To say this is Kenneth Branagh’s “best Hercule Poirot movie yet” is undoubtedly true, but means sod all. Murder on the Orient Express and Death on the Nile were ridiculous. The new venture is consistently gorgeous to look at, toys in a smart way with our desire for rational explanations and allows Tina Fey to strut her stuff (which is significant because the SNL genius behind Mean Girls and 30 Rock has often floundered on the big screen). Just don’t compare it to 70s chillers like Don’t Look Now or Death in Venice, because it’s not remotely haunting.
Branagh and his long-time collaborator, Michael Green, seem emboldened by the fact that the source material (Agatha Christie’s savage, shocking 1969 novel, Hallowe’en Party) is relatively obscure and non-beloved. The pair have jettisoned the time frame and most of the plot.
