As an origin story for Hercule Poirot’s mustache, Death on the Nile admirably delivers. As a complete work, not so much.
This is the second film adaptation (after John Guillermin’s 1978 version) of Agatha Christie’s 1937 mystery novel of the same name. It’s one of Christie’s prolific line of stories starring Hercule Poirot, a brilliant, eccentric, and notably mustachioed Belgian private investigator. Poirot (Kenneth Branagh, reprising his role) travels the world solving crimes (most often murders), and this edition sees him join the wealthy heiress Linnet Ridgeway (Gal Gadot), her new husband, Simon Doyle (Armie Hammer), and their wedding party on an exotic honeymoon riverboat excursion on the Nile River. Inevitably, things turn deadly, and Poirot springs into action to find the killer amongst the paranoia-laced crowd before it’s too late.
Ostensibly, the film’s about pointing an inquisitive eye back toward Poirot, a clear goal of Branagh’s when he relaunched the character with 2017’s Murder on the Orient Express. This time, it’s presented thematically through love and its searing impact on those who are lucky (or unlucky) enough to experience it. That’s all fine, but those ideas aren’t executed well enough to justify the screen time investment.
Mild spoiler here, but the titular death doesn’t happen until more than halfway through the 127-minute runtime. That alone isn’t a death knell, as the “murder” part of “murder mystery” shouldn’t be the only source of driving tension. However, if that’s the decision, something interesting must fill the gap, and that’s just not the case here. It could have been the star-studded cast, but their dialogue is awkward and forced, and it constantly feels like “your turn, my turn.” It also could have been stunning vistas of Egypt and the Nile, but too often it felt noticeably like a soundstage, and the wide shots of the pyramids and sprawling desert lacked tangibility. This was most problematic once the cast boarded the boat, as overhead shots of the S.S. Karnak looked completely fake and downright toy-like.
Most notably, it could have been a focused interrogation and characterization of Poirot, but that too fell short. The first scenes are a black-and-white remembrance of Poirot’s time in the trenches during World War I, but fleeting glimpses of depth and emotion quickly give way to more caricature-y, surface-level traits. It doesn’t help that the film tries to pass the ball amongst less interesting characters (with the exception of Sophie Okonedo’s blues musician, Salome Otterbourne) and plot points. In its climax, the film attempts to cash in on the emotional stakes set up in its intro, but without more investment through its hefty middle, it doesn’t quite pay off.
Inescapably, this film draws direct comparisons to Knives Out, another contemporary franchise featuring a beguiling sleuth who solves murder mysteries amongst a colorful group of characters (played by an all-star cast, no less). It happens to also have its second entry coming out later this year. Frustratingly, the permeating thought throughout Death on the Nile, even in its more successful genre moments, is ‘sure, but Knives Out does this better.’
And that’s true across the board. Knives Out is more fun, more inventive, and more kinetic. It found massive success because it managed to reinvent a nearly century-old genre with electric results, and watching Death on the Nile feels like going backward in the worst way. Granted, once the film dispenses with grander notions and sinks into its roots, it breezes along as a pretty good whodunit. But after Knives Out, it’s easy to question the point.
There’s also the Armie Hammer of it all. This is his first role since allegations of sexual assault, emotional and physical abuse, and, bizarrely, cannibalism, surfaced in early 2021, from multiple women. He’s in the middle of a rehabilitation tour, both literally (he recently checked out of rehab for substance abuse and sex issues) and through the tabloids, but seeing him on screen is …uncomfortable.
It’d be one thing if he were just one of a supporting cast, but he’s a major part of this film, and, disturbingly, there are multiple scenes that feature overtly erotic interactions with his romantic counterparts, including an introductory dance number within the first few minutes. The choice to perform those scenes in that specific way doesn’t really add anything, and frankly it’s bizarre they weren’t cut or altered, from both an editing and public relations perspective.
Ultimately though, the film fails on its own terms, regardless of the Hammer situation. If you feel compelled to watch this, fast forward through the first 65 minutes or so, and you’re left with a decent, familiar whodunit, for what that’s worth.
