It's very hard not to talk about this version without drawing comparisons to previous ones, because the overall story isn't changed that much. Nor should it have been. This is the most famous of the Hercule Poirot mysteries written by Agatha Christie, and to touch a word of it without explicitly branding it as a "re-imagining" or "updating" (a la Sherlock) would be sacrilege. The flip side of that, of course, is that if you know whodunit, there's probably not much here for you. This story hasn't got much on its side besides the unusual reveal.
This adaptation in particular does a particularly poor job at injecting more than that. First, it's only really interested in two characterizations: Poirot and (very very minor spoiler here) the victim, Ratchett. On the latter front, a suitable amount of effort is put into making Ratchett a thoroughly detestable figure, which pays off in giving all the suspects ample motive for murder. You might even argue there's a meta component to seeing Johnny Depp in the role. Between the abuse allegations surrounding his divorce and some truly terrible movies he's made of late, the shine has faded from his star. There may even be some who'd thrill in him receiving a vicarious comeuppance like this.
As for Branagh's interpretation of Poirot, I'm not sure what to make of it. I recall past versions as being fastidious but not off-putting. Poirot and Sherlock Holmes are the two titans of classic detective fiction, of course, and I always felt there was just enough daylight between them to make room for both. This version of Poirot invites armchair diagnosis. His particular habits are obsessive-compulsive at the very least, and possibly some manifestation of autism. It's as though the screen writer saw the modern takes on Holmes as a functioning sociopath and decided it was necessary to tweak Poirot in similar fashion. But in doing so, I believe it erased whatever minor differences between the characters there was. This movie's Poirot is Holmes with a mustache instead of a Watson.
This isn't the only change made to "modernize" the film. Though it remains set in the period in which it was written, the 1930s, Branagh (in his other role, as director) works hard to try to "open up" the film. There are sweeping establishing shots of the vistas in which the train travels. There are conspicuously long single takes with complicated camera moves that call attention to themselves -- generating interest in wondering how they might have been accomplished?
Once the train is stopped, several scenes take place outside, apparently just to create some visual diversity. These fail on several levels. The combination of green-screening and limited sets is unconvincing and far from seamless. The absence of visible breath belies the notion that they're trapped in snowy mountains. And stepping off the train at all deflates the inherent claustrophobia and tension of the mystery itself -- you know, the "we're trapped on a train with a murderer" part of the story.
In the movie's defense, it does have an impeccable cast. I may have reservations about this rendition of Poirot, but as a performance, Branagh commits with gusto. The passengers/suspects include Penélope Cruz, Willem Dafoe, Judi Dench, Josh Gad, Derek Jacobi, Leslie Odom Jr., Michelle Pfeiffer, Daisy Ridley, and Olivia Colman. Given only the tiniest morsel to work with in most cases, each makes the most of it. The performances here feel considerably more precise and refined than what I remember in either of the other adaptations.
Yet, ultimately, I'd recommend either of the other movies over this one... and ultimately, I suppose, the 1974 classic. Though in theory more modern acting would make the tale more accessible to a modern audience, the star of Murder on the Orient Express is meant to be the story itself. And it's presented in a more compelling, less compromised way in that 44-year-old film. I'd give this new adaptation a C.
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