REVIEW: 'A HAUNTING IN VENICE' SCARES UP PLENTY OF ATMOSPHERE, BUT LITTLE ELSE

The formula is simple. Take a singular location on a dark and stormy Halloween night, a group of people hiding some sinister secrets, add in some murders (one has to be in a room that was locked from the outside), and one razor-sharp detective who sees through all the red herrings to discover who the murder (or murderers) are. It’s a formula, because, executed right, it can make for a tense and twisted ride, however, in hands that are lacking any sense of innovation and passion, it runs the risk of becoming, well...formulaic.

A HAUNTING IN VENICE, directed by and starring Kenneth Branaugh as famed Belgian detective, Hercule Poirot, and based on the Agatha Christie novel, Hallowe'en Party, tries to go for thrills and chills, tweaking the original story plot to something more supernatural in nature, but it ends up as dull and lethargic as Jaime Dornan’s soulless eyes acting in this thing.

We meet Poirot, now retired and living in a self-imposed exile in Venice, Italy, refusing to take on any more cases, even though people are literally clamoring at his door for help. He’s brought back to service to help an old friend and mystery writer, Ariadne Oliver (Tina Fey), who implores him to help debunk a famed medium, Joyce Reynolds (Michelle Yeoh). She convinces Poirot to join her at a séance taking place at an old, haunted palazzo on Halloween night and give his expertise on if Joyce is legit or not. Pretty soon, the bodies start piling up and Poirot himself starts to question his own razor-sharp senses.

Using extreme Dutch angles and enough candles and stone-lined hallways to make a goth girl swoon, Branaugh seeks to build an atmosphere of tension and dread, as the suspicious death of a young woman is brought to light during the séance. While some believe her spirit haunts the home, Poirot seeks to find a much less paranormal solution to her demise.

The problem is, it's just so much meh.

Kelly Reilly, who plays the deceased girl’s long-mourning mother, brings her trademark breathy voice and permanently distressed (but gorgeous) face to the party, along with a dead-eyed and downright hammy Jaime Dornan, both of whom (along with a brief, but solid performance from Michelle Yeoh), are wasted in this film. But it’s the casting of Tina Fey in this that is downright baffling. Exuding more Liz Lemon than Agatha Christie, Fey’s casting is a giant, clanging thud, like at any minute she was going to curl up on one end of the many Victorian couches with a brick of cheese and turn on the Dr. Phil show.

The whole paranormal aspect of the film falls flat, and the only thing the story has in common with its original story is that there is a murder on Halloween. I actually don’t know why they didn’t use the original storyline, which is a Halloween party at an estate where a 13-year-old ends up dead, having been drowned in an apple bobbing tub. Guess they thought the murder of a teen wouldn’t go over well with audiences, but I honestly don’t think enough teens are getting murdered in movies nowadays, and it would have been more of a slam-dunk pre-Halloween ookie-spooky mystery for it.

Instead, what A HAUNTING IN VENICE gives us is a slow, plodding mystery that honestly, isn’t much of a mystery at all, featuring wooden performances, ChatGPT-level writing, and enough shadowy lighting to Ambien me into a comfortable oblivion right there in my local Cinemark recliner chair. The shadowy, post-war Venice backdrop makes for a stunning locale, and the séance scene features perhaps the only true terrifying moment in the film, but both are not enough to resuscitate the entire film. Poirot is known for his genius deductions, but sadly, this iteration of the famed detective is not worth wasting the “little grey cells” for.