Moviegoers probably long ago made up their mind one way or another about Branagh’s stately and flawed Hercule Poirot franchise, but should there be any curiosity left for this third installment is worth it. It is spooky, fun and features Tina Fey, looking smart and sleek in post-war suits as the fast-talking author of wildly successful whodunnits who says things like “I’m the smartest person I know” in a mid-Atlantic accent.
Agatha Christie takes a bit of a backseat here, as Branagh and screenwriter Michael Green take only the loosest inspiration from her 1969 book “The Hallowe’en Party” for their haunting, firstly by moving it to Venice. It’s where Poirot has chosen to live out his self-imposed retirement . His whereabouts are hardly a secret though — desperate folks line up outside of his picturesque apartment hoping he’ll take a stab at their cases.
And this crew is in for a long, stormy, claustrophobic night with finger pointing, more deaths and some inexplicable phenomena at play. Poirot’s existential crisis is probably the least interesting aspect of the whole thing, despite its centrality to the plot, but Branagh doesn’t waste too much of his time diving into those self-indulgent waters.
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