As a joint honours student studying both English and Film Studies, it is with some degree of guilt that I admit I have failed to experience Murder on the Orient Express in either it's original, literary form, or its acclaimed 1974 adaptation. When it comes to reviewing this film, however, I feel this comes to my advantage. There have been muted but noticeable rumblings surrounding Express for some time. Many labelled it as Kenneth Branagh's self-indulgent attempt at awards bait and, more recently, critics after seeing the film have dismissed it as a re-make lacking the prowess and power of its '74 predecessor.
I guess the general consensus is that Murder on the Orient Express is proving to be a shallow, 'blockbuster-esque' take on a novel-to-screen phenomena that already holds the hearts of many. But if I have not seen the so-declared superior original adaptation, then I surely won't be let down if Branagh's version is a tad shallower, right? And so I entered the screening with hope, ready to escape into Christie's intricate world.
Express is, though, just...shallow, regardless of any already beloved versions that some will compare it to.
The adjective 'shallow' though, does not mean bad, for the aesthetically pleasing cinematography within the film is almost enough to save it. Right from the start, Branagh takes the audience through a world so simultaneously beautiful and obviously CGI that it's as if you're within a snow globe. Panning shots of the titular steam train plowing through snowy mountains and Arabian cities make the audience feel like they're watching the coziest, most 'Christmassy' John Lewis advert yet.
The same approach can be said for the character design. While the on screen characters looked beautiful and era-accurate, there was something obviously bizzare about, for example, Branagh's Poirot moustache, which did not once fool me into thinking of its legitimacy. At one point, too, Michelle Pfeiffer's character removes a wig to reveal her 'real hair' which looked miles more unconvincing than her original 'do. It's frustrating because I feel Murder on the Orient Express suffers from a faux sheen that could have so easily been prevented. Perhaps this could be put down to Branagh's obviously large amount of control over the production as the star and director of the film; Sometimes when someone challenges your artistic vision a product more amicably received by a wider audience is created.
Express' biggest crime, though, comes in the form of its screenplay. Such basic mistakes have been made here and it's, again, frustrating to see such potential wasted on screen. For those unaware, the entire emotional crux of this film relies on two distinct things. Of course, this stuff is hard to explain without revealing spoilers for the film, so just go with me here.
The first is Poirot's fixed, black and white outlook on life and morality. This is immediately weakened through the audience's lack of time spent with Mr Poirot as portrayed by Branagh. Michael Green (the screenwriter) attempts to maneuver around this by heavily displaying Poirot's OCD in the introduction of the film. This, though, is wholly irrelevant as a representation of Poirot's central belief that things are either "good or evil". Green assumes that this view of morality can be sufficiently displayed through Poirot demanding people straighten their ties or that his two hard boiled eggs are exactly the same height. Obviously, this doesn't work effectively at all, and not only weakens the film's central emotional pay-off but makes Poirot slightly unlikable.
The other basis of the film's emotional crux is the previous murder of a baby girl and the implications that her death has. This, though, is only shown through two or three flashbacks and, apart from basic empathy, we as an audience were never even slightly emotionally invested in her or her family. To see such a fundamental error in a film with this cast, budget and over all potential is so irritating. We end up with a film whos a lead character we don't care for and a motive to a crime that, again, struggles to hold our interest.
Occasionally, too, the actors delve into over-acting territory which feels so, so jarring. The acting, to be clear, is never bad, it just feels like the actors are performing in a theatre to an audience far away, rather than to a close-up camera. The result is an array of great performances that themselves fail to gel with the plot at hand. What could have been mellow, subtle performances by the multitude of suspects on the train ends up feeling weirdly performed. The normal 'whodunnit' intrigue is simply absent. It is worth noting, however, that Michelle Pfeiffer's Widow was an absolute standout from the rest of the cast, and it was refreshing to see more range from Josh Gad (who you may know as the voice of Frozen's Olaf).
Branagh himself is just as at fault. Strange shots of him laughing with children or clumsily falling out of bed are intended to be endearing but end up making Branagh seem less Poirot and more Super Mario. There are repeated scenes of him in his carriage, for example, talking and giggling to a framed photo of an unknown woman who we as an audience haven't been introduced to and simply don't care about. It's obvious that the intention was to make Poirot charming and likable, but the overtly jokey portrayal here lacks any form of warmth or tenderness. Though I hesitate to say so, it feels like Branagh is ultimately delivering a lackluster performance that can then lean on the previous portrayals of Poirot known to the public consciousness. His characterization was inconsistent as was the films tone. It feels, in essence, lazy.
I know it seems like I am completely slating Murder on the Orient Express, but it really isn't a bad film. It's actually decent, shallow fun, and the first half is great. I just know what Kenneth Branagh and the rest of his star studded cast are capable of. He has created pure magic with films like Henry V, As You Like It, Thor and Cinderella, so I feel like these basic mistakes really shouldn't have slipped through. The story is still notably good but feels lazily presented and, as a consequence, leaves the audience uninterested and un-bothered by the events being shown. It feels like Express should have been the final installment in a Poirot-Branagh franchise, as I understand the original novel was meant build on everything readers had known about Poirot beforehand. So much of this film revolves around this case's impact on Poirot as a man, but if we haven't even met Branagh's version before now, we just won't care.
⭐⭐⭐
Written by James Green
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