Review: Murder on the Orient Express

Self-proclaimed ‘World’s Greatest Detective’ Hercule Poirot (Sir Kenneth Branagh) takes a vacation aboard the title train. Unfortunately, it ends up being a working vacation as a murder takes place during the journey, and the Belgian sleuth with the walrus moustache is met with a host of suspects. Michelle Pfeiffer plays a multiple divorcee, Daisy Ridley and Leslie Odom Jr. play a young governess and her secret doctor lover, Penelope Cruz plays a missionary, Willem Dafoe is a fussy German professor, Johnny Depp plays a sinister American businessman with Josh Gad his numbers man, and Dame Judi Dench plays an elderly princess accompanied by maid Olivia Colman.

The problem with some adaptations of known literary works is that if you already don’t like the original, there’s a jolly good chance you won’t like the remake/adaptation, either. It isn’t an exact science of course, but it holds true of this 2017 version of the Agatha Christie novel from director/star Sir Kenneth Branagh (“Mary Shelley’s Frankenstein”, “Dead Again”) and adapter Michael Green (“Logan”, “Blade Runner 2049”). To be honest, I’ve never been a Hercule Poirot fan, I find the character (and anyone playing it) tends to lend itself to self-indulgence and overplayed and overworked quirkiness. To that end, this film, like the 1974 Sidney Lumet version before it, feels like a murder-mystery story takes a backseat to the Sheldon Cooper of the detective world. It’s a story about Poirot, really. Since it’s not a terribly interesting mystery and I already went into it knowing the solution, I obviously did not come away from this film particularly entertained or enlightened.

Sherlock Holmes and Miss Marple can be eccentric characters, but not to the point of getting in the way of the mysteries the characters are meant to be solving. With Poirot, the boiled ham stops everything dead. It’s a good-looking film, but sadly everyone has to get on the train at some point, leaving the lovely scenery mostly behind. That said, if we stayed off the train, the damn story would be even slower to progress. After 30 minutes I was already getting impatient with it, so perhaps it was for the best. An hour in and despite some fine acting, I didn’t give a flying fuck whodunit, although I obviously already knew. The story isn’t very interesting and the director is far too in love with his main star playing a character far too in love with himself.

Of the supporting cast, few get the chance to stand out if any, but several are at least well-chosen in their underdeveloped roles. Daisy Ridley convinces more in something like this than the “Star Wars” films where she’s probably the weak link. She’s actually terrific, charming, adorable, and full of whatever ‘It’ is. Dame Judi Dench probably gets among the shortest of shrifts here, but is nonetheless perfectly cast and shows Mr. Branagh you can enjoy yourself without being smug and self-satisfied about it. Penelope Cruz has always had a 60s European/international beauty about her and is quite well-cast here. Michelle Pfeiffer, far from my favourite actress is actually perfectly cast here. She’s worried me a bit with some of her choices in the last decade, but she’s the right actress for the part here. Johnny Depp is trying some kind of accent here (Noo Yawk? Noo Joisey? Chicago? Buggered if I know) and failing at it, but otherwise gives off a dangerous machismo vibe here that works for the part. You’re not sure what to make of him, and that makes him quite interesting. Perhaps Tom Hardy or Sean Penn would’ve been even better, but Depp gets the job done in one of his better recent performances. Sadly, he’s barely in the thing either. Less effective is Willem Dafoe, a normally terrific actor who from moment one here is acting like Van Heflin in “Airport”. Needless to say his big reveal (and no, I’m not spoiling the mystery) is predictable from moment one because Dafoe isn’t the slightest bit convincing. Poor Derek Jacobi gets the useless, colourless butler/servant role in this. Such a waste of a fine character actor. Branagh’s direction is pretty over-the-top too, with far too many clichéd shots of all the suspects glowering in guilty/suspicious close-up. The B&W murder scene is eye-rolling in its pretentiousness as well. Branagh and subtlety are not acquainted with one another as actor nor director.

Hercule Poirot is a self-satisfied bore, here played by a self-satisfied bore, directed by a self-satisfied bore. Add to that a distractingly awful and fake-looking piece of gigantic facial hair, and a fairly wasted supporting cast and I think this film is best left to the Poirot fans, though some of them might not even like it. Good-looking, but I grew impatient pretty quickly with this one.

Rating: C