The plot: Aristide Leonides (Gino Picciano), a wealthy businessman in charge of a family dynasty, has been found dead in his stately home. His granddaughter Sophia (Stefani Martini), suspecting foul play, hires private investigator Charles Hayward (Max Irons) to look into the case. As he arrives at the Leonides estate, and meets the many members of Aristide's immediate family, it seems that not only does everyone have a motive, but they are all more than capable of fulfilling that motive. This case is going to be trickier than first thought.
Given Irons’ past filmography includes the
immediate red flags of Catherine Hardwicke’s Red Riding Hood, The Host and the
previously reviewed Woman In Gold, it’s nice to know that he actually holds up
here as the central detective. He shows a certain collected demeanour, and as a
conduit between the suspects and the audience, the way he handles the
conversational moments work well enough to be palatable. Then again, that might
be because he is honestly the least interesting character here. Terence Stamp
as his superior, despite having far less devoted screen time, still gives a far
more memorable and even funnier performance than Irons, and the murder suspects
only build on from there.
Martini works nicely as one of the more subtle femme fatales
in the narrative, working well alongside Irons while showing enough ambiguity
in her movements to make some of the lingering questions stick. Julian Sands may not
be as electrifying as he was back when he was working with Ken Russell, but as
part of the criminal puzzle of the story, he does well enough. Christian McKay as the
petulant cherished son of the deceased does remarkably well at balancing out a
certain amount of simmering rage at the events around him and the more quiet
dread that, out of all of the rather colourful members of the family, he’s the one that was put onto a
pedestal. In a group of severely low-key characters, he actually pulls through
in a way that not that many others around him manage.
Amanda Abbington as McKay’s
wife is… there, I suppose, and doesn’t leave much of an impression outside of
trying to restrain her husband, while Gillian Anderson as Sands’ wife is incredibly fun
as the failed and perpetually sloshed actress, one of the few instances of the
family’s less-than-moral underpinnings actually resulting in an engaging
on-screen presence. Preston Nyman is what the 1950’s would consider a rebellious
teenager, and he fits into that mold nicely without it feeling too much like a
product of another era entirely, Christina Hendricks as the grieving widow allows for
some good dramatic beats, Glenn Close leaves a solid impression by film’s end and
Honor Kneafsey as the youngest of the family does precociousness effectively and her
scenes with Irons end up being among the strongest the film has to offer. As
I’ll get into, that statement is both a compliment and an insult.
After the success of Branagh’s Agatha Christie adaptation last year, it makes sense that someone else would decide to bring the legendary
crime novelist’s words to the screen. Of course, the prospect of translating
words to pictures ends up exposing the first major problem with this film. It
breaks the first rule of filmmaking: Show, don’t tell. As Charles does his
rounds and questions each of the family members, what we are given as far as
depictions of their character are largely in the dialogue. Not the
performances, not the visuals, not even the tone in which it is spoken; just
the dialogue itself. I would mention similarities between this and Orient
Express as far as telling the audience crucial information, except that Branagh
had enough understanding of the source material to be able to turn it into a
story for a visual medium.
Here? While the eight-figure budget allows for some
nice detailing in the ornate setup of the Leonides estate, the costuming and
even the music (not gonna lie, an Agatha Christie story was the last place I
expected to hear ‘Kookie, Kookie, Lend Me Your Comb’), it fails to make the
setting where most of the story takes place feel like anything other than
window dressing. Add to that the particularly skittish editing by Peter
Christelis, who appears to be a little too
eager to apply the cutting blade to the footage, and DOP Sebastian Winterø
having handheld camera work as the only stylistic touch on hand, and this looks
a bit drab.
Of course, there’s the other and far more pressing issue
with this production as a whole, even worse than the lack of visual engagement:
The rating. This film got a PG rating here in Australia, and while that is
somewhat surprising given the film opens on a scene of a man being given an
injection (yeah, regardless of context, Aussie censors tend to be squeamish on
an embarrassing number of things), it also gives a good indicator of how safe
the full product ends up being. I highlighted Gillian Anderson’s performance earlier
as being rather fun, but that is still in spite of the fact that she seems to
be in the same position as everyone else here: Held back from really giving this material the punch it
deserves.
Every scene, amidst the flurry of explanations for character motive
that honestly feel like I’m just listening to an audiobook and not watching an
actual film, carries this aura that everything has been softened to appeal to
the (let’s be honest here) decidedly older target demographic. For all the talk
about murder, sex, money and possible war profiteering, this is about as sharp
as a butter knife in actually making the narrative feel dangerous or
intriguing. Whatever solid performances are given here still feel like they
were told to heavily dial themselves back to fit the lethargic tone of the
story, while the others look like they’re just doing what they’ve been told to
do. It’s difficult to buy into a murder mystery when so much of it feels like
it’s been forcibly diluted.
All in all, this is a rather weak effort. The acting is
altogether fine and the finale at least has impact behind it, but between the
half-hearted efforts behind the visuals, the insistence on telling, rather than
showing, the audience important plot details, and the feeling that the actors aren’t
giving their all with these performances, the journey getting to that finale is
not one worth taking. This is less ‘film’ than it is ‘audiobook with pictures’,
and the gulf between those two is a lot wider than one would think on the
surface.
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