Crooked House

In the Great Agatha Christie Revival of 2017, we essentially had a "Battle of the Mustaches." On one side, you had Kenneth Branagh’s gargantuan, face-consuming facial hair in the big-budget Murder on the Orient Express. On the other, you had the quiet, almost stealthy release of Crooked House. While Branagh was off breaking box office records with CGI trains and a dozen A-listers, director Gilles Paquet-Brenner (of the underrated Dark Places) was tucked away in a drafty English manor, filming a story that Christie herself actually considered her personal favorite.

It’s a bit of a tragedy that this film practically vanished into the VOD ether upon arrival. It made just over $2 million—roughly what a Marvel movie spends on its catering budget for a Tuesday. But in our current era of "Content" vs. "Cinema," Crooked House occupies a fascinating middle ground. It’s a boutique mystery that feels like a precursor to the Knives Out explosion, yet it’s far more interested in the decaying rot of the British aristocracy than in subverting genre tropes with a wink.

The Fellowship of the Grumpy

The script comes courtesy of Julian Fellowes, the man who has spent the last two decades proving he knows exactly what rich people say to each other when the help isn't listening. If you’ve seen Gosford Park or Downton Abbey, you know the drill: high ceilings, higher cheekbones, and insults so sharp they could shave a truffle.

At the center of the storm is Charles Hayward, played by Max Irons (The White Queen), a private investigator who looks like he wandered out of a cologne ad and into a murder scene. He’s hired by his former flame, Sophia (Stefanie Martini), to figure out who poisoned her grandfather, the Greek tycoon Aristide Leonides. The catch? The killer is definitely a family member, and everyone is living under the same sprawling, "crooked" roof.

The ensemble is where the fun is. Glenn Close shows up as Lady Edith de Haviland and spends most of her screen time blasting moles in the garden with a shotgun. It is exactly as iconic as it sounds. Then you have Christina Hendricks (Mad Men) as Brenda, the trophy wife who is treated like a virus by the rest of the household. Hendricks is fantastic here, playing Brenda with a fragile, "deer-in-the-headlights" energy that makes you wonder if she’s a master manipulator or just a woman who realized too late that she married into a shark tank.

Style Over Stagnation

For a film set primarily in one house, Crooked House looks incredibly expensive. The cinematography by Sebastian Winterø captures the Three Gables estate not as a cozy mystery setting, but as a gilded cage. There’s a persistent sense of claustrophobia, emphasized by the way the camera lingers on the heavy wood paneling and the oppressive green wallpaper. I watched this on a rainy Tuesday while eating a slightly stale bagel, and the film’s atmosphere was so thick it actually made the bagel taste like 1950s melancholy.

One thing I appreciated about the contemporary direction here is the lack of "cozy." Modern Christie adaptations often lean into the whimsical, but this is a cold, cynical film. The family is genuinely loathsome. Max Irons has the charisma of a very expensive, very well-polished floorboard, which is my biggest gripe, but he serves his purpose as the blank slate upon which the more colorful characters can scrawl their grievances.

The standout, however, is Honor Kneafsey as the young, precocious Josephine. Child actors in mysteries are usually either "precocious to the point of annoyance" or "suspiciously quiet." Kneafsey hits a third note: genuinely unnerving. She stalks the hallways with a notebook, recording the family’s secrets like a pint-sized Machiavelli.

The Ghost of the Box Office

So, why did this film get buried? It suffered from a classic case of modern distribution limbo. In 2017, the industry was still figuring out how to market "mid-budget dramas" that weren't aimed at the Oscar race. It premiered on Channel 5 in the UK before a limited US theatrical run, essentially being treated as a "TV movie plus."

In the age of streaming, we see these kinds of films every weekend on Netflix or Prime Video, but Crooked House has a tactile, cinematic quality that those digital-first productions often lack. It’s a film that deserved a bigger screen and a louder conversation. It also features a legendary veteran in Terence Stamp (The Limey) as Chief Inspector Taverner, who basically walks into the movie, reminds everyone how to act, and then leaves with his dignity intact.

The ending—which I won’t spoil—is notoriously dark. Back in 1949, Christie's publishers actually begged her to change it because it was so "unpleasant." She refused. This film honors that refusal. It doesn't try to soften the blow for a 21st-century audience. It stays crooked until the very last frame.

Crooked House isn't a masterpiece, and it’s certainly not as flashy as the star-studded mysteries that have followed it in the years since. It’s a bit stiff in the joints, and the lead performance is a tad wooden, but the supporting cast is having the time of their lives. If you’re a fan of Glenn Close being menacing in tweed or if you just want a mystery that feels like it has actual stakes and a cold heart, this is a hidden gem worth digging up. It’s a reminder that even in an era of franchise dominance, there’s still room for a well-told, mean-spirited parlor mystery. Just don't expect a happy ending; the house is crooked for a reason.