Agatha Christie’s classic AND THEN THERE WERE NONE has been adapted for the screen many times, but none more swingin’ than schlockmeister Harry Alan Towers’ 1965 production of TEN LITTLE INDIANS.

Christie’s amazingly influential premise is directly ported onto screen as 10 strangers – a doctor, a judge, an actress, a singer, etc. – are summoned to a weekend in the mountaintop mansion of one Mr. U.N. Owen, a host, as it turns out, none of them know. They’re awaiting his arrival when a recording of his voice (a disembodied Christopher Lee) accuses each of them of having commited murder of an innocent, which is why they’ve been invited. Their punishment is getting murdered in turn, as they’re trapped in the estate until Monday.

Not long after they notice the presence of the “Ten Little Indians” nursery rhyme all over the rooms, one of them dies, and in the exact manner as the rhyme’s first couplet. Just who is this Mr. Owen? Why is he doing this? And will they be able to find out before there are none of them left? If you’ve neither read the story nor seen any of its filmed versions before, you won’t know the answers. But you’ll have fun being stumped.

That’s why I think NONE’s rep as one of the greatest mystery novels of all time – if not the greatest – is well-deserved. Its plot is simply ingenious as its multiple twists are unforeseen. It would be hard to screw up an adaptation of the book, because the book is the blueprint, from which INDIANS rarely strays.

Where it does are in its period touches. Only in the ’60s would teen idol Fabian be cast, making some of the strangest facial expressions the screen wouldn’t see the likes of until MY LEFT FOOT. Only in the ’60s would the lead roles be given to featherweight actors like Hugh O’Brian and former Bond girl Shirley Eaton (whom, though she disrobes twice, I preferred in gold paint). Only in the ’60s would it be given such a jazzy, loungey score (by Malcolm Lockyer, and I want an MP3). And only in the ’60s would it be given a William Castle-esque gimmick in the form of a “Whodunit Break,” a minute-long intermission during which a clock countdowns the seconds, shows you clues and invites you to figure out the solution beforehand.

With such a large cast (at least initially), INDIANS does a good job of introducing you to each character three separate times, so you know who’s who before the guest list starts to narrow. What is more amazing is that Christie similarly introduced her characters excellently, but without the benefit of visual backup the screen affords. She knew how to craft a mystery, which may explain why Hollywood has tapped it half a dozen times officially (its premise has been ripped off countless times since, in films as varied as CLUE, HOUSE ON HAUNTED HILL and, more recently, IDENTITY).

But INDIANS is inferior compared to the first and best adaptation, 1945’s AND THEN THERE WERE NONE, directed by René Clair. As its characters also have little to do but sit around and die – by choking, stabbing, poison, etc. – you’d think the movie would get easier to figure out, but it’s quite the opposite. Having seen it just prior to reading the book, I didn’t have a clue; I was hooked and anxious for the reveal, and the movie knew it, taking its diabolically sweet-ass time to play its tricks.

However, don’t let that dissuade you from seeing INDIANS. In fact, both it and the original are worth a rental (if not a purchase for mystery film fans), and Christie’s book is downright essential. –Rod Lott

Buy it at Amazon.
Discuss it in our forums.