Film Review - A Haunting In Venice (2023)

Who doesn’t love a good murder mystery? Seemingly everyone adores them and it’s no surprise that cinema has seen a big renaissance of the sub-genre in recent years. Long dormant in the wake of superheroes, reality TV, and social media, audiences grew tired, seemingly, of the whodunit especially when they could go online and play one themselves. Still, thanks to Rian Johnson‘s Knives Out, the big breakout of its stirring comeback, the murder mystery is alive and well and it was no surprise when the world’s greatest detective came back to the party re-energised and re-booted thanks to Kenneth Branagh and that legendary moustache that, frankly, was about as long and bold as the Orient Express itself.

In self-inflicted exile after his experiences on the Nile, Hercule Poirot (Branagh) is living a quiet, solemn existence on the Venice canals, blissfully enjoying the peace and calm of the city’s surroundings. He’s stopped taking cases, ignoring those lined up outside his abode desperate for an array of answers to their many riddles. It’s only when his old author friend, Ariadne Oliver (Tina Fey), comes knocking that gets his moustache gets twitching again with word of a seance happening on Halloween by acclaimed medium Joyce Reynolds (Michelle Yeoh) revolving around a young girl’s mysterious death some months previously.

After the success of Death on the Nile, was something of a disaster. Still, there were mitigating circumstances, namely being caught in the unknown vortex of the pandemic and the ongoing issues with one of the film’s main leads (you all know who), but ultimately, for all Branagh‘s efforts and endeavour, it didn’t spark at all. In fact, it was downright awful. But the filmmaker has learned a lot since then and, thanks to his efforts on Belfast, the semi-autobiographical film he made in between (ignore the pandemic-affected Nile release), he has found his footing again and produced one of his best directorial efforts since Hamlet.

Reteaming once more with cinematographer Haris Zambarloukos, who shot Belfast and the previous two Poirot’s, the two blend the atmospheric and the eerie with the intrigue and mystery to keep you guessing and scared all at once, and their unsettling, ominous framing helps make sure the pot slowly bubbling. Sadly, its lacklustre script and poor character development are what let it down ultimately with the whole endeavour feeling rushed, eager to get to its climax. Poirot’s unwrapping of the figurative onion is much quicker than its initial conceit deserved and thus never really gains as much momentum as its direction actually needs. Indeed, while it’s performed irably by its eclectic cast, it all feels far too bare bones to really make an impact despite another stellar central turn from Branagh and a scene-stealing Fey.

So, all in all, something of a mystery itself: Branagh‘s deft, intricate direction and some solid turns are the positives but its story and characters feel undercooked, but, for what it is, it’s certainly an entertaining if slightly hollow (or Hallow) murder mystery that will keep appetites for the genre still peckish for more.