Andrew Lloyd Weber’s musical Cats is well known for being weird-ass nonsense. Now imagine taking that weird-ass nonsense from the stage, using hundreds of millions of dollars to digitally turn well-known actors into hellish feline-mutant-people, then splashing the result across a movie screen. I’m not sure what the hell I just saw, but I definitely know I wasn’t high enough for whatever it was.
This first paragraph has little to do with the movie we’ll
be discussing today. We’ll get to that, but I have to get something off my
chest first. Multiple times walking out of Kenneth Branagh’s adaptation of
Murder on the Orient Express, which, admittedly, isn’t
great, I overheard people ask, “Have you heard of her before?” Her being AGATHA
FUCKING CHRISTIE. Only the most celebrated mystery writer of all fucking time.
Apologies, I needed to yell about that for a moment. I’m rage hyperventilating just
thinking about it. Onward.
