one, directed by Kenneth Branagh, who also plays the detective Hercule Poirot. At first glance, it looks like a pretty retrograde step, especially when so much of Christie’s work can seem, to a modern audience, snobbish, racist and conservative. Her stories are the uncertainty of murder set in the certainty of class distinction.

And yet maybe now is the time for a re-appraisal of Christie. The new film tweaks some of the attitudes of the time – the book was first published in 1934 – but like the BBC’s recent version of Witness for the Prosecution, it also aims to get to the heart of Christie rather than the surface. When I spoke to the TV writer Sarah Phelps about her adaptation of it, her take on Christie was that she was the opposite of old-fashioned – she was subversive, challenging and shocking.

It’s certainly worth remembering that Christie was not always the grande dame of detective literature and that as a young woman, she was incredibly adventurous. She was a single mother when it was rare, she got on and established herself as a business, she was a pioneer of surfing of all things, and she travelled to some of the most extraordinary places in the Middle East that you couldn’t go to now.

It’s also time to reassess the huge body of work that she produced. For years critics have dismissed her books as cardboard and conservative, but they are much more subversive than you think. Yes, most of her characters are judges and colonels and MPs – the Establishment – but in every one of her books Christie reveals an unpleasant, corrupt, murderous under-layer to it all and, in the words of Sarah Phelps, she does it quietly, sneakily and deftly. Christie is often seen as the ultimate Establishment figure, but she’s exactly the opposite: in her hands, as the body count mounts, the Establishment is revealed and exposed. It’s time to take a look at her again.

Justin time for a laugh

It’s pretty difficult to find any politician worthy of respect just now, but Canada's Prime Minister Justin Trudeau seems to be doing a pretty good job. In particular, he proves that you can do a serious job and have fun as well.

Trudeau’s latest bit of playfulness came as he left the House of Commons in Canada. He looked pretty normal, in suit, tie and chunky glasses, but as he approached the press, he ripped open his shirt to reveal a superman vest underneath. He wasn’t the Prime Minister, he was Clark Kent. “I know it’s a big shock to see the Prime Minister dressed as a journalist but you know, gotta do it,” he said.

Trudeau was obviously just having a bit of Halloween fun, but it got me wondering why you would never see a British or American politician behaving in the same way. Part of the reason there has been a division between politicians and voters is because they seem different – they don’t act like us – but Trudeau looks normal: why shouldn’t he dress up and lark around for Halloween like anyone would? We want politicians to be like us, and he is.

I also wonder if age has something to do with it. Justin Trudeau is only 45 years old, most Prime Ministers in Britain are well into their 50s and 60s before they take on the job. Maybe the answer is an upper age limit. If the country needs radical policies, perhaps we need a radical rule: you can only be Prime Minister if you are under 50.

Making an amdram out of a crisis

You sometimes hear it said, don’t you? “Be professional”. But sometimes it is better to be an amateur. This weekend I'm off to see an amateur production of the comedy Tiptoe Through the Gravestones and, as usual whenever I see amdram it reminds me what a positive influence it has. It pulls people together, it keeps church halls going, it's fun, but it also does something much deeper as well.

This production is being by the Auld Kirk Players, which is mostly supported by a core of members, some of whom have been in the group for more than 50 years. Most of them are just having fun but it also operates as a kind of therapy. I remember speaking to one of the members who said that he could think of at least three people whose lives had been saved, or rescued, from depression because of amateur dramatics.

He spoke of two women in particular. One was just coming out of a marriage break-up but both were at a low point – they joined the group and things started to pick up. It gives you companionship and friendship, but because a play needs to be put on and everybody has to be there, you can't be a slacker or lose your focus. Everybody relies on everybody, and everybody benefits. It is the power of amateurism.

Slave to the rhythm

I’ve been watching bits of the new Grace Jones film, Bloodlight and Bami, and it’s been bringing me out in a cold sweat. The film follows Jones around the world, but it reminded me of the only encounter I have ever had with her.

The idea was to run a piece in The Herald on the life and work of the pop star and fashion icon, but it did not go according to plan. The original time we were given to call her was 1pm. The hours passed. Our deadline was six for the next day’s paper so it was getting pretty tight and finally, at 5.30pm, we got through. The interview was a delight and we made the deadline, just.

I remember thinking that Jones was living up to her difficult reputation. But Bloodlight and Bami has revealed the truth: she never gets up before the middle of the afternoon. There we were thinking she was being rude, but it was just that she was still in bed. She is a slave to the rhythm of her body and I like her all the more for it.