In a 12 months full of agenda-driven cinematic drivel and gargantuan big-budget flops, a throwback to good old school movies of yore seems like a breath of contemporary air. As such, A Haunting in Venice marks one of the best, most succinct, and humorous adaptation of an Agatha Christie story by Kenneth Branagh but. While its ambitions could also be modest and its remaining twist predictable, author Michael Green’s snappy one-liners, Branagh’s sharp route, and cinematographer Haris Zambarloukos’s beautiful imagery render this a superbly calibrated challenge: somewhat spooky, somewhat unhappy, typically uproarious, and so very cozy. Christie could be proud.
A heavy fog of post-war melancholy actually cloaks the traditional towers of Venice. Now retired, Hercule Poirot is invited by Rowena Drake (Kelly Reilly), a grieving mom, to attend a séance hosted by the notorious, eccentric medium Mrs. Reynolds (Michelle Yeoh). To say Rowena’s home is dilapidated could be a disservice to dilapidation: damp and darkish and seemingly half-immersed within the rising waters of Venice, it’s as morbidly attractive as it’s unlivable.
Poirot is joined by Ariadne Oliver (Tina Fey), an previous buddy and a novelist, intent on debunking Mrs. Reynolds’s unconventional practices; figuring out Poirot is an ardent atheist, she makes an attempt to get the reluctant detective concerned in her scheme. Also in attendance: the PTSD-afflicted Dr. Leslie Ferrier (Jamie Dornan) and his extremely refined son Leopold (Jude Hill); the embittered younger hunk Maxime (Kyle Allen); the weird-as-all-hell siblings Desdemona (Emma Laird) and Nicholas (Ali Khan); the intense-in-how-earnest-she-is Olga Seminoff (Camille Cottin); and the previous cop Vitale Portfoglio (Riccardo Scamarcio).
“…figuring out Poirot is an ardent atheist, she makes an attempt to get the reluctant detective concerned in her scheme.”
Of course, a homicide happens. Of course, every of the aforementioned characters hides some type of a secret. Of course, there’s a large number of scenes wherein characters discuss tearfully about their previous, not fairly confessing to any crimes however toying with our sympathies. And, in fact, there’s the twist. As “been-there, seen-that” as most of it’s, it’s the execution that elevates A Haunting in Venice nicely above its predecessors.
Where Murder on the Orient Express felt bloated and oddly impersonal due principally to two-dimensional characters solely serving the plot, right here Branagh permits us to see a extra fragile, self-doubting Poirot, which provides an excessive amount of poignancy to the proceedings. The characters are well-defined – simply sufficient to contain us within the story. (Although much less overt exposition would have benefited the narrative.) Where Death on the Nile was simply plain foolish, not aided by its wood lead or eye-gouging particular results, right here the filmmaker correctly retains his tongue planted firmly in cheek, whereas the gothic visuals and costumes are all top-notch.
These days, it turns into borderline difficult to evaluate a movie like A Haunting in Venice by itself deserves. Most of the movies round it are so horrible they stand out like a shining gem in a puddle of sh… um, mud. Sure, it gained’t rock your world, make you recite traces to mates, or focus on sequences excitedly. Sure, possibly ten years in the past, it might have been misplaced in an ocean of masterpieces. (Remember that 12 months? Gravity, Her, Prisoners, 12 Years a Slave, American Hustle, and Blue Jasmine have been only a few of the movies gracing silver screens). Quite a bit has modified since then. Films like this – ones primarily curious about telling an excellent story in a very inventive method with out pushing an agenda – have gotten more and more uncommon and more and more extra welcome. Cherish it.
