Movie Review: "Murder on the Orient Express" Is a New Take on a Bonkers Twist Ending

Murder most foul. Remake just fine.

How do you update and sexify Agatha Christie’s Murder on the Orient Express for 2017?

You could fill your titular train with a carriage’s worth of beautiful celebrity faces. You could plaster an elaborate moustache on director and star Kenneth Branagh. And you could throw in a couple of superfluous action sequences, including a foot-chase with, erm, Josh Gad.

Well, two outta three ain’t bad.

Branagh is the latest filmmaker to have a crack at Christie’s epic whodunnit, published and set in the 1930s. His version comes 44 years after Sidney Lumet’s very playful adaptation, and though Branagh’s having a hammy-good time in front of the camera as iconic Belgian investigator Hercule Poirot, behind the camera he’s trading Lumet's playfulness for melodrama. Despite a flirty opening, Murder on the Orient Express quickly becomes a sullen and silly affair, mostly made worthwhile by its stacked cast.

Proceedings begin with Poirot—needing to travel from Istanbul to London for a case—hitching a ride on the Orient Express, which is populated by a bunch of colourful and shifty individuals. Worst of all is Edward Ratchett (Johnny Depp), an imposing gangster who threatens a disinterested Poirot. (Hercule’s retort: “I do not like your face.” Same.) He must also fend off the advances of Caroline Hubbard (Michelle Pfeiffer) and navigate the conflicting, racially-diverse personalities of the other passengers, played by Willem Dafoe, Penélope Cruz, Judi Dench, Star Wars’ Daisy Ridley and Hamilton’s Leslie Odom Jr., to name barely half.

After the Orient Express gets bogged in snow, one of the guests is discovered dead. Murdered dead. Poirot, the self-proclaimed best-detective-in-the-world, begins his sharp interrogations, hoping to weed out the killer. Side note: Why haven’t we been calling this “Mo'Piercer”?

We won’t spoil anything, but if you already know whodidit, there’s not much to find thrilling in Murder of the Orient Express. You’ll have to settle for the luscious production design and impeccable costumes, and admire Branagh and cinematographer Haris Zambarloukos’ audacious attempts to frame the dozen-plus actors within the train’s narrow corridors, using rare 65mm cameras. To make sure everyone fits, Zambarloukos even shoots some of Poirot’s investigation from above, as if he were Frogger.

Branagh’s showiest choices are his smartest, and no, I don’t only mean the moustache. Early on, the scene is set with a handful of lengthy tracking shots, laying out the geography of the train carriages and convincing the audience (truthfully or not) that the actors were occasionally on set at the same time. When characters are later isolated for their interrogations, it's important to believe they once occupied the same space as their possible victim.

Of course, if you don’t know how Murder on the Orient Express ends, you’ll get to see it unfold in all its bonkers glory. Still, the mystery isn’t laid out quite as cleanly here—by screenwriter Michael Green—as it was in the 1974 version, and the insertion of some absolutely absurd and unnecessary bursts of action feels like the worst kind of diversion tactic. Surely the sparkling dialogue should be enough?

Murder on the Orient Express is, overall, a worthwhile trip, though you’d wish the more delicious performers like Dafoe and especially Cruz—who is taking a part made famous by Oscar-winner Ingrid Bergman—had a bit more to chew on. Branagh gets all the good stuff instead, which he chomps with mischievous delight. The others often just watch. Talk about railroaded.

3/5

In cinemas now. Rated M for mature themes.