A FAMOUS TRAIN, A FROZEN
LANDSCAPE, AND A CASE OF MURDER:
A NIFTY CHRISTIE MYSTERY

A stylish, fast-moving production that
entertains but skirts Christie’s moral depth

Is it an ill omen that my first two reviews for Stage and Cinema concern Hercule Poirot? Have I found my niche as a murder-mystery critic? It’s an intriguing notion—one I hope doesn’t stick. While I’ve long admired the oeuvres of Agatha Christie and Arthur Conan Doyle, I rarely feel the same connection to their stories when adapted for the stage.

In my review of Peril in the Alps, I noted, “Where it succeeds in making us laugh, it falters in holding our more serious attention.” Zach Theater’s Murder on the Orient Express occupies much the same territory: a quasi-serious murder comedy that flirts with gravity but rarely commits to it. Adapted for the stage by Ken Ludwig, the play premiered in 2017, and has since proved itself a commercial hit—largely for its visual flair and ensemble appeal—at regional theatres such as The Old Globe in San Diego. The production on the The Topfer stage functions as a near “plug-and-play” of that version, utilizing the designs of Paul Tate Depoo III (sets), Tracy Dorman (costumes), and Matthew Parker (sound).

The show opens with a projected reenactment of Daisy Armstrong’s kidnapping. The imagery is campy: a looming silhouette in slow motion over a screaming child. Poirot then enters to deliver brisk exposition before the screen lifts to reveal a lavish Istanbul café. The aesthetic is unapologetically 1930s excess—gold leaf, fur shawls, vivid décor—and as Poirot observes the patrons, he overhears fragments of conversation that will later take on narrative weight.

The tone fully crystallizes with the arrival of Helen Hubbard (Olivia D. Dawson), a bombastic American whose flirtatious bravado fuels many of the evening’s biggest laughs. Dawson plays the role with gleeful abandon, her antics deliberately grating against the restraint of the surrounding characters. One standout scene—clearly a Ludwig invention—pairs Hubbard with Princess Dragomiroff (Babs George) in a vicious insult-fest that feels closer to reality television than Christie. The audience’s audible “oohs” and “aahs” suggest it landed exactly as intended.

Visually, the production is elegant and efficient. The train cars rotate in and out on a turnstile with impressive fluidity, creating a sense of constant motion. A favorite detail is the cramped communications deck where Michel the Conductor (Fernando Rivera) operates the radio—a clever nook that swings toward the audience and disappears just as quickly. This mechanical choreography, combined with the actors’ physical negotiations of the confined spaces, is consistently engaging. Ludwig’s famously brisk pacing is well-served under Jenny Lavery’s direction, keeping the stage in near-perpetual motion.

Steven Pounders’ Poirot is competent and functional, primarily tasked with moving the plot forward. His restrained presence seems less a failure of performance than a consequence of the script’s design, which renders Poirot oddly unremarkable. Stronger impressions come from Ms. Dawson and André Martin as Monsieur Bouc. Martin’s perpetually exasperated Bouc, delightfully French and finely timed, punctuates the action with humor and clarity. Credit is also due to dialect coach Kate Glasheen; despite minor lapses in enunciation, the accents never fracture the illusion.

Momentum falters during the final detective summation. As Poirot paces the dining car explaining his theories, characters freeze in spotlights to repeat earlier lines while close-up projections loom above them. The effect unintentionally deflates what should be the story’s most consequential moment, undercutting the gravity of the revelation with theatrical gimmickry. Even as moral verdicts are rendered, gags intrude. The final image—Poirot alone, appealing for empathy as the ghost of Daisy Armstrong appears to take his hand—is hollow and overtly sentimental, blunting the unsettling power of Christie’s original ending.

What makes Murder on the Orient Express enduring is not the puzzle itself, but Poirot’s confrontation with justice. Christie uses the mystery as a crucible for the detective’s rigid moral code. Earlier in the story, Poirot solves a case that ends in the culprit’s suicide, an event that seeds his self-doubt. Throughout the opening acts, Poirot repeatedly tries to remove himself from involvement, declining Ratchett’s request for protection and only relenting at the pleading of Monsieur Bouc, an old friend. Christie presents Poirot as aging, isolated, and deeply conflicted—torn between law and human compassion. That vulnerability distinguishes this story within the detective genre. Ludwig’s script gestures toward these themes but never explores them deeply enough to satisfy.

As entertainment, Zach’s Murder on the Orient Express succeeds. For audiences seeking Christie’s more searching meditation on justice and moral ambiguity, however, this particular train may leave the station a little too quickly.

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photos by Axel B Photography

Murder on the Orient Express
The Topfer at ZACH
202 S. Lamar Blvd. in Austin, TX
2 hours and 30 minutes with intermission
ends on March 1, 2026
for tickets (starting at $28), call 512.476.0541 x1 or visit Zach Theater

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