See How They Run (2022)

Score: 3.5 / 5

A uniquely quirky and delightful romp, See How They Run won't be for everyone. It's one of those semi-annoying films that will only really appeal to a particular audience, specifically one that very much enjoys a brand of dry murder mystery. Interestingly, it also requires one that enjoys metafictional commentary on dry murder mysteries (or of any genre, presumably). I was not ready for the latter, though it is a brand of comedy I have loved for many years, since seeing the original Scream. It's all a performative pastiche, camp in delivery if not in form, and earnest in its efforts to delight more than mystify.

Take the opening sequence, which like most classic British murder mysteries assaults you with a sudden onslaught of introductions for all the main characters and their basic issues with each other before revealing that one of them -- of course, the most unlikable one -- has been murdered. It's Adrien Brody, oddly enough, playing American film director Leo Kopernick. He's also supplying the voiceover, an ironic twist that slaps hard once he's been done in. Kopernick, a sleazy and drunken opportunist, joins the celebrations of the success of Agatha Christie's knockout West End play The Mousetrap, having recently reached 100 performances in the year 1953. He's not particularly welcome, as film and theatre artists don't quite see eye-to-eye, and his pushy demeanor offends the producer, female lead, and her husband and co-star, the latter two of whom turn the situation into a brawl. Shortly after, Kopernick is murdered backstage.

After the dramatic and kinetic setup, which really needs a scene or two for us to come down from due to its speed and wit, we're introduced to the heroes of our tale. Inspector Stoppard (Sam Rockwell) and Constable Stalker (Saoirse Ronan) are the oddest pair you might expect in a film like this. Stoppard's heavy drinking makes him unreliable in multiple ways, though his world-weariness suggests he's seen more than his share of crime. Stalker is a hopeful cinephile and earnest note-taker, making meaning through the screen and the page, though she's not adept yet at seeing connections in real life around her. They're investigating the death of a director who was pretty hated -- blacklisted in Hollywood and sent to London to film something he considers the death of theatre and cinema -- and they're not particularly invested either. But it's a job, and between Stoppard (whose job is on the line) and Stalker (who wants to work her way up), they'll slowly and surely get it done. That is to say, to learn whodunnit.

There are lots of theatrical in-jokes, including Stoppard's name and reference to The Real Inspector Hound, and it's a hoot if you get it. Otherwise, I imagine it just feels tacky and weird. Harris Dickinson, who has really been impressing me lately, plays a young Richard Attenborough, star of the play, and his work in channeling the late great actor is really quite impressive and heartwarming. There are references to Julian Fellowes (Gosford Park) and even Agatha Christie herself makes a hilarious appearance, played to iconic and poisonous effect by Shirley Henderson. Some of the jokes are real groaners -- calling the murder "staged" because it happened, in fact, on stage -- but it adds to the offbeat and dry charm of this insanely-paced mystery comedy. While this wasn't always my cuppa (I'm excited for the similarly meta sequel to Knives Out coming soon to Netflix), it's still a fun romp and curious exercise in what amounts to fanfiction. Even if it never really feels as interesting or important as the yarns Christie herself spun.