A Haunting in Venice Review

Whatever the haunt of Venice is, be it a spirit or someone dressed up as one, it will pale when compared to how Kenneth Branagh haunts the Hercule Poirot tales. He is no stranger to them and, to his credit, has not butchered them completely. His previous two encounters with the detective series have brought about considerably fine results, though it is clear that the series may be nearing its last legs. Not for a dip in its marketable and sound qualities as murder mystery essentials but because the series is struggling to draw the big-name actors it did on its first go around. The reasons behind this are unknowable, though what is clear to see is Branagh has a great grasp on Venice, on the darker side of Poirot as a character, and has seemingly gotten to grips with his voice behind the camera.  

It was never in doubt when he stood in front of it though the journeyman director has tried his hand at everything. It is only now, after three entries into this series, a Marvel flick, and some bits and pieces of historic intervention through the years, that he has finally found something which separates him. He has a great eye for the details which romanticise the everyday. Peeling those away is the crucial part of A Haunting in Venice, which relays the mid-1940s with a pleasant grandeur. Though he may wake with nightmares from time to time, the idyllic life of a man sauntering around Venice looks to be a pleasant one, though the fear he lives in soon shines through. A Haunting in Venice is not all swaggering around measuring eggs, it soon turns foul and enjoyably so.  

Paired with the likes of Tina Fey and Jamie Dornan, the slowly sinking city is brought to life with surprising precision by Branagh – though much of the excitement, of course, comes from the measured deductions and sharp interplay which slowly, not quite obviously, reveals itself. Smart enough to keep us watching on and second-guessing, not as eclectic or weighty to cause any real moments of struggle. Even then, the post-war aesthetic and its utilisation in this mystery of seemingly haunted proportions is exceptional. Much of it relies on the cloak-and-dagger approach, the bumps in the night which at their very core are scary for anyone and everyone given the right circumstances. Living alone and next to a pub makes you fear the screams of Come on Eileen, while living in Venice in the 1940s is as close to now as possible, with a fear of tap water and boats. 

Poisonous horrors and bits of subterfuge give this one an almost classic appeal. These are the glory days which eluded so many adaptations of famed detectives for so long. Still not a candle on the original television show, but how could it be? A Haunting in Venice is more than capable of taking its viewers on an enjoyable ride through 1947 and the people who toured and inhabited Venice as a way to break from the rest of the world. Bright star Allen shines here and is supported well by the intermediaries and bit-part players given a leg up here. Their stars shine that much brighter after this one, a well-assembled mystery feature where Fey and Branagh’s chemistry leads to sharp moments of exciting puzzle-solving.