Poirot is essentially a poor man's Sherlock Holmes. Not literally, of course, since he serves only that peculiar strain of the upper-middle-class who are so utterly detestable and parasitic that you hope they'll all be the culprits. Except that happened once already and then he let them get away with it. It's not an unusual occurrence. In fact, I watched another episode the other day where he let a jewellery thief abscond just because she was charitable enough to show him some brief attention. She even gave him a little peck on his fat, balding head as she was making a getaway. It's good to know that the most cunning criminal can evade the brilliant Hercule Poirot by showing him a bit of leg and slobbering on his face.
And his methods are deplorable. He views himself as a "psychological detective". He laughs at the idea of crawling on his hands and knees to collect clues. Instead, he leans back in his chair, eating buttered goose and psychologically profiling his adversary. No, Poirot. That isn't the mark of a great detective. Take, for example, the unsurpassed Mr Holmes. He went in disguises so brilliant even his dear friend Dr Watson (who, like Scotland Yard's Lestrade, was brazenly stolen and poorly reproduced by the egregious Agatha Christie) couldn't recognise him. He went without sleep and food when he was involved in a case, subjecting himself to horrific physical and mental abuse when he needed to untangle a particularly tricky clue. I doubt Poirot has ever missed a meal in his life, much less suffered serious discomfort for his work. He and his fatuous pop-psychology are not suitable for the role of a detective.
I've almost now exhausted my rage. Yes, this post hasn't been very coherently argued, but my defence for this is that I'm blinded by my anger at the fact that Poirot infects television with his mediocre and half-arsed methods, and lack of detective style.
Less Poirot, more Holmes!
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