I woke up a few days ago with a splitting sinus headache and, for whatever reason, a bad case of the grumps. After lying in bed and dozing until around 2:00 p.m., I finally forced myself to get up, decided I would do nothing productive for the remainder of the day, tossed on a bathrobe over my pajamas, grabbed a cup of yogurt from the refrigerator, and turned on the TV in search of something entertaining.

And thus began my Sunday immersion in two of Agatha Christie’s best: “Murder On the Orient Express” and “Death On the Nile” — the originals from 1974 and 1978, respectively. Before I knew it, my headache had eased, the grumps had disappeared, and I was lost in the wonderful complexities of two good, old-fashioned murder mysteries.

Agatha certainly had a mind for murder, for cunning, and for deception. She also had good taste, and a sense of her readers’ sensibilities. There was, of course, murder most foul — but no display of gore. There were flirtations and hints of indiscretions — but no visible rolling in the hay. And while her favorite protagonist, Monsieur Hercule Poirot, was known for his directness, the “F-word” would never have entered his mind, much less escaped his lips. Hers was a time when — outwardly, at least — ladies were ladies, and gentlemen were . . . well, yes . . . gentlemen.

And oh! the movie stars! Lauren Bacall, Ingrid Bergman, Sean Connery, Albert Finney, Sir John Gielgud, Vanessa Redgrave, Richard Widmark, Michael York . . . and in the second film, Maggie Smith, Angela Lansbury, Bette Davis, Peter Ustinov, David Niven . . .

Actors the likes of whom will never be seen again, except for the blessing of the old films, now digitally preserved forever. They were our heroes and heroines, and when occasionally they misbehaved in real life, they did so with discretion. They were glamorous, beautiful role models, living lives that — to us mortals — were unattainable dreams.

So for a few hours that dreary Sunday, I lost myself once again in the make-believe world of beautiful people in beautiful clothes, of river boats on the Nile and luxury trains to the exotic capitals of Europe. And I felt — as I had long ago felt when leaving a movie theater after viewing a new film — that brief sense of wonderment and certainty that life was good and that truth and justice would always prevail.

If only . . .

Just sayin’ . . .

Brendochka
12/5/24