And Then There Were None: Book to Series Comparison

Recently, I rewatched the excellent BBC adaptation of And Then There Were None by Agatha Christie. And Then There Were None is one of my two absolute favorite mystery novels (the other is The Westing Game by Ellen Raskin, and they’re in a league of their own). I’ve read And Then There Were None multiple times over the years, because it’s so psychologically fascinating that it’s thrilling even if you already know whodunit. The 2015 BBC adaptation is great. It’s very faithful but makes a few minor changes. It’s the only adaptation I’ve seen (not counting the computer game, which I loved), and from what I can tell, it’s the most faithful one. I rewatched the series with my family, and although they’d all seen it before, it had been long enough that they’d forgotten even more than I had, so when I’d tentatively ask wasn’t this bit different in the book? no one could definitively answer me. Which, fair. If you don’t remember the murderer, you’re unlikely to remember whether or not Wargrave had cancer.*

*cancer isn’t specified, but he was dying; the reader doesn’t find out about it until much later than in the series

We finished the series and less than an hour later I’d pulled out my well-worn copy of the novel. As I’ve mentioned here before, I get obsessive. If I enjoy something, instead of moving on like a normal person, I ask how can I extend this for as long as possible? So I reread the book, taking notes of all the differences so that I could write a detailed comparison between the two. This isn’t the first time I’ve done an Agatha Christie book-to-series comparison post, but it is by far the most detailed. Like I said, And Then There Were None is my favorite.

Also, it’s just been way too long since I’ve done a super-nerdy, extremely over-involved post.

What’s it about?

Ten strangers are invited to a mysterious island, but when they arrive, they realize that they were summoned under false pretenses. On the first night, a mysterious voice accuses each of them of murder and in the days that follow they are meticulously killed off one-by-one.

So what changed?

Since this is an in-depth comparison, I’d recommend against reading it unless you’re okay with spoilers or have already either watched the series/read the book. I don’t know if it’s strictly speaking necessary to slap a spoiler warning on a post about a book that was published in 1939, but in case it is, this is that warning. If you don’t know And Then There Were None yet, do yourself a favor and check it out. The miniseries is about three hours long all told, and the book will take you only slightly longer. It’s absolutely worth it.

I figured I’d start with the most minor changes and work my way up to the larger ones (although, as I said, this is a faithful adaptation, so even the largest changes are—in the scheme of things—relatively minor). I’ll also assign points to either the book or the series depending on whether or not I liked the change. I love both versions, so this is just an exercise for my competitive spirit. If I had to guess before starting how it’ll end up, I’ll say that the series will probably get more points early on, and the novel will score more towards the end. The series does great things with the individual characters, but there are a few things about the mystery itself that are stronger in the novel.

The name of the island

The miniseries changes Indian Island to Soldier Island, and ditto for any other instance of “Indians.” The murderous rhyme becomes “The Ten Little Soldier Boys” instead “The Ten Little Indians.” The original title was even worse. The novel is absolutely brilliant, but the racist poem—particularly with the original language—is awful. The change to “soldier boys” doesn’t do anything to alter the best parts of the novel, but it takes out some inexcusable racism. See? Some changes are for the best.

Novel: 0            Series: 1

Lombard’s racism

Yep, another one about racism. This one is more complicated, though. The series softens Lombard in some ways (it hardens him in others, but we’ll get to that later). In the novel, Lombard is vaguely racist. He disparages the Jewish Isaac Morris, and—more damning—is guilty of causing the deaths of twenty-one men, members of an East African tribe. In the novel, Lombard callously implies that killing these East African men is nothing because they are less human than the English, and therefore care less about dying. The series presents it a little differently. Lombard is still unapologetic for the deaths, but it is depicted as him owning up to his crimes. Yeah, he’s a killer, but unlike the other nine he admits that he’s a killer, to himself and to the others. It’s also implied that he would have felt the same about the crime if the men had not been East African. Series Lombard killed people, yes, but he wasn’t racist about it. Interestingly, the series brings in racism in a different way. Although his nationality is not specified in the novel (he’s assumed English), TV’s Lombard is Irish and the others to regard him with added suspicion. He’s not just a murderer who brought a gun to a mysterious island. He’s an Irish murderer in 1939 who brought a gun to a mysterious island. Irish Lombard contributes to the setting and period of the piece, which could otherwise be almost any time or place. He brings a bit of the real world onto the island, demonstrating that no matter how isolated you might be, you can never be entirely cut off from the world at large. On the other hand, Lombard being actively racist makes him considerably worse, like top two bad. Still, since Lombard’s multiple murder is still awful even without it being racially motivated—and because the racism is just present without being much remarked upon—I think I’ll give this one to the series.

Novel: 0            Series: 2

A matter of strength

In the novel, much is made of the fact that Lombard and Blore are the most physically strong. When the group locks things up, they do so in cases with multiple locks, giving one key to Lombard and Blore with the idea that neither of them would be able to take it from the other without causing a ruckus the others would hear. Each time a murder happens, the group discusses who would have had the physical strength to do it, and it is repeatedly reiterated that just because someone (read: a woman) looks weak, they can’t count anyone out because madmen have incredible, unexpected reservoirs of power. In the series, Judge Wargrave says near the beginning that any one of them is capable of the murders and it’s left at that. Book Vera’s story about Cyril (the little boy she killed by sending him into a current he was too weak to swim) is doubted because Cyril was a sickly little boy. In the series Hugo points to Vera’s strength rather than Cyril’s weakness as the suspicious element. I prefer the way the series approaches this one. I’ve never liked the a woman couldn’t have done this; they’re too weak thing that mysteries often have, so it was nice to get it out of the way. Anyone could have done it. They’re all strong enough, and they’re all equally suspicious. Making a mystery more about who is strong enough to do something than about who would have done it is, to me, less interesting.

Novel: 0            Series: 3

Written accounts

In the final few chapters of the novel, the police are fruitlessly trying to figure out what happened on the island. They go over the various clues but are at a loss. Some of their clues come from writings left by the victims. Vera, Miss Brent, and Blore all left written accounts of their time on the island, which give the police some framework. Still, these clues only make things more complicated, as it all seems impossible. The series has no indication of written accounts, and furthermore there is no outside investigation. Once the last character dies, the show ends, and there is nothing afterward. This is a minor thing, but I much prefer the novel version. There’s something especially clever about a crime that remains entirely mysterious despite detailed accounts. Blore was a detective, but his reports still don’t shed any light on the matter. The way this works, alongside Wargrave’s death—we’ll get to that eventually—is just so cool. The way the novel is written, I legitimately thought for a minute that I’d never know who’d done it. I knew it was twisty and clever, but that chapter with the police makes it all the more so. The series version is more cinematic, but less thrilling.

Novel: 1            Series: 3 

Mountain climbing

Of course, the group eventually figures out that UN Owen is one of them, but before that they’re convinced that their mysterious, murderous host is hiding out somewhere. Until forced to suspect otherwise, they assume that they are not alone on the island. For this reason, Lombard and Blore thoroughly search the island, even rigging up a rope so that Lombard can rappel down the cliffs to check for hidden caves. At the end of their exhaustive search, they determine that there is in fact nowhere for Owen to hide. This having been completed, they concur with Wargrave’s deduction that Owen is an alias for one of the guests. The miniseries cuts out this long search. Wargrave makes his suggestion and the rest of the group goes along with it without spending any significant time considering alternatives. While of course Wargrave is correct, it makes sense that the others would want to exhaust every other possibility before joining him in this horrific assumption.

Novel: 2            Series: 3

Sexuality

Obviously something made in 1939 and something made in 2015 are going to approach sex and sexuality a little differently. This is most obvious with Lombard and Vera. In the novel, they certainly grow close and there are romantic undertones to their interactions, but it doesn’t go anywhere tangible. In the series, they pair off much more obviously. They sleep together, and their obvious closeness prompts Armstrong to theorize that they are Mr. and Mrs. Owen, and that they coordinated the horrors together. While the consummation of the relationship doesn’t significantly change anything one way or the other, I liked that the increased visibility of their connection adds suspicion. One of the things that the series does best is fleshing out the characters’ personalities and adding to the threatening atmosphere, and making that relationship into something the other characters notice and comment on was a smart move. But that wasn’t the only change the series made regarding sexuality.

TV’s Emily Brent is implied to be gay. Rather than simply tossing her serving girl out for getting pregnant and therefore having loose morals, it is implied that Emily is acting at least partially from jealousy. The only thing this does is invoke the psycho lesbian trope, which is never a good thing.

Blore is an odd case. I’ll circle back to him again in the section about his murder, but for here I’ll sum it up quickly: in the series, Blore violently kicks in a gay man’s head in purely for the sin of being gay, and since Blore himself is lightly queercoded, it’s easy to read his homophobia as stemming from gay panic (he touches Landor, his victim, repeatedly before attacking him, wears a woman’s hat while dancing with Armstrong, and at his most terrified reflects back on Landor with guilt and empathy). It’s never stated outright, but it’s certainly there. In my reread, Book Blore actually also sets off some bells. I read a lot of queer literature, so I pick up on subtle queercoding (and admittedly occasionally see it in places it might not be there). It seems unlikely that Christie meant Blore to be a closeted gay man, but who knows? There are a few scenes where Blore is deliberately feminized, and he is specifically called “not straight” a few times. It’s meant in the sense that he’s a crooked cop, but when I looked up the etymology of “straight,” I learned that “straight” emerged as slang for “heterosexual” only shortly after And Then There Were None was published. I mean, is it really possible to zero in exactly when something came into usage? I can’t be the only one who saw it, because whoever did the BBC miniseries apparently also picked up on something with Blore. In any case, Blore’s queercoding is a lot more subtle and interesting than Emily’s, which seems to be there entirely for shock value. For points, though, I’ll give this one to the series, because both Blore and Vera/Lombard are more interesting, and Emily–while worse–only has one scene to her discredit.

Novel: 2            Series: 4

Armstrong’s hysteria

Armstrong specializes in women’s complaints, and is summoned to the island to secretly treat Mrs. Owen. He treats, among other things, female hysteria. Of course, we know now that female hysteria isn’t really a thing. In the novel, Vera gets increasingly hysterical with fear as things get more and more serious. When they find Roger’s body, Vera screams and Armstrong hits her to shock her out of it. It’s reversed for the series. The series shows us that Armstrong is suffering from serious war-related PTSD. He turned to alcoholism because of it. In both versions of the story, he killed a woman on his operating table because he was drunk. He regrets this, and gets sober until he comes to the island, where the stress gets him drinking again. The series pairs his increased drinking with other symptoms of PTSD, and it is he, not Vera, who falls apart upon the discovery of Rogers (Vera slaps him). While this seems like a minor change, I like it a lot. It removes the too-common rational man hits hysterical woman trope and also adds some interesting juxtaposition to Armstrong’s character: he is a doctor who treats hysteria, which is seen as a woman’s ailment, when it is actually something that he, rather than any of the women, suffers from. It’s understated, but it’s an interesting reversal that makes Armstrong more interesting and addresses gender bias in a subtle but tangible way. Possibly because it allows us to examine the characters from the outside rather than getting inside their heads and potentially spoiling the grand reveal, the series rounds out the characters, and Armstrong in particular benefits from this. I find Series Armstrong significantly more compelling than Book Armstrong.

Novel: 2            Series: 5

Island friendships

Because the characters spend most of their time on the island suspecting that any one of the others could be a homicidal lunatic, it is perhaps logical that they don’t get especially close to each other. That said, there are a few pairs that gain a closer camaraderie. I’ve already discussed Lombard and Vera’s relationship, but theirs in not the only one. In both the series and the novel, Wargrave and Armstrong make an alliance. As this is a crucial plot point, it makes sense that it is not altered in any way from page to screen. In the novel, Miss Brent tells her story to Vera alone, because of their shared womanhood. Aside from both being women, though, the two have little in common. They still have scenes together in the show, but the gender divide is made less stark. Emily separates herself from the whole group because she claims superiority, and Vera takes parts in the group discussions earlier instead of being shuffled off into another room because of her sex. The series also expands on the relationships between the last few victims. Armstrong mingles more with the group at large, and Blore and Lombard are given an amusingly contentious relationship. Although they end up spending a lot of time together, they insult and snipe at each other throughout. Despite indicating that he dislikes Blore, Lombard is more upset by Blore’s death than by the others. Their squabbling is a light spot of humor in an otherwise dark work, but not so much that it ruins the atmosphere. The novel is more internal, with the characters mostly keeping to themselves, which is great for the novel. That said, I’m always in favor of interesting relationships, and humorous side characters are my favorite bits in just about any work of fiction, so Blore and Lombard’s one-two act is a win for me.

Novel: 2            Series: 6 

Miss Brent’s death

The series keeps most of the characters’ deaths as they were in the novel. There are only a few exceptions. Miss Brent’s death is always the one that accompanies the verse “Six little [soldier boys/Indians] playing with a hive; a bumblebee stung one and then there were five.” In the novel, she spots a bee and is injected with a drug via hypothermic needle. In the series, she is stabbed with her own knitting needles (size BB). I’m not really sure why Miss Brent’s death needed changing, but apparently most adapters feel that it does. The video game has her stung by an actual bee, which kills her because she’s deathly allergic (well, in the video game hers is the faked death, but still). Honestly, this one is a draw. The change doesn’t add anything or subract anything or even give things a different feel.

Novel: 2            Series: 6   

Blore’s death

Blore’s death also changes a bit. His is the strangest bit of the poem: they “went to the zoo; a big bear hugged on and then there were two.” In the novel, he gets his head beaten in with a bear-shaped clock. In the show, he’s stabbed with kitchen knives by a person wearing a bearskin rug. I hate to do another wash, but I’m going to. The clock works better for the book, and the knives work better for the show. In the penultimate chapter of the book, the police are trying to piece together the events that unfolded, and Blore’s death is a sticking point for them. It strikes them that, Lombard having been shot and Vera having been hanged (and her chair neatly stacked), it would appear that Blore was the killer… except that pulling a clock down on oneself would be a bizarre method of suicide. They consider it plausible, but together with Blore’s personality and reputation, hardly likely. The series, as I’ve said, omits this section, so it no longer matters that Blore’s death can no longer be considered potentially self-inflicted. Blore’s onscreen death is simply more cinematic. It’s dramatic and it looks cool (and, strictly speaking, being covered with a bear-shaped rub looks more like being hugged by a bear than the novel’s alternative). Plus, the show had previously shown the bearskin rug multiple times (the gun and master key are hidden there rather than in a tin of food, like in the book). Sometimes filmmakers make changes so that something will look better onscreen, and that’s what this is.

Novel: 2            Series: 6

Rogers’ violence

The crimes for which UN Owen has sentenced his guests to death are made more visual and violent in almost every case. I’ll touch more on this subject later, but since I’m listing all the changes, both major and minor, I figured I’d take the cases character-by-character in addition to discussing them all together thematically. I’ll start with Rogers, but at this point, we’ve moved out of the little things and into the bigger changes. In the novel, Rogers and his wife killed an old lady in their charge by withholding her drugs. When she died and left them something, people might have been suspicious, but it’s hard to convict someone of neglect. In the show, Rogers smothered the old woman; his wife walked in halfway and was horrified. Furthermore, TV’s Rogers abuses his wife and is overall a much, much more despicable figure. Mrs. Rogers, on the other hand, is made much more sympathetic. In the novel she may have been swayed by her husband, but she was in it with him. In the show, she was shocked and traumatized by her husband’s murder, and as for her not turning him in… it’s hard to blame her. She was already being abused. I’m sure things would have gotten worse had she actually accused him of murder. The end result is that Series Rogers is way worse than Book Rogers, and his wife is more victim than villain. So why did Mrs. Rogers have to die? Surely UN Owen could have found someone guiltier than she. And surely an abusive husband who straight-up smothered a kind old lady should have to suffer for longer than he did. You’re telling me that this version of Rogers is better than Armstrong, who was self-medicating for PTSD and immediately course corrected once he realized what he’d done? They’re both killers, yes, but if we’re ranking them? Rogers is much worse.

Novel: 3            Series: 6  

Vera’s role

Although both versions have ensemble casts, Vera is the arguably the main character. This is true in both the novel and the show, but it is more true in the show. In the novel, we admittedly get more of Vera’s backstory, but this is largely because she outlives the others, giving us more time with her, and more time internally so we understand why she hangs herself. The series takes it a step farther by making Vera both suspect and quasi-detective. She is more intelligent than the others around her. In the show, she is the first to notice that the figurines are being smashed (in the book, it’s Rogers). She’s the one to psychoanalyze the killer by informing the others that they’re killed one by one in a certain way (in the book, it’s Blore). Until the end, Vera seems innocent, or at least more so than the others. The others’ crimes are shown in full detail in a single flashback, but Vera’s flashbacks seem orchestrated to prop up her side of the story: she tried to reach Cyril, but was too slow and now she is haunted by him. When we finally see the truth, it’s a surprise because we’ve been on Vera’s side for so long. The book does not let the reader fall in so comfortably with Vera. She still pines for Hugo, but her disgust for Cyril is obvious. Any guilt she feels seems to stem from losing Hugo, and her fear about getting murdered drives her mad the longer she’s on the island. Book Vera breaks from fear, but Series Vera breaks from guilt. Weirdly, softening Vera is a common thing for adaptations. I’ve only seen this BBC one, but apparently several adaptations legitimately let her off the hook. I’ve heard that many film versions change the script to make her innocent, and to make her survive. That’s definitely true in the video game. I like both versions of Vera. Book Vera, I think, is overall worse because she is callous and remorseless from the start, but by the end Series Vera has caught her, and possibly even surpassed her. Her bargaining scene is chilling. I think the characters work for their respective mediums, but if I had to pick one I think I’d go with Book Vera. She fits slightly better into the ensemble; she’s central, but not so much so that you know immediately that she’ll stick around. It’s always nice to give a viewer someone to watch and root for, and this sets you up for a harsh twist, but it also takes some of the surprise out of it. In the book, it legitimately could be anyone, and anyone could be next. In the show, it’s not entirely surprising that the clearly-central Vera sticks around until the end.

Novel: 4            Series: 6

Macarthur’s murder

Macarthur’s murder, like many of the others, is less subtle in the show than in the novel. In both versions, he learns that a family friend is having an affair with his wife. In the book, his wife accidentally sent him the wrong letter. In the show, Macarthur goes through his friend’s jacket. In the book, a heartbroken Macarthur assigns his friend to a dangerous wartime mission that he knows will get him killed. During the war, these things happen. Men go on pointless missions and die for no good reason. In the show, Macarthur shoots his friend, and there’s just no subtlety in that.

Novel: 5            Series: 6

Lombard’s murders

I already discussed Lombard a bit, so this section will be quick. In the novel, Lombard is in a tight spot, so he leaves the native men behind and takes their food and supplies, leaving them for dead. In the show, he shoots them for diamonds. He also seems to have burned their village. Yikes. That makes him pretty monstrous. He’s a killer either way, but the implications of each are different. Book Lombard thinks nothing of leaving the men to die because he doesn’t see them as people. Series Lombard is selfish and greedy. They’re both horrible, and it’s hard to say which is worse. The interesting thing is, as I said above, other aspects of Lombard are softened for the series, and it’s a little difficult to see why this was changed. Maybe because shooting twenty-one men is more obviously evil than simply abandoning them? I don’t necessarily think this is a horrible change, but I do think it’s a case of if it ain’t broke don’t fix it. Still, since one is not significantly better than the other, I’ll hold off on assigning points here.

Novel: 5            Series: 6

Blore’s murder

I told you would get back to Blore’s murder, and here we are. In the novel, Blore frames Landor (who is straight) in order to secure a promotion for himself, and Landor dies in the penal colony. As summarized before, Series Blore beats a gay man to death because of (possibly internalized) homophobia. As I said above, the depiction of Blore as a possibly closeted gay man is interesting and it would have been fascinating if the show had included even a line or two about Blore escaping justice because the police will often eschew it to protect their own. However… there isn’t anything in the actual text about police brutality, so Blore’s actions are simply Blore’s actions. Anyway, I suspect that the change was less to make a point about policing and more to be more visually obvious. The flashbacks tend to be brief and with only limited dialogue. What’s easier to quickly show? A man kicking someone’s head in, or a cop providing false testimony so that he can get promoted? I want to give the point to the novel here because the subtle, practically invisible crimes are more interesting but since I understand that this would be much too hard to show quickly, I’m going to let this one be a tie. Don’t worry, though. The novel will get this point in a later category.

Novel: 5            Series: 6

Seton’s mad justice

In both versions, Judge Wargrave sentenced a man named Edward Seton to death. Seton was widely believed to be innocent, but Wargrave knew for certain he was guilty. Beyond that, the details are different. In the novel, Seton had killed a old woman. In the series, he is a serial killer who dispensed mad justice. Although there was no rhyme or reason to his killings outside his own head, Seton found people he believed to be sinners and acted as judge, jury, and executioner. When Wargrave went to see him hanged, he saw a kindred spirit and decided he wanted to do what Seton had done. Series Seton inspires Wargrave, and when Wargrave tells the others about him, it introduces the viewer to his own Modus Operandi without spoiling the game. This shortens Wargrave’s final monologue and gives him a specific moment of inspiration instead of a generalized I’ve always been obsessed with murder and justice, which is all he gets in the novel. It works fine in the novel, especially since Wargrave has a whole chapter to explain himself, but I think the show’s version is better. It seems unlikely that Wargrave would have led an unimpeachable life if he’d known from early childhood that he wanted to murder someone; having him recognize himself in another killer, letting him see what he truly wants in a moment of realization, is more dynamic. Plus, it makes Seton more relevant. Every character is on the island because of the person they killed. Wargrave is on the island because of Seton. To me, that’s more narratively satisfying.

Novel: 5            Series: 7

Wargrave’s confession and death

After Vera kills Lombard, she returns to her room and hangs herself. In the novel, she dies without knowing Owen’s true identity. Once she dies, Wargrave moves the chair out from underneath her and returns to his own room where he rigs the gun so that it will shoot him in the head and leave him lying in bed in the way that matches the accounts left by Vera, Miss Brent, and Blore. This leaves the island with ten bodies, none of whom could have been the last to die. The police are forced to admit that they have no idea who could have killed them. The mystery is only ever solved when a fishing boat dregs up a full confession. Wargrave left the confession due to his sense of theatrics, and because as much as he wanted to commit the unsolvable murder he also wanted credit for it. The ending is simply brilliant. It is so clean, with no loose ends. It’s an impossible mystery, but every piece fits perfectly. I just love it so much. The ending of the series is similar, but lacks the power. Wargrave enters Vera’s room and confesses to her as she struggles for breath. Obviously having Wargrave appear in person and monologue is more cinematic than having new characters find a message in a bottle, so I totally get why they changed it even if I don’t like it quite as well. There’s nothing else they could have done. The change I’m less okay with is how Wargrave kills himself. He sets up a table with two placements and shoots himself through the mouth. The gun flies and lands by the other place setting. It works… ish. It accomplishes roughly the same thing. Wargrave is dead and it looks like someone else did it. But the series could easily have shown Wargrave dying as he did in the book. It’s just so much cleaner and cooler to recreate the staged death. I know that no one left any written accounts in the show like they did in the book, but it’s disappointing.

Novel: 6            Series: 7

Owen’s victims

Well, here we are. The biggest change from the novel to the series. In both versions, Wargrave/Owen found victims who, in his mind, deserve to die because of the life they’d ended. In the novel, he selected people that the law could not touch. These people are killers, but because they did not actually murder their victims, they cannot be brought to trial. Wargrave loves justice. He is obsessed with it, and he marries his love of justice with his desire to murder by killing killers who have not and otherwise would not pay for their crimes. Marston ran over two children but only briefly lost his license because it was deemed reckless driving but not murder. The Rogerses withheld medication to a woman in their charge: negligence, not murder. Macarthur intentionally sent his wife’s lover on a dangerous military mission from which he did not return. Miss Brent threw her companion out, and the girl committed suicide. Armstrong was drunk during surgery, but people die on the operating table all the time. Blore’s victim died in prison, but Blore didn’t kill him. Lombard didn’t kill anyone; he just left them without food or water. Vera didn’t kill Cyril; she just didn’t save him. These people have all escaped justice, and so Wargrave rounds them up to correct the oversight. As terrifying as this logic is, it is logical. As horrifying as it is, it is also—in a warped kind of way—justifiable. But the series changes some of the deaths, as we’ve seen. Why hadn’t justice already nabbed Rogers, Macarthur, Lombard, Blore, or Lombard? They didn’t just cause a death. They straight up, unambiguously murdered their victims. Blore did it in a police station. How did these guys escape justice for so long? Book Wargrave’s method for picking victims makes absolute sense, and he kills them in a particular order. Series Wargrave never says anything about leaving the worst offenders for last so they have to suffer the psychological trauma, which is probably for the best since with the changed backstories, the order doesn’t make a whole lot of sense (shouldn’t Macarthur have stuck around longer, for shooting a friend? Shouldn’t Rogers have been left for near last? Is Vera’s passive kill really the worst?). The novel gives us a very good sense of how and why these people escaped justice. Wargrave’s warped sense of justice frames the entire novel and gives it its shape. The series is excellent, but it doesn’t have that overall framework, and it suffers for it.

Novel: 7           Series: 7

Well, that’s the end of this monstrously long post. I actually didn’t rig it to be even, but I’m not surprised it was so close. The series made some great changes that I missed when I went back to read the book, but also changed a few things that I wish had been left in their original form. There’s no question why this is one of the best selling mystery novel off all time. It’s terrifying but compulsively readable. I’ve read it many times, but despite that I still couldn’t put it down. It drags you in and doesn’t let up on the tension for even a moment. It makes sense that any adaptation of it would be good, because you’d have to change literally everything about And Then There Were None to make it bad. The BBC series did not do that. It’s a great adaptation. It’s very faithful, and one or two things aside, it only made changes that work better for television. No TV show can be exactly like a novel, and And Then There Were None is as close as possible without being a cheap imitation. It even deepens some themes and fleshes out some characters, and I absolutely recommend it. Even more than that, I absolutely recommend reading the book and watching the show back-to-back, because I had a ton of fun with that.

Book: A/⭐⭐⭐⭐⭐

Miniseries: A/⭐⭐⭐⭐⭐

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BBC miniseries credits

And Then There Were None (2015)

Based on the novel by Agatha Christie

Adapted/written by Sarah Phelps

Directed by Craig Viveiros

Starring Charles Dance (Judge Lawrence Wargrave), Burn Gorman (Detective Sergeant William Blore), Toby Stephens (Dr. Edward Armstrong), Aidan Turner (Philip Lombard), Maeve Dermody (Vera Claythorne), Miranda Richardson (Emily Brent), Sam Neill (General John Macarthur), Noah Taylor (Thomas Rogers), Anna Maxwell Martin (Ethel Rogers), and Douglas Booth (Anthony Marston), with Joseph Prowen (Seton), Tom Clegg (Landor), Harley Gallacher (Cyril), and Rob Heaps (Hugo)