So I don’t envy the uphill battle Branagh has here as a filmmaker; however, for those looking for an old-fashioned mystery telling the story straight forward, 2017’s Murder on the Orient Express does the job. Branagh approaches the material with respect and affection. He makes a great Poirot, quirky and eloquent, and his mustache is epic. ReadMore Murder On The Orient Express (English) news and music reviews (2017). Find out what is Murder On The Orient Express (English) box office collection till now. Murderon the Orient Express is a 2017 mystery drama film. directed by Kenneth Branagh.Screenplay by Michael Green. Based on the 1934 novel of the same name Escuchay descarga los episodios de Book Vs Movie Podcast gratis. Book Vs Movie Podcast “Murder on the Orient Express” The Margos officially review the 2017 movie Hooray for another movie review episode! Programa: Book Vs Movie Podcast. Canal: Book Vs Movie Podcast. Tiempo: 27:14 Subido 23/03 a las 23:41:44 24770897 OnMetacritic the film has a weighted average score of 52 out of 100, based on 46 critics, indicating "mixed or average reviews". [35] Audiences polled by CinemaScore gave the film an average grade of "B" on an A+ to F scale. [32] Dịch Vụ Hỗ Trợ Vay Tiền Nhanh 1s. I know. I KNOW. Ever since seeing the trailer for the mystery thriller “Murder on the Orient Express,” a question has been nagging at you. It’s not who among a diverse array of actors including Judi Dench as a Russian princess, Willem Dafoe as a German professor, Penelope Cruz as a depressed missionary and Johnny Depp as a thuggish art dealer, is the killer. But why has a small furry mammal disguised as a magnificent beast of a handlebar mustache in 50 shades of silvery gray taken up residence under Kenneth Branagh’s nose? The hair apparent seems specifically designed to practically steal every scene it appears in during this sumptuous yet ultimately stuffy and overstuffed big-screen return visit to Agatha Christie’s most durable novel. It's even responsible for the film’s best sight gag. If Branagh, the star and director behind the 21st-century digitally-enhanced stab at bringing this ensemble vehicle back to life wanted to make a statement to distinguish this take on his world-famous Belgian detective Hercule Poirot from any other, he certainly has. In the 1974 movie adaptation helmed by Sidney Lumet, Albert Finney sported a pert black swatch with Dali-esque twirls at the ends. Boring, right? Branagh’s fuzzy wuzzy is like an ocean wave of whiskers, from ear to shining ear. Best supporting player? That honor goes to that dashing splash of a soul patch on his chin. OK, I am stalling. Let’s accentuate the positive first. The script by Michael Green “Blade Runner 2049” does a bang-up job of introducing us to Poirot, a fuss-budget stickler who demands perfectly cooked four-minute eggs and tsk-tsks their imperfect dimensions—and then doesn’t even bother to eat them. He is a control freak who insists on balance in everything, from how a tie sits around a man’s neck to impeccably baked bread. The place is Jerusalem actually, Malta as a stand-in and the year is 1934. Poirot is at the Wailing Wall about to deliver the solution to a crime tied to three clerics of different faiths and a stolen artifact. With the showbiz panache of a Vegas magician, he reveals the perpetrator with an unexpected flourish involving a cane. That sends the message, “Hey, this could be fun.” But matters get perfunctory rather quickly when fellow passengers whose baggage clearly includes secrets begin to pop up, including Daisy Ridley Rey in “Star Wars The Force Awakens” as a porcelain-skinned governess and Leslie Odom Jr. Aaron Burr in Broadway’s “Hamilton” as a doctor who attempt to disguise they are an interracial couple. Those marquee credits are bound to draw in the under-30 demographic. But, alas, the only fully fleshed-out being turns out to be Poirot, who moons over a portrait of a lost love and undergoes an existential crisis of sorts when he finds himself unexpectedly confounded when a dead body turns up on the train with an even dozen stab wounds. The luxury locomotive traveling from Istanbul to Calais also comes to a halt about a half-hour in when an avalanche causes it to stop in its tracks atop a dangerous trestle. I wish I could say that the storyline at least picks up steam, but it never quite does especially since it devolves into a series of private interrogations by the imperious Poirot in a café car. Michelle Pfeiffer does what she can as a man-hungry rich widow searching for her next husband. Derek Jacobi and Josh Gad conspire as a valet and assistant to Depp’s scar-faced hoodlum. Other performers barely have the presence or enough dialogue to make much of an impression including the incredibly talented Olivia Colman as Dench’s lady in waiting. In addition, there are veiled allusions to the 1932 kidnapping of aviator Charles Lindbergh’s baby son, which few besides history buffs will recognize today. Branagh, the actor, comes through unscathed. Branagh, the director, not so much. He did wonders with making Shakespeare relevant for young audiences with his “Henry V” and found a way to make Disney’s live-action “Cinderella” seem fresh and new. But despite camera trickery with ineffective overhead shots and a long one-take scene as Poirot boards the moving train, there is too little levity and cleverness afoot, especially with a cast whose talent is barely tapped. The key isn’t whodunit but how you do it. However, that mustache—which even grows limp and messy when matters get dicey for Poirot—deserves a place in the pantheon of great follicle-ly enhanced performances. Perhaps it could sit alongside George Clooney’s waxed-to-perfection facial accoutrement in “O Brother, Where Art Thou?” As for “Murder on the Orient Express,” it squeaks by as passable entertainment by just a hair. Susan Wloszczyna Susan Wloszczyna spent much of her nearly thirty years at USA TODAY as a senior entertainment reporter. Now unchained from the grind of daily journalism, she is ready to view the world of movies with fresh eyes. Now playing Film Credits Murder on the Orient Express 2017 114 minutes Latest blog posts about 1 hour ago about 4 hours ago about 5 hours ago 1 day ago Comments A movie about how much of a royal pain in the ass it was to kill someone before civilians had easy access to AR-15s, Kenneth Branagh’s “Murder on the Orient Express” is an undercooked Christmas ham of a movie, the kind of flamboyant holiday feast that Hollywood doesn’t really serve anymore. Arrestingly sumptuous from the very first shot and filmed in glorious 65mm, this cozy new riff on Agatha Christie’s classic mystery is such an old-fashioned yarn that it could have been made back in 1934 if not for all the terrible CGI snow and a late-career, post-disgrace Johnny Depp performance that reeks of 21st century fatigue. Indeed, it’s hard to overstate just how refreshing it feels to see a snug, gilded piece of studio entertainment that doesn’t involve any spandex. Or, more accurately, how refreshing it would have felt had Branagh understood why Christie’s story has stood the test of time. You know the plot, even if you’ve forgotten the twist. The world is between wars, winter is settling in, and famous Belgian detective Hercule Poirot Branagh is being summoned back to Britain for his next case. The fastest way there The Orient Express, one of those first class sleeper that America dumped in favor of Amtrak. A gilded mahogany serpent so refined that passengers are inspired to wear tuxedos to the dining car and directors are inspired to weave through the cabins in elegant tracking shots that bring us right on board, the Orient Express is an exclusive experience for a certain class of people. The paying customers on this particular trip naturally resemble a game of “Clue.” There’s a thirsty heiress Michelle Pfeiffer, a missionary Penélope Cruz, a plainclothes Nazi Willem Dafoe, a smattering of royalty that ranges in age from Judi Dench to “Sing Street” breakout Lucy Boynton, a governess Daisy Ridley, holding her own without a lightsaber in her hands, and the man she loves in secret “Hamilton” MVP Leslie Odom Jr., a movie star in the making. There’s also Depp’s crooked art dealer — the eventual corpse — and Josh Gad as his right-hand man; the cast is so deep that Derek Jacobi barely rates a mention. But one star forces the others into his orbit, and that is Branagh himself. Poirot has always been the engine for Christie’s mysteries, and not their fuel, but Branagh’s version doesn’t see things that way. In this script, penned by “Blade Runner 2049” screenwriter Michael Green, Poirot is always the top priority. From the stilted prologue in which the great detective is introduced with an undue degree of suspense, to the nauseating farewell that inevitably teases a Hercule Poirot Cinematic Universe, Branagh’s take on the character is lodged somewhere between a Shakespearian fool and a superhero. Filtered through a Pepé Le Pew accent that stinks from start to finish, he’s a walking spotlight in a film that feels like a Broadway revival, a live-action cartoon who’s more mustache than man. Branagh chews a dangerous amount of scenery for such a confined set, but the real problem is what the film has to do in order to justify his exaggerated presence It has to give Poirot an arc. Once the train derails on a rickety wooden bridge and Depp winds up dead in his cabin, the story should shift into mystery mode, with Poirot instigating our own imaginations. Here, however, Branagh blocks us out. What Christie learned from the likes of Arthur Conan Doyle is that geniuses are only believable if they’re actually geniuses — detective stories don’t work if they hinge on their protagonists sleuthing out something that a child could see for themselves. That’s true of the mysteries, and it’s true of their solutions. Poirot is supposed to be a genius, but here he’s an idiot savant. “There is right and there is wrong,” he declares early on, “and there is nothing in between.” “Murder on the Orient Express” You’d think, after solving however many cases, that he might have figured that out by now. But no, Poirot is obsessed with balance and restoring order to the world. The eggs he eats for breakfast have to be the same size. After accidentally stepping in horse poop with one shoe, he deliberately steps into it with the other. In a movie shot from so many dutch angles that the screen starts to seem tilted, Poirot is the only person who doesn’t recognize that the world isn’t flat, and that morality can never be perfectly measured. It’s agonizing to watch the brilliant detective work out such a simple concept, Branagh’s film growing long in the tooth even though it’s selling itself short. “Murder on the Orient Express” is a creaky whodunnit in this day and age, and there’s not much that Branagh can or chooses to do about that without disrespecting the source material. His well-meaning but half-assed reach for relevance involves a certain degree of wokeness, this version highlighting the pluralism of Christie’s original in its backhanded celebration of American diversity, its conclusion that any true melting pot is sustained by fostering a mutual desire for justice. Race comes to the fore, with Odom inhabiting a role that was once played by Sean Connery. Interesting things percolate under the surface, as all of the passengers are traveling with a lot of baggage. But the movie only cares about the suspects for as long as they’re sharing the screen with Poirot. Even Pfeiffer’s big moment is relegated to the end credits, where she can be heard singing a love ballad called “Never Forget.” Like everything else here, it’s hard to remember. A handsomely furnished holiday movie that should have devoted more attention to its many ornaments and less to the tinsel at the top, this “Murder on the Orient Express” loses steam as soon as it leaves the station. Grade C “Murder on the Orient Express” opens in theaters on Friday, November 10. Sign Up Stay on top of the latest breaking film and TV news! Sign up for our Email Newsletters here. Richard LawsonDec 9, 2017 Murder on the Orient Express isn’t a bore, exactly. It’s just not what it might have been had simplicity won the day instead of big intentions. 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With almost every co-passenger being a suspect, Belgian detective Hercule Poirot’s Kenneth Branagh sharp deduction skills are put to test once Loaded with mysterious intentions, cheeky humour, clever repartee and an ensemble cast that comprises some of cinema’s biggest names, Murder on the Orient Express makes for an intriguing watch. Strangers being stranded on a stalled train makes for a great premise, given the thrill of finding a killer lurking this dangerous train ride has its own delays if not derailment. Kenneth Branagh who plays the most crucial character of Poirot and directs the film as well, looks like he is trying to bite off more than he can he manages to infuse the necessary underlying tension, awkwardness and silence between his characters, he and his dramatic moustache and accent struggle to make this retelling of 1930s whodunit, appeal to the contemporary audience. To set an entire movie in just one frame train compartment and yet make it look engaging is another challenge. Branagh wins some, loses particularly liked how he captures his characters as they steal a glance at each other. You wish the story played around their unspoken emotions a little more before diving straight into the investigation. Character buildup seems hurried and thus of Poirot and his obsession for balance’, only if Branagh had maintained that as a director as well. Barring Michelle Pfeiffer and Branagh himself, most talented actors like Judi Dench and Penelope Cruz get lost in the despite the glitches and avalanches, thanks to a stellar cast and gripping source material, this mysterious train journey is worth taking. Does it have a twist in the end? You have to watch the movie to know that.

murder on the orient express 2017 movie review