Murder on the Orient Express (1974)

Sidney Lumet’s Murder on the Orient Express is the kind of old-school mystery that feels lovingly engineered: a luxurious train turned pressure cooker, where every glance and polite remark might be a clue. Albert Finney’s Hercule Poirot is wonderfully fussy and razor-sharp, anchoring a star-studded ensemble that makes even quiet conversations crackle with wit and suspicion. The film’s elegance isn’t just in the costumes and compartments, but in the fair-play craftsmanship—this is a whodunit that invites you to play along, confident the answers are in the room. It does open with disturbing material involving a child and carries a somber undercurrent beneath the entertainment, so it’s not pure comfort viewing, but if you want a stylish, claustrophobic thriller that respects your intelligence, this is one of the genre’s great rides.

Sidney Lumet’s Murder on the Orient Express (1974) is clearly aiming for classy, old-school whodunit comfort: a glamorous train, a tidy puzzle, and a parade of famous faces taking turns being “interesting.” The catch is that it can feel more like an all-star showcase than a gripping thriller, with a leisurely pace and lots of character business that may test your patience if you want momentum or real suspense. Albert Finney’s Poirot is entertainingly fussy, the production is handsome, and the central mystery is clever, but the movie’s polish sometimes lands as chilly rather than involving. If you love talky mysteries and theatrical performances, you’ll have a good time; if you’re expecting sharp-edged tension or modern escapist zip, this may look better than it plays.