I took my 93 year old mother to see this flick, thinking it was up her alley. As it stands, the picture is beautiful, the presentation slick, and the intrigue, such as it is, acceptable. But the acting is very weak. In the end, for an Agatha Christie, you know the “reveal” is in the offing and it may or may not be ingenious. It is the dramatization getting to the reveal that is most of the fun.

As Poirot, Kenneth Branagh is overly reliant of the gravitas of the character as played by others.  As played (and directed) by him, he’s bored, even diffident.  If Poirot doesn’t seem roused or energized, why should I be?

As an Agatha Christie mystery writer on the downslope, Tina Fey is her normal self – blasé’, genderless, and snarky. Liz Lemon and “Weekend Update” were her pinnacles.

As for the rest of the cast, they all seem to be straining for airtime, each more bombastic than the next when given the baton. Jamie Dornan and Kyle Allen take the cake in histrionics.

At its worst, the acting is community theatre-esque. At best, it is tolerable.

I asked Mom if she liked it after a week (we are unscientifically testing her memory).  She said she had no real recollection of the picture, so the results are inconclusive.

On the plus side, it’s very pretty.