Sidney Lumet’s adaptation of Agatha Christie’s Murder on the Orient Express resembles the Thin Man films in tone, but it’s longer-winded and its primary protagonist lacks the charm of Nick Charles—oh, Albert Finney tries gamely as eclectic detective Hercule Poirot, but he’s just too cartoony to take seriously. While Lumet clearly aimed for a stylized approach to this whodunit, he never really seems comfortable using it: the movie opens with a brooding series of vignettes regarding a long-ago murder, which feels appropriately dark for Lumet’s cinematic sensibilities, but quickly veers towards Clue territory. The result is a movie that’s entertaining enough—even charming at times—but frequently feels awkward and, despite a big-name cast of titans (Lauren Bacall, Anthony Perkins, Sean Connery, Vanessa Redgrave, Ingrid Bergman, etc), is surprisingly clunkily acted. Only Perkins—and, to a lesser extent, Bergman—really shines, and even he’s mostly just reprising his mother-obsessed Norman Bates of Psycho, if not quite as grotesquely here. The  final reveal—the classic “gather everyone together in one room and gradually break down the clues until the villain winds up with an accusatory finger in his mug”—is about 15 minutes too long (though it’s ultimately somewhat satisfying). Light enough to pass for acceptable entertainment, but lacking in enough moxie or punch to rise above mediocrity.

53/100