Review of Murder by Death (1976) by Edith N — 06 Jul 2009

When you hear a film's got David Niven, Peter Sellers, Peter Falk and Alec Guinness, it's reasonable to assume it will work. Just because the last murder mystery spoof I saw - Clue, which is apparently based on this - stank, doesn't mean this one will too. But alas, Murder By Death is considerably worse than the sum of its parts, thanks to a script that isn't half as smart as it thinks it is, and a plethora of jokes that go from bad to worse.

The plot involves five famous sleuths, all made up by Neil Simon and based crudely on ones you might have heard of, being called to a mansion to investigate a murder. Except the murder hasn't happened yet. The only likely victim is also the likely murderer: their host, enigmatic Mr Lionel Twain (Truman Capote). Befuddled, everyone just sort of waits for the axe to fall.

We're treated to some really Godawful jokes in the mean time. Alex Guinness fumbles about shamelessly as a blind butler, although we can possibly assume that Guinness himself ducks the honour of playing his own naked corpse, as we don't see his face. Really, considering Guinness found Star Wars a demeaning experience, how did he reason the bottom-rung slapstick he purports here? At one point, Bensonmum (Guinness) must organise dinner with a deaf, mute maid. Watch your sides, for they may split at any moment.

Also somewhat desperate are scenes when Poirot knockoff Perrier (James Coco) has difficulty understanding his driver (a young James Cromwell), even though they've both got French accents. Desperate much? How about Peter Sellers as the cliche-sodden Chinese sleuth, Inspector Wang, who has brought with him his adopted son, Willy. Willy Wang? Oh come on, that's worth at least a drum-roll!

It becomes clear quickly that the mystery, which takes roughly an hour to even produce a body, is not going to have any kind of clever conclusion. Rooms in the house can apparently move around silently and quickly while our heroes aren't looking, thanks to technology that borders on magic. Some characters turn out to be androids. And in the furious denouement, Twain reprimands all the sleuths for their cheap, cheating resolutions that never allow their readers to guess or work out the answers. Sadly, the only way screenwriter Neil Simon can think to parody them is not to produce a superior mystery that will stump them, but to perform even bigger, more unforgivable cheats. I got the impression of a man who does not understand murder mysteries, bitterly resents the fact, and was allowed to make Murder By Death so he could sulk about it.

Happily, some of it works, although that may be the result of cobbling together so many random good actors. Any scene featuring David Niven is, predictably, gold. Peter Falk is outspoken and interesting as Bogart-spoof Sam Diamond. Even Peter Sellers and Alec Guinness, both thoroughly embarrassing themselves, get some surprisingly witty lines scattered among the detritus. I laughed occasionally, which ought to count for something, particularly at the moment where Diamond attempts to quote a famous exchange verbatim with his assistant (Eileen Brennan) and is annoyed when she gets it wrong.

Murder By Death has the occasional haphazard chuckle, but it's just not as smart as Neil Simon seems to think. Cheating its mysteries and scraping the bottom of the barrel for its jokes, it's an often regrettable and childish movie, and like its apparent bastard offspring, Clue, it takes far too long to get to the actual murder mystery. I honestly can't dismiss a film that has this many talented people in it, but they're mostly not put to great use, so it's tricky. Maybe you should see it if you're a big David Niven fan, or if you've never seen Peter Sellers crack wise about the Chinese. Just, for God's sake, don't try to solve the case yourself, for you're in the presence not of a master storyteller, but a bitterly frustrated screenwriter who pokes fun at things he apparently doesn't understand.