What becomes very clear in the first five minutes of the film is how badly Kenneth Branagh has wanted to play Hercule Poirot, seemingly his whole life. It comes out of every pore of his being and yet, his unleashed and unchecked infatuation for the role only leads to a series of poor and mostly incredibly mindless choices.
One of the most talked about ones is clearly the mustache and it is a perfect symbol of Branagh's completely unrestrained and cartoonish take on the story. It's not unusual for the director, of course: restraint is not exactly the first adjective that comes to mind to describe his previous work, but here, it is simply so over the top that it becomes quickly unbearable.
Add to that that his French accent is horrendous when it doesn't disappear almost completely (by the way, all artificial accents are awful in this movie, Judi Dench barely makes an effort to sound Eastern while Willem Dafoe doesn't even try to sound Austrian), and that all the details he adds to the character are so completely British that it is astounding that no one in his entourage ever stepped and said, wait a minute: "why the hell does Hercule Poirot give a damn about egg size? Seriously?"
He carries around a ridiculous cane that then serves to choreograph an incredibly lame and unnecessary action sequence that, I suppose, was attempting to add some excitement in an otherwise incredibly flat and boring series of interrogation scenes, and other than that, he spends a lot of time yelling for no reason, or making theatrical moralizing speeches that are completely ridiculous for anyone familiar with him:
Poirot's new arc is to recognize that there may be a gray area in our moral code. You have read that right, this incredibly intelligent man who has been in this world for decades didn't recognize until this particular point that the laws of men may be flawed and that everything can't always be black or white. How remarkable!
Last but not least, Branagh was so focused on giving himself screen time that we barely see any of the rest of the cast, which, granted, may not be a bad thing sometimes (Penelope Cruz is stunningly awful), and sometimes quite disappointing (more Michelle Pfeiffer or Lucy Boynton in particular would have been welcome).
I would strongly recommend watching the Sydney Lumet version instead, there is a chance you will actually enjoy it.
One of the most talked about ones is clearly the mustache and it is a perfect symbol of Branagh's completely unrestrained and cartoonish take on the story. It's not unusual for the director, of course: restraint is not exactly the first adjective that comes to mind to describe his previous work, but here, it is simply so over the top that it becomes quickly unbearable.
Add to that that his French accent is horrendous when it doesn't disappear almost completely (by the way, all artificial accents are awful in this movie, Judi Dench barely makes an effort to sound Eastern while Willem Dafoe doesn't even try to sound Austrian), and that all the details he adds to the character are so completely British that it is astounding that no one in his entourage ever stepped and said, wait a minute: "why the hell does Hercule Poirot give a damn about egg size? Seriously?"
He carries around a ridiculous cane that then serves to choreograph an incredibly lame and unnecessary action sequence that, I suppose, was attempting to add some excitement in an otherwise incredibly flat and boring series of interrogation scenes, and other than that, he spends a lot of time yelling for no reason, or making theatrical moralizing speeches that are completely ridiculous for anyone familiar with him:
Poirot's new arc is to recognize that there may be a gray area in our moral code. You have read that right, this incredibly intelligent man who has been in this world for decades didn't recognize until this particular point that the laws of men may be flawed and that everything can't always be black or white. How remarkable!
Last but not least, Branagh was so focused on giving himself screen time that we barely see any of the rest of the cast, which, granted, may not be a bad thing sometimes (Penelope Cruz is stunningly awful), and sometimes quite disappointing (more Michelle Pfeiffer or Lucy Boynton in particular would have been welcome).
I would strongly recommend watching the Sydney Lumet version instead, there is a chance you will actually enjoy it.