Think Poirot's an eccentric obsessive? A revealing portrait of actor David Suchet as he kills his greatest creation By Christopher Stevens End of an era: This week sees Poirot's final case as David Suchet peels off the waxed moustache and hangs up the cane Morse. Holmes. Miss Marple. Television's most revered characters are the detectives, super-perceptive beings whose moral strength defends us against evil and chaos. Detectives are the gods of the TV age. And of all the gods, David Suchet, an obsessive perfectionist, plays the supreme intelligence: Hercule Poirot. This week sees the little Belgian detective's final case, Curtain. Suchet, 67, has peeled off the waxed moustache and hung up the cane. We will miss him - but for the highly strung star, who inhabits his roles so intensely that friends in the past have feared for his sanity, the death of Poirot could be shattering. Though he has been played by many fine actors - Albert Finney, Peter Ustinov and Alfred Molina among them - Poirot was once a lesser deity, a minor idol whose eccentricities were good for a giggle. His absurd accent, his popinjay manner, his fastidious attire made him a comic caricature. In the colour TV era, viewers wanted detectives who drank real ale and swigged whisky; Poirot sipped from a thimble-glass of sweetly foul red liqueur called crème de cassis. He first appeared in 1920, and over the next half-century, in a series of more than 30 novels and dozens of short stories, he made his creator, Agatha Christie, the most successful writer alive. But after Christie died in 1976, it seemed certain that, outmoded and ridiculous, Poirot would be forgotten. Instead, the egg-headed man with the mincing gait is a superstar - and that is due entirely to the charm and intensity of Suchet's performance. He brought to Poirot the psychological complexity he evolved growing up, the son of a taciturn gynaecological surgeon and a music hall artiste. Talented: Suchet, 67, brought to Poirot the psychological complexity he evolved growing up, the son of a taciturn gynaecological surgeon and a music hall artiste His personality combines his father's stern precision and his mother's flamboyant love of theatre; these twin engines have powered his performance. When Suchet was approached to play Poirot in the late Eighties, the trustees of Christie's estate - her daughter Rosalind and son-in-law Anthony Hicks - could not have guessed how perfect the actor was for the role. They had watched him as Sigmund Freud in a TV mini-series, as the blackmailing gardener Blott in a Tom Sharpe comedy, and in the Poirot movie Thirteen At Dinner - playing Inspector Japp, opposite Peter Ustinov's Poirot. What the family saw was an actor who always took himself seriously, however ridiculous the role. During a lunch to sound Suchet out, Hicks wagged his finger and warned: "We do not want anyone to laugh at Poirot. He is not a clown. Suchet's response was more thorough and serious-minded than they could ever have expected. Final journey? David Suchet in his final performance as Hercule Poirot, which will air on Wednesday Fragile: Despite his advancing years, Poirot returns to the UK for one final mystery Though he rarely read crime novels, he sat down with a stack of Agatha Christie books, almost everything she ever wrote about this former Belgian police inspector who became the most celebrated private detective by appointment to the British upper classes. He read the lot, and he noted every detail. After a fortnight, he had amassed a dossier of back-story and personal details - how Poirot had been the child of an obscure father, who joined the police to make a name for himself; how he was allergic to untidiness, and could not even eat his breakfast unless his boiled eggs were the same size and colour; how a speck of dust on his suit caused him as much pain as the bullet wound he picked up during World War I. By the first day of shooting in 1988 on the initial Poirot adventure, The Adventure Of The Clapham Cook - which aired in January the next year - Suchet knew more about the "egocentric little creep" (as Dame Agatha once called him) than anyone alive. 'Serious': Before taking on the role, Suchet sat down with a stack of Agatha Christie books That dossier has been his touchstone for the past 25 years, as he fulfilled his mission to portray the detective in every one of the cases Christie wrote for him. This compulsion to discover everything he could about his characters has almost destroyed Suchet in the past. He admits that he is less an actor than a chameleon: "I have to inhabit the people I play. I have to get under their skin. Born in 1946, he never felt he belonged among his upper-class schoolfellows. His own great-grandparents were Jews named Suchedowitz who fled from Lithuania to avoid persecution: to many people, such ancient history would be irrelevant, but Suchet took it to heart. "I have always regarded myself as an outsider," he says. My roles have reflected that. In this and many other subtle ways, his own personality would be projected into Poirot. Unlike his older brother John, later an ITN newsreader, young David was not an academic boy. He loathed their boarding school, Grenham House in Kent, and from the age of eight was frequently beaten, for minor offences such as having a chocolate bar in his locker. He enjoyed sport, and dutifully took part in school plays, but it was not until he moved to a public school, Wellington in Somerset, that his stage talent was spotted. After a production of Macbeth, a master suggested he should apply for the National Youth Theatre. At a show at the Royal Court, Suchet had what he calls "an epiphany," an almost mystic revelation of what his life meant. As he watched stage hands dismantling the scenery, he realised that the illusion and magic of theatre were addictive, and he craved them. It was not the last time that his life would be changed by one moment of intense insight. POIROT ON MARRIAGE: "I have known of five wives murdered by their devoted husbands . . . and 22 husbands murdered by their wives." The Double Clue POIROT ON THE POLICE: "They will learn soon enough that the open-and-shut case has the broken hinges." The Cornish Mystery POIROT ON GENIUS: "One cannot hurry the little grey cells." Problem At Sea POIROT ON CUISINE: "The day the English create their own wines is the day I return home to Belgium." The Yellow Iris POIROT ON LOGIC: "I am methodical, orderly and logical, and I do not like to distort facts to support a theory." One Two, Buckle My Shoe When Poirot examines a body In Murder In The Mews (1989) you can clearly see one of its fingers move. Evil Under The Sun (2001) was filmed in the same hotel where Agatha Christie wrote the book. In The Lost Mine (1990), we see Poirot playing Monopoly. Later another character signs a hotel guest book with the date February, 8, 1935. Monopoly wasn't patented until December 1935. In The Mysterious Affair At Styles (1990) set in 1917, a character says "back at square one." This phrase comes from early radio commentaries of football matches - the pitch was divided into hypothetical squares so listeners could follow the action - and was coined in the Thirties. The goalkeeper was in square one. The luxury cruiser The Karnak used in the filming of Death On The Nile (2004) is the same ship as in the 1978 Hollywood adaptation starring Peter Ustinov. His decision to be an actor was ignored by the theatre world, however. To support himself, he worked as a lift attendant and a menswear assistant at Moss Bros, where he earned tips of 10 shillings (50p) tying bow ties for American tourists. Pestering his agent, he gradually forced his way into repertory theatre, but his sheer intensity threatened to wreck his career before it began. When an early love affair broke down, Suchet took it so badly he became ill and his hair fell out. That put paid to any hopes he had of being a romantic lead; he was a character actor now. A psychiatrist friend feared for Suchet's mental health during his run at London's Young Vic theatre, playing the self-destructive hero of Shakespeare's Timon Of Athens. Going backstage, the alarmed friend warned that he was not merely playing a part - he had become Timon himself, driving himself out of his mind for his art. Co-stars: Suchet is pictured with Zoe Wanamaker, who plays Mrs Oliver in the ITV drama Suchet scoffed . . . until the doctor challenged him to recite his own phone number. The actor realised he had erased himself so completely that he could not even remember the date of his birthday. To push the character of Timon out of his head every night, he trained himself to sit in front of a mirror and recite the key facts of his life over and over. It was as though he had to hypnotise himself to become David Suchet again - a technique he still uses today. His friends were anxious again when he announced in the mid-Eighties that he had undergone another epiphany. This time, despite his Jewish heritage and his secular upbringing, he had converted to Christianity. The revelation came after he picked up a Bible and read the Epistle of St Paul to the Romans. He refuses to say he was born again - "an American phrase I hate" - but he insists spirituality is a need, not merely a yearning, for everyone. To his family the announcement came as a shock. "I think it was very hard at first for them," he agrees, "but for me, my faith has been an anchor." Legend: Poirot has been played by many fine actors, including Albert Finney, Peter Ustinov and Alfred Molina. Above, Suchet and his co-stars in Labours of Hercules He is still a Christian today - no one could accuse Suchet of making his commitments lightly. Playing Poirot, he absorbed himself so fully that he would not talk in his own voice on set. The cast and crew must have thought it a bizarre affectation, as the star chatted in that heavily inflected accent. The voice is a deliberate creation. Suchet's natural tone, a sonorous, actorly sound, is too deep for the detective: "I think of him as a walking brain, so his voice must come from the head." On one occasion, unable to remember whether Poirot took three lumps of sugar or five in his tea, Suchet phoned his wife, Sheila, and asked her to consult the dossier. The camera crew could not stifle their giggles as they listened - "Allo, mah dairlink, eet is me, Davide . . ." But Suchet has never been one to care what others think. He even disregarded brother John's advice in 1988, when the experienced reporter warned that being typecast as Poirot could ruin his career. 'His personality combines his father's stern precision and his mother's flamboyant love of theatre' Christopher Stevens The only person whose advice he will heed is Sheila, a fellow actor, to whom he has been married for 37 years. They met during a production of Dracula in Coventry. He fell in love with her at first sight, but didn't dare ask her out for weeks for fear of being rejected. On their first date, he took her for a Chinese meal and then, in a shopping centre at 2am, serenaded her with the Nat King Cole classic, When I Fall In Love (It Will Be For Ever). He meant it. Their first few years were stormy ones: both were absorbed in their acting careers and aware that relationships like theirs rarely worked out. But they were both romantics, and whenever they had money to celebrate they would share a bottle of wine and keep the cork - David would mark the occasion on it in his delicate handwriting. Suchet, a deeply private man, will not discuss details of his marriage, but he admits he has an uncompromising view of a wife's role. Sheila was a homemaker; he was a breadwinner. "Feminists have accused me of being a chauvinist," he says, "but I make no apologies for that." Brilliant: Suchet won Best Actor in 'Maxwell' at the 36th Annual International Emmy Awards Gala in 2008 Following one almighty row, they decided to separate and began dividing up their possessions . . . but both of them wanted to keep the corks. Instead of splitting up, they got married, had two children - Robert and Kate - and lived a nomadic life for several years on a narrow boat, chugging between theatres on the canals. Britain's canal network remains an obsession for Suchet. But his taste for wine and cigars was curtailed in 1988 when a doctor watching him in an episode of Roald Dahl's Tales Of The Unexpected phoned the ITV studios in alarm - during a 30-second close-up on Suchet's face, the viewer had spotted telltale signs of high cholesterol. The camera had picked up white rings around the brown irises of Suchet's eyes, a warning sign that a stroke or heart attack could be imminent. The actor quit smoking and began a strict diet. His weight fell . . . just as he was beginning rehearsals for Poirot, a man whose body was supposed to resemble a beachball. To achieve the detective's 46in waist, he donned layers of padding - he labelled it his "armadillo suit," moulded around his thighs, waist and shoulders, with chubby "man breasts," too. Under the studio lights, it could be suffocatingly hot. An SAS soldier advised him to pant like a dog between takes, to lose heat, but while shooting one episode in Tunisia, with temperatures close to 40c, Suchet stepped out of a car and collapsed. When they re-shot the scene, his suit was immaculate and there was not one bead of sweat on his face. Even at death's door, his professionalism and drive for perfection are unshakeable. It is that quality that makes his Poirot so believable. Any other actor could never resist the temptation to send him up - his narcissism, his sheer silliness are irresistible targets. But even while the rest of the cast are poking fun at Poirot, Suchet is dignified. He respects the character as much as he respects his actor's vocation: absolutely, without question. That's why, on the rare occasion that Poirot loses his temper, we see the flash of steel beneath his pomposity. In a 1991 episode called The Mystery Of The Spanish Chest, one suspect's taunts finally caused him to explode: "I am not a "bloody little Frog!" I am a bloody little Belgian! 'Perfect': When Suchet was approached to play Poirot in the late Righties, the trustees of Christie's estate could not have guessed how perfect the actor was for the role That should be hilarious. The way Suchet played it was far from funny - it was genuinely frightening. The same devotion to his craft compels him to be courteous to everyone who asks him for an autograph. He recognises that to millions of viewers, Poirot is somehow real, a regular guest in their homes. Many critics have tried to analyse Poirot's charm, but to Suchet, who receives fan mail daily from viewers telling him just what they like and don't like, the character's appeal is simple: manners, courtesy and obsessive attention to detail. Those same qualities are the essence of what the actor brought to this role for a quarter of a century. He transformed Poirot's place in the pantheon of detectives. At the same time, he created a steady focus for himself, a role that he could return to instead of constantly plunging into new personas, different brains. Life without Poirot is going to be strange for us. It's going to be far stranger for David Suchet.