Grade: C-
Having seen Sydney Lumet’s faithful adaptation of Agatha
Christie’s murder mystery “Murder on the Orient Express” recently, I was
worried my knowledge of the story and the solution to the mystery would taint
my experience of watching Kenneth Branagh’s glossy star studded version. And for
a while my concern was warranted. Branagh’s adaptation, which he co wrote with
Michael Green, follows the source material very closely with few adjustments
and it reaches the same conclusion.
However, to my surprise, that conclusion is still pretty
damn impactful, not necessarily because of the murder itself but rather the
profound effect said murder has on the brilliant Belgian detective Hercule
Poirot (Branagh). By the end, Poirot’s personal coda is altered; his strictly traditional
notions of right and wrong are permanently ruffled. And he’s forced to see the
world in a way he hadn’t before.
Unfortunately, getting to this point is a bit of a chore.
While “Murder on the Orient Express” is never outright bad it’s consistently
flat. The screenplay is stagey and telegraphed to a fault--draining the film of
tension and urgency. Everything has to be spelled out for us, in lengthy
monologues by the characters, (in which they spill potential motives) Poirot’s
interrogations and flashbacks. Branagh’s oppressive theatrical style, combined
with his faithfulness to the source material makes for a bland affair. A
documentary featuring the actors from this movie playing one large game of Clue
would be more exciting.
For the stylish and suspicious group of railroad travelers
Branagh has assembled an impressive cast of old and new talent, including Daisy
Ridley, Willem Dafoe, Michelle Pfeiffer and Judi Dench among others. It’s a
shame they aren’t given more to do. “Murder on the Orient Express” clocks in at
an hour and fifty five minutes, a surprisingly brisk running time (given how
many characters there are and the complexity of the mystery) that short changes
its ensemble, hindering the characters from developing beyond a few scripted
bullet points that may or may not connect them to the murder, bullet points
that Poirot proceeds to spell out for us.
In this regard, the mysterious Count and Countess (played by Sergei
Polunin and Lucy Boynton) suffer the most, as Poirot blandly explains their
backstory right to their face.
The short runtime also disrupts the picture’s overall flow.
The narrative unfolds hastily and messily; character backstories and motivations
seem to come out of nowhere. The backstory involving an American Army Colonel
and his young daughter, which turns out to be a very important piece of the
puzzle, is dropped into the narrative in such a casual and clunky manner that
it’s devoid of significance. A murder mystery as elaborate as this one needs
time to unravel with ease. Too often it feels like Branagh is trying to get
through his story as quickly as he can.
Visually, “Murder on the Orient Express” is pretty but also
a little drab. Haris Zambarloukos’ cinematography is polished and there are a
handful of dynamic tracking shots but the CGI exterior shots outside the
confines of the train (on a snowy mountain, in Istanbul, in Jerusalem) are
downright atrocious. They look unfinished and make the movie feel even more
flat. I guess the filmmakers spent their entire budget on the actors and fake
mustaches.
For what it’s worth, Branagh is very good as Poirot,
bringing the character’s many quirks and inflated sense of ego to life. He gets
the funniest lines in the movie and he sells the hell out of Poirot’s change in
perspective at the end. The rest of the
actors do the best they can, with the exception of Depp and Josh Gad. Both men
give overly strained dramatic performances that crumble like the very mountain
that stops the train and kick starts our mystery.
Despite the life altering resolution, Branagh’s adaptation
of “Orient” does little to justify its existence. You’re better off reading
Christie’s novel or watching Lumet’s version.
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