This, the third of four screen adaptations of Agatha Christie's classic whodunit Ten Little Indians, is the worst of the batch. As good as the story is - 10 strangers are assembled together at a remote house and are bumped off, one by one - its appeal has worn very thin by now. This one, directed by Peter Collinson, has a good cast (Oliver Reed, Herbert Lom, Elke Sommer, Richard Attenborough and Charles Aznavour among them), but the bleak Iranian setting and some pretty by-the-numbers acting make this thriller almost entirely devoid of suspense although Aznavour manages to gargle out a tune before he heads to the recording studio in the sky. Who in their right mind, when put in such a threatening situation as this party of death, would have the nerve to start warbling? That's real cool.

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