From the African MI5 agent to the blood libel against Max Mallowan as an adulterer, the witlessly foul mouth dialogue and the actress portraying Christie, this effort manages to get every salient point not just inaccurate but willfully wrong.
Mallowan and Christie were MI5 contact agents. Christie herself was the godmother of Ian Fleming, and she provided the name "James Bond" in a story he enjoyed reading, years before he came up with his own explanation for where he came up with the name.
Reading those factoids you have now achieved a level of accuracy and research the makers of this peculiarity have never broached.
The murderer in this story is so transparently easy to guess it verges on the theatre of the absurd. The characters are as cod and stock as any 1930s stereotypes except they are the modern equivalent- right-on portrayals of the usual modern Netflixian sort.
Agatha Christie, never a petite lady and never a fool, is portrayed if that is the word as a sort of desperate middle class conniver, stumbling along before suddenly turning brilliant at the last moment. Ham fisted story telling but then this is less about telling a story and more about the same sort of subtle persistent character assassination of Agatha Christie that afflicted the latter years of what was still called Poirot and (Miss) Marple despite being nothing of the sort. Christie was a conservative, and a Conservative, a defender of the monocultural ethnic England that was under assault already by the 1930s and she was a shrewd observer of the sinister forces staging the "managed decline" of a country she passionately loved despite its many faults.
As usual with modern Christie of all types, what we get is a crude attempt at deconstruction and a high school level "mystery" that is on a par with the disastrous later years of Doctor Who. And has the same odious not-so-subtle politics behind it.
Read a Christie novel instead, and marvel again at the sharp eye she possessed. She invented "signature" as a concept in criminology (unacknowledged), the idea of profiling, and she was also an acute observer of human relationships. All of that goes out the window in favour of cartoon pastiche. And the same can be said of Poirot and Marple of recent decades.
