Stream It Or Skip It: ‘Death on the Nile’ on HBO Max and Hulu, the Agatha Christie Murder-Mystery That’s Also a Mustache’s Emotional Journey

Chapter two of DO NOT LOOK THE MUSTACHE IN THE EYE is Death on the Nile, streaming fresh on HBO Max and Hulu. Kenneth Branagh returns behind (as director) and in front of the camera (as detective Hercule Poirot) for the sequel to 2017’s Murder on the Orient Express, and it seems apt to celebrate Branagh’s first-ever Oscar win (screenplay, Belfast) with the release of his second Agatha Christie murder-mystery adaptation. But let’s be honest here. Context, plots, cast members and the hither and thither of things all come second to the follicular monstrosity glued to Branagh’s face in this series, which I affectionately refer to as The Mustache Mysteries. The primary headscratcher here is a whydunit: What the hell kind of person makes such an unsound-mind facial-hair fashion decision? Well, this movie has the answer. It is, indeed, the Origin of the Mustache, which is surely a wonder of the world like the Sphynx herself, and second only to the Nile as the longest thing in the world.

DEATH ON THE NILE: STREAM IT OR SKIP IT?

The Gist: It’s 1914, World War I, the trenches in Belgium. We squint at a wily-mustached man leading a French military force and wonder if it’s Poirot when he was younger, but this is a classic case of movie misdirection, because (record scratch fzwoop sound) the camera whips around to a clean-shaven Poirot (Branagh, digitally young-ified), dispensing strategic advice to his capitaine. It’s good advice: They take the bridge. But maybe it’s not: It’s booby-trapped. Cut to Poirot in the infirmary; his fiancee is a nurse, and I think she’s the same woman in the photograph he frequently looked at with sad longing in the previous movie. I won’t give it away, but in this moment, we learn why he sprouted and groomed such a mighty, ugly upper-lip behemoth, and I have to admit my surprise here, because his reasoning is sound.

On the Orient Express, Poirot wore what I like to call the Sasquatch Handlebar. Now, here in 1937 London, his new trim is more Quad-Winged Gryphon. I’d start introducing characters here, but it’s far tidier if I wait until everyone’s on a boat chugging down the Nile. It’s a while before we get there, and yes, this is me pointing out how a whole chunk of this movie should be kickin’ it with the dust bunnies on the editing-room floor. There is an important scene just prior to the part where everyone’s on the boat and people start getting killed: Poirot meets Annette Bening’s character, a blunt, no-BS woman ironically named Euphemia. No, she’s not his love interest, but rather, the audience analog when she says, “You are quite the most ludicrous man I’ve ever seen.” And again, the movie surprised me. His reply? “Not the first time I’ve heard that.”

Once everyone finally gets their asses on the steamship, the self-aware emotional journey of the mustache purrs in the background as Poirot learns the web of interdynamics among all the characters aboard. I’d use their real names, but that’d be boring. At the hub of the action are The Heiress (Gal Gadot) and her new husband, The Cad (Armie Hammer), in Egypt for their honeymoon. The Jilted Ex (Emma Mackey), dumped by The Cad for her best friend The Heiress, stalks them like the world’s most bitter asparagus. The Partyboy (Tom Bateman), a.k.a. Poirot’s pal Bouc, is the only holdover from the first movie; Euphemia is his mother, The Mother. The secondaries include: The Singer (Sophie Okonedo). The Singer’s Young Manager (Black Panther’s Letitia Wright). The Handmaid (Rose “You know nothing, Jon Snow” Leslie). The Doctor (Russell Brand). The Lawyer (Ali Fazal). The Heiress’ godmother, The Funny Old Woman (Jennifer Saunders of Absolutely Fabulous). And The Funny Old Woman’s Inexplicable (But Eventually Explicable) Hanger-on (Dawn French).

It’s no spoiler to say one, possibly more, of these people will be done croaked during this journey, and The Mustache will be called upon to solve the case. Will he do it again? NO SPOILERS, and I pose the question at risk of being severely beaten by Poirot’s sentient bro-merang for doubting its ability to manipulate his brain into being so very shrewd and analytical while solving mysteries.

What Movies Will It Remind You Of?: In the Poirot-v-Knives Out deathmatch, the latter whups the mustache’s ass handily. (Do mustaches even have asses?)

Performance Worth Watching: Okonedo is a dramatic force here, whether channeling Sister Rosetta Tharpe to play a deep, soulful singer and guitarist, or stealing scenes late in the film, most notably when she delivers a growling speech in response to Poirot’s interrogation, and shines light on the film’s surprisingly potent racial subtext.

Memorable Dialogue: “I am Hercule Poirot! I do not need to be told! I have eyes and they see and a brain and it thinks. It now thinks somewhat poorly of you!” – The Mustache has clearly penetrated deep into the man’s skull and grey matter, and is making him say things like this

Sex and Skin: None outside of Hammer and Mackey’s anachronistic dancing, which, especially for 1937, makes the lambada look like a square-dance do-si-do.

Our Take: So you’re telling me these movies aren’t about a Venom-like symbiotic mustache waging war over control of Poirot’s body? Huh. They suddenly got a lot more boring.

Setting that aside, Death on the Nile slightly improves upon its perfectly satisfactory predecessor: It’s unafraid to turn over a medium-sized rock of social and racial disparity that was brewing in the subtext. It takes a couple of grim turns that transform a rote whodunit into something more memorable and affecting (in this genre, death frequently is a narrative device that doesn’t carry much weight). And it dares to develop Poirot as a true character rather than simply letting him be a comical cypher standing outside the main plot, observing and manipulating its various devices; in fact, this development bears more emotional weight than expected, which is a welcome surprise.

Problem is, the great majority of the aforementioned boons occur during the film’s heavyweight second half, rendering the first all that much more of a tedious hour of diddlefarting. (One could cynically assume this is to give star cast members plenty of screentime before the plot starts knocking them off.) Nile starts so slowly, it threatens to bore us into a stupor as Poirot actively tries to prevent murders before they happen, a slightly amusing ironic development that wet-blankets the plot and prevents it from revving up until – finally! – a scream pierces the morning air, and he starts sifting through alibis, clues, motives, red herrings and, occasionally, his own soul. That’s when the movie gets fun, and more compelling.

Branagh is amusing in front of the camera as the fussy detective, obsessing over details, be it the murder evidence or the symmetric arrangement of his cupcake treats. Behind the camera, he shows a virtuoso’s eye – e.g., a clever shot in which a conversation is captured behind the mesh of two wicker chairs, framing it as a de-facto confessional between priest and congregant – and maneuvers his camera with equal parts cleverness and intent. In a broader visual sense, CGI backgrounds and establishing shots are cruddy and unconvincing, distracting in their phoniness. The comical bits are amusing, as ever, but you’ll wish they were more frequent. You’re gonna have to take the good with the bad here, is what I’m saying; just be thankful the former just barely outweighs the latter.

Our Call: STREAM IT. Turns out that Poirot’s mustache is core to his identity, and is much more than just an outsize representation of his ego. Who’da thunk it. And as the mustache goes, so does the movie.

John Serba is a freelance writer and film critic based in Grand Rapids, Michigan. Read more of his work at johnserbaatlarge.com.

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