Mmmmmmmmmm….tastes like Kool-Aid. Waiter, bring me grape!
Sparkling Cyanide (2003), based loosely on an Agatha Christie novel, meditates on the evils of the ol’ prosperity lust. The orphans who inherit their parents’ fortune, but only serially, are the first to lose a life, of the eldest of course, hardly touching lip to bubbly at a nightclub party before succumbing to the evil desires. Operatives of a Brit secret service puzzle over the death, as government ministers are present and interested, resulting in various dirty linens’ exposure, a traditional and important element in Christie stories. Don’t forget the too-happy step-brother!
Then a billionaire American, widower of the now-dead orphan, decides to recreate the incident, but the stand-in for the corpse survives just fine, while the billionaire himself flies to the floor to bubble his life away. This is hardly sensible; what is going on?
It’s an okay story, but I fear the translation to the screen may not do Christie justice, or perhaps the original story was not quite so compelling as her best. Still, it was a pleasant passage of an hour or so.
