Death of the Nile is the sequel to the remake of Murder on the Orient Express. I’m not exactly sure if the remake was warranted enough to justify a sequel, but here it is and the results are even more mixed than its predecessor. For my money, it has too many characters and too many subplots until we finally get worn out by all the relentless exposition and its self-consciously quirky protagonist.
Kenneth Branagh is back as both director and starring as Hercule Poirot and this time, he’s vacationing in Egypt when he encounters a few old acquaintances. Gal Gadot and Armie Hammer play Linnet and Simon Doyle, a married couple who seek out Poirot’s protection because they suspect that Simon’s former fiancée (Emma Mackey) has grown jealous of the fact that the latter is now married and might stop at nothing to win him back.
The couple book their honeymoon on a cruise ship called the S.S. Karnak and other guests are also onboard and these are some quirky characters, to say the least. We’re introduced to Linnet’s longtime maid, (Rose Leslie); a jazz singer (Sophie Okonedo); Linnet’s godmother and nurse (Jennifer Saunders and Dawn French); a doctor; (Russell Brand); a friend of Poirot’s (Tom Bateman); and his mother (Annette Bening).
Simon’s former fiancée is also on board and it’s here where a murder takes place and there’s an enormous temptation to leap to the conclusion that the fiancée is the murderer, but it’s not quite as black-and-white as it seems.
Poirot begins his investigation with each person to discover their motivations and whereabouts when the murder took place, but with each suspect, he’s left with more questions than answers. So are we.
Coming off the heels of the beautifully made Belfast, Branagh once again shows off his flair and directing abilities with style. The sets and costumes are nice to look at and there are some spirited performances to keep it on its toes albeit intermittingly.
However, Death on the Nile is a movie that has very little that is tantalizing and any sense of ebb and flow in the narrative is oftentimes ineffective. There are moments that attempt to have us invested in the plot, but they’re quickly dashed due to another contrivance that throws us off and after a while, it gets frustrating to the point where when the climax comes and the murderer is revealed, there’s not much left to care about.
In addition, the characters are only sketchily developed and we don’t get nearly as much screen time with some of them as we would like. Branagh brings a sense of eccentricity to Poirot, especially with that exaggerated mustache and silly accent, but even he’s not enough to pull this ship from the beginning to the end.
This is a movie that’s two hours and seven minutes long and about two hours and 10 minutes after it starts, you’re no longer thinking about the murder; you’re thinking about something else.
Grade: B-
(Rated PG-13 for violence, some bloody images and sexual material.)
