Almost There: Angela Lansbury in "Death on the Nile"
Wednesday, October 12, 2022 at 7:50PM
Cláudio Alves in Agatha Christie, Almost There, Angela Lansbury, Anthony Powell, Best Supporting Actress, Death on the Nile, Oscars (70s), Peter Ustinov, Poirot, whodunnit?

by Cláudio Alves

From Gaslight to Glass Onion, Angela Lansbury had one extraordinary career whose sheer grandeur is hard to overstate. For almost 80 years, she entertained people worldwide, be it on the stages of Broadway or on TV as Jessica Fletcher, from roles of unspeakable villainy to cherished nurturers in children's media. So to read news of her death was shocking, even though Lansbury was almost 97 – she passed less than a week before her birthday. It just seemed like she would live forever, a primordial force eternally present in our lives. Lansbury worked to the end, maintaining a last vestige of Old Hollywood alive with her. How can one come close to articulating what a loss this is for show business? There was simply no one else quite like Angela Lansbury.

To honor the star, let's recall one of her most colorful film creations, a foray into Agatha Christie's world of murder mysteries that almost nabbed Lansbury a fourth Oscar nomination – the 1978 Death on the Nile

Adapted from Agatha Christie's 1937 homonymous novel, Death on the Nile details another misadventure of the Belgian detective Hercule Poirot. Though some changes were made in the adaptation process, the movie's relatively faithful to the original text, maintaining its basic narrative and tone, most of the characters, and essential details. That means the action is primarily set on the steamer Karnak, touring the Nile from Shellaf to Wadi Halfa, carrying a cadre of wealthy guests, which includes the newlywed socialite Linnet Doyle. She's the first murder victim in the picture, igniting the plot and Poirot's investigation. As always in Christie's writing, everyone's a suspect, and plenty of red herrings manifest along the path to truth.

Within this whodunnit intrigue, Angela Lansbury plays Salome Otterbourne, mayhap the oddest and most comedic figure in the lot. She's a romance novelist who dresses like an affluent fortune teller, spends her days drinking her fortune away, and is currently being sued by Linnet for libel. There's your motive, though, in the end, Otterbourne is more victim than assailant. As a companion for the trip, this alcoholic writer brings her daughter, Rosalie, whose main motivation seems to be protecting her mother from the ruination Linnet's accusations may bring upon them. Money is the key to everything, though it's impolite to mention such things in high society.

So far, so good – this is a typical Christie joint, full of archetypical figures perceived through a prism of English snobbery and a healthy mix of humor, mystery, and unexpected pathos. Though it's far from perfect, John Guillermin's Death on the Nile captures the book's tricky balance, being both funnier and more melancholic than the movie whose success kickstarted a new wave of Christie movie adaptations – 1974's Murder on the Orient Express. Part of it stems from the source material, but tonal alchemy depends on the actors' work. The entire cast is a carefully curated collection of extremes, within which Lansbury's kooky Salome emerges as the wildest caricature, the pinnacle of murder mystery eccentricity. 

We first find her watching the honeymooning Doyles dance the night away, a glass of liquor in hand and a mess of spangles covering her every inch. Lansbury's a vision of démodé vamp fashions, eyes circled in sloppy eyeshadow and mascara to make her look a bit like a silent movie star aged beyond her prime. Not that Salome Otterbourne is an especially silent presence. As soon as she catches a glimpse of Poirot, she's off like a drunk chatterbox, mispronouncing the Belgian's name as porridge while trying and failing to impress him. Every gesture drips with self-conscious grandeur, every word uttered with unctuous dramatism that's so overwrought one can't help but laugh at the spectacle. The way she uses her costume's wacky lines to emphasize everything is amusing beyond words.

And yet, Lansbury isn't without finesse. There's a hammy technique to her overpronunciation, the excited physicality of a tango danced with "a sensuous erotic dash." It's brilliant slapstick that still leaves space for character details like Salome's inflated sense of self-importance and her not-so-subtle disdain for the young Mrs. Doyle. Way before their relationship is explained, the older thespian has made us aware of the venom between the two with little else than a pause between words, a tossed-off glance, a minuscule closing of her elastic expression. These bubbles of hatred coming to the surface in moments of broad comedy characterize much of Lansbury's early scenes – a cyclical game of tonal disruptions.

Consider the only interaction we witness between Salome and Linnet, a charade of hollow groveling on the part of the author trying to appeal to the heiress' nonexistent mercy. A moment of rattling discomfort hinges on Lansbury's swiveling movements, unfocused looks betraying her intoxicated state. She can't even finish with a portentous threat, shouting outrage with a hunched posture and a voice that starts losing its fire as soon as words come spilling forth. It'd be incorrect to proclaim Lansbury's drunken acting as an example of authenticity or, God forbid, realism. Then again, those who search for such things in an Agatha Christie mystery are barking up the wrong tree.

Angela Lansbury always knows what kind of movie she's, her broadness intentional rather than incidental. An excursion to the Temple of Karnak allows the actress to explore the indulgent vicissitudes of Salome's sex-obsessed psyche in tandem with her perpetual spot in the liminal space between consciousness and unconsciousness. The sequence also allows for some variation, showcasing how the actress differs in approach depending on her scene partners. There's a bumbling demonstrativeness with Jack Warden, copying his gestures in a stupor before careening into a spiel about randy rams. With Olivia Hussey as her daughter, there's a glimmer of fragility. Observing Lois Chiles' Linnet, stone-faced fury shines bright through a dark gaze.

One must also acknowledge how good Lansbury is at delineating Salome's levels of stupefaction across the day. She's an embarrassing ham but still functioning at the Temple. Cut to nighttime, and the author can barely stay upright, her demeanor more erratic than ever, gestures sloppier, embarrassing the young Otterbourne to the point of mortification. If possible, the calamity of Linnet's murder only plunges the novelist deeper into the abyss of intemperance. Confronted by Poirot as a potential suspect, she's an utter mess – so much so that it's hard to believe in her as the killer. Even in the dramatization of the detective's theory, Lansbury plays up the sloshy gait of the woman, her tipsiness so overbearing it starts to curdle from farce into tragedy.

After that, Salome Otterbourne isn't in much of the movie, ending up as another casualty in the love triangle of Linnett Doyle, her husband and erstwhile best friend. Her last scene is a burst of vitality, highlighting everything brilliant about the performance. It's all in the excess balanced by measured deliveries, comedic mastery that lets the actress squeeze all the potential humor from the dialogue and splash it across the screen. To the end, she makes us giggle through too-long pauses, oscillating poses, a chaotic energy ripe to the verge of rot. It’s hard not to overstay one’s welcome when playing an annoying person, but Lansbury’s presence is missed after she's gone, leaving a void behind, allowing sorrow to overtake levity.


For her scene-stealing work, Angela Lansbury won the Best Supporting Actress award from the National Board of Review. She also scored a BAFTA nomination. Though these two honors might seem little in the way of precursor support, one must remember that, in 1978, the awards season wasn't nearly as crowded with prize-giving institutions. Indeed, one of the eventual Oscar nominees got no other recognition apart from that nod. AMPAS' chosen five were Dyan Cannon in Heaven Can Wait, Penelope Milford in Coming Home, Maggie Smith in California Suite, Maureen Stapleton in Interiors, and Meryl Streep in The Deer Hunter. Smith won the Academy Award, while Milford was the surprise nominee. All things considered, it's not too hard to imagine Angela Lansbury as a close sixth-placer. She was almost there.

Death on the Nile is streaming on The Roku Channel, Hoopla, Tubi, Pluto TV, Shout! Factory, Plex, and Freevee. You can also rent it on most of the major services.

Article originally appeared on The Film Experience (http://thefilmexperience.net/).
See website for complete article licensing information.