I’ve managed to read so very many books (including an intense Agatha Christie period in my teens that led to such intense dreams that I had to back off) and seen so many films, and yet I’ve never done Murder on the Orient Express. I’m so glad, because it meant I could enjoy this without the knowledge of whodunnit or any of that. I can’t say whether this is true to the books, but I can say it’s a hell of a romp.
Hercule Poirot, the world’s most famous detective, is on holiday when he is called to join the passengers on the Orient Express. It’s a strange mx of folks, and when one of them is discovered murdered, he has his work cut out for him.
Being a Christie plot, it is complex with so many twists and turns, it really keeps the viewer on their toes. And being a Kenneth Branagh adaptation, it is beautiful and cheesy and quite overly sentimental. The audience carries the weight of Poirot who is stuck in a realm of loneliness, obliged to travel the globe assisting police in their investigations. It’s a beautiful film with a top cast that is compelling, although I did get a bit bogged down in the Branagh-ness of it all.