Kenneth Branagh is one of the greatest hams in Hollywood. In an industry populated with such notorious scene-chewers as Al Pacino, Nicolas Cage, and Gary Oldman, it takes a certain talent to stand out from the pack, but Branagh makes it look easy. He鈥檚 never met a dramatic monologue he didn鈥檛 litter with pauses, an accent he didn鈥檛 over-enunciate, or a physical tic he didn鈥檛 exaggerate. He鈥檚 the king of the hams.
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Branagh鈥檚 been an entertaining cheeseball since he jumped from the theatre world to Hollywood. He鈥檚 directed and starred in quality films (Hamlet, the Harry Potter series) and bombs (Frankenstein, Jack Ryan). He needs the right vehicle to channel his sublime hamminess. After re-establishing himself as a good actor earlier this year with Dunkirk, Branagh鈥檚 back in the director鈥檚 chair and the leading role in Murder on the Orient Express. Fortunately, he鈥檚 crafted a minor but enjoyable flick that suits his...enthusiastic style.
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Branagh stars as Hercule Poirot, a brilliant detective obsessed with order and logic. His first scene shows him measuring hard-boiled eggs, so we know he has an eye for details. Poirot boards a train with an assortment of shady people, played by a legion of well-known character actors. Before Poirot can get to comfortable and read his Charles Dickens book (one of the film鈥檚 few amusing recurring gags), he鈥檚 roped into a murder mystery that tests the limits of his abilities.
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Express, an adaptation of an Agatha Christie novel, is the inspiration for countless books and films. People have borrowed from it, stolen from it, and rearranged it. In 2017, it鈥檚 hard to make the material seem fresh. And Express鈥檚 main failure is a lack of newness. But it compensates for that through its solid execution.
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As a director, Branagh lacks any subtlety. I wouldn鈥檛 be surprised if he constructed his sets with ten cranes and fifteen different dolly tracks. He stuffs the film his overhead shots, bright colours, tight closeups, and 鈥渟tylish鈥� angles. He鈥檚 particularly fond of long tracking shots which show characters walking from one end of the train to the other. A lot of these flourishes are distracting, drawing more attention of the cinematographer鈥檚 skill than the emotion of a scene. Branagh is guilty of 鈥渙ver-directing鈥� at times. He鈥檚 fills the movie with so many quirky shots you get the impression he鈥檚 trying to keep himself engaged.
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But for the most part, the direction is enjoyable. It鈥檚 fast-moving, kinetic, and visually interesting. It pulls off the impressive feat of making a confined space (a train) seem dynamic for its two-hour runtime.
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The main attraction for this movie, of course, is the acting. Branagh is delightfully cheesy as Poirot. His French accent sometimes reaches Pepe Le Pew-levels and his moustache is beyond absurd, but he鈥檚 consistently entertaining. He makes Poirot intelligent and engaging without turning him into a superpowered badass (like Robert Downey Jr.鈥檚 Sherlock Holmes).
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Branagh stacked the cast with reliable actors who do fine work. Michelle Pfeiffer has the juiciest role and she relishes every over-the-top moment. Olivia Colman, Willem Dafoe, Penelope Cruz, and Judi Dench do serviceable, if unremarkable work. Josh Gad is out of his depth surrounded by all this talent, but he doesn鈥檛 embarrass himself too badly. And while the public perception of Johnny Depp has...cooled somewhat over the years, his turn here as a despicable villain shows glimpses of the talented actor the world fell in love with decades ago.
Express isn鈥檛 an exceptional movie and it鈥檚 certainly not the definitive adaptation of Christie鈥檚 novel. But it鈥檚 an entertaining mystery populated with actors who could play these roles in their sleep. It鈥檚 solid. Sometimes, that鈥檚 enough.
