Accept no imitations: this is fabulous, an absolute classic. The adaptation of Christie's (rather humourless) whodunnit vastly improves on the novel by tight plotting, and the injection of a healthy dose of camp. A stable full of Hollywood's biggest names chews the scenery to bits and they have a whale of a time while they're doing it. Peter Ustinov brings a dry wit to Poirot; Niven is stiff-backed and debonaire as Colonel Race. Bette Davis is a gorgeously grouchy old biddy with a penchant for pinching jewellery, constantly bickering with the incomparable Maggie Smith, hilarious as her sniffy companion, appalled at being reduced to working as a private nurse after Linnet's father ruined her family's fortune. ("If there are two things in the world I can't abide it's heat and heathens!") But no review could be complete without a loving mention of Angela Lansbury, whose portrayal of teetering tipsy erotic novelist Salome Otterbourne is one of the campest in cinema history. Lansbury has a ball teetering around sloshing her drinks, and she's adorable to watch.