This low-budget British whodunnit arrives well-timed amid a Rian Johnson-prompted boom in murder mystery movies. It’s not quite, as it claims, the first murder mystery musical movie: that honour might well go to François Ozon’s 8 Women, and Stephen Sondheim once wrote a screenplay and songs for the unproduced The Chorus Girl Murder Case. The concept has been in the ether for a while – unsurprisingly perhaps, as musicals and whodunnits are both formalised genres with a certain amount of common ground.
The Mystery of Mr E enjoys wrongfooting us. Similarly to the start of the classic 1950 noir DOA, when the protagonist arrives to announce his own murder, dastardly Mr E (Kevin Dixon) turns up at the residence of twins George (James N Knight) and John Danes (Harry W Knight) claiming that he is a killer, and that he knows they are heading off on an assignment to Idlewyld House. The last part at least is true: self-styled “generalists” who undertake an assortment of jobs for all-comers, the Danes have been hired to clear this country manor of unwelcome hangers-on by its owner Peter Landrigan (Martyn Spendlove). He’s the son of powerhouse romantic novelist Harriet Landrigan (Nicola Wright), who after mysteriously declaring she would never publish another word some years back took a fatal but seemingly accidental tumble down the stairs.
Originally written as a school play by bestselling crime novelist Sophie Hannah and composer Annette Armitage, the film version (funded by Hannah) doesn’t fully shake off its stage origins. But it clearly comes from a place of deep genre adoration and knowledge, on both the whodunnit and musical sides. The songs are excellent: verbally limber Gilbert and Sullivan-esque elaborations on fond characterisations of the film’s rogues’ gallery, from a sycophantic translator to a police inspector who reveals how his lack of a sense of smell resulted in him honing his detective’s nose.
But a few drone shots of Yorkshire viaducts aside, the film struggles to find a cinematic or choreographic language to match the music. Instead it relies on exposition-heavy scenes which work their way to a contrived conclusion, and there is very little active detecting by the fresh-faced generalists. Almost across the board, the performances are mannered as befits such theatrical goings-on, but somehow flat too. Insistently quirky, The Mystery of Mr E’s eye is never far from the fourth wall – but you can envision what this daffy material might have been in the hands of a disciplined stylist such as Wes Anderson.
This low-budget British whodunnit arrives well-timed amid a Rian Johnson-prompted boom in murder mystery movies. It’s not quite, as it claims, the first murder mystery musical movie: that honour might well go to François Ozon’s 8 Women, and Stephen Sondheim once wrote a screenplay and songs for the unproduced The Chorus Girl Murder Case. The concept has been in the ether for a while – unsurprisingly perhaps, as musicals and whodunnits are both formalised genres with a certain amount of common ground.
The Mystery of Mr E enjoys wrongfooting us. Similarly to the start of the classic 1950 noir DOA, when the protagonist arrives to announce his own murder, dastardly Mr E (Kevin Dixon) turns up at the residence of twins George (James N Knight) and John Danes (Harry W Knight) claiming that he is a killer, and that he knows they are heading off on an assignment to Idlewyld House. The last part at least is true: self-styled “generalists” who undertake an assortment of jobs for all-comers, the Danes have been hired to clear this country manor of unwelcome hangers-on by its owner Peter Landrigan (Martyn Spendlove). He’s the son of powerhouse romantic novelist Harriet Landrigan (Nicola Wright), who after mysteriously declaring she would never publish another word some years back took a fatal but seemingly accidental tumble down the stairs.
Originally written as a school play by bestselling crime novelist Sophie Hannah and composer Annette Armitage, the film version (funded by Hannah) doesn’t fully shake off its stage origins. But it clearly comes from a place of deep genre adoration and knowledge, on both the whodunnit and musical sides. The songs are excellent: verbally limber Gilbert and Sullivan-esque elaborations on fond characterisations of the film’s rogues’ gallery, from a sycophantic translator to a police inspector who reveals how his lack of a sense of smell resulted in him honing his detective’s nose.
But a few drone shots of Yorkshire viaducts aside, the film struggles to find a cinematic or choreographic language to match the music. Instead it relies on exposition-heavy scenes which work their way to a contrived conclusion, and there is very little active detecting by the fresh-faced generalists. Almost across the board, the performances are mannered as befits such theatrical goings-on, but somehow flat too. Insistently quirky, The Mystery of Mr E’s eye is never far from the fourth wall – but you can envision what this daffy material might have been in the hands of a disciplined stylist such as Wes Anderson.