Score: 2 / 5
The Woman in Cabin 10 is a go-to title for anyone curious about author Ruth Ware. I confess I haven't read it, but the buzz was somewhat inescapable, at least in certain circles. I have, however, read another title from Ware, and while Spiece's Pieces isn't and won't be a reading blog, my experience with her prose bears some relevance here. A few years back, I read Ware's In a Dark, Dark Wood, eager for a new voice in mystery/thrillers and seeing her name on a lot of store shelves. My impression was one of dismal mediocrity: following a path worn down by Gillian Flynn and Paula Hawkins while blatantly ripping off Christie and Hitchcock, Ware's narrative was simplistic and obvious, culminating in a final reveal so insipid and stupid that it soured me to her permanently. Even her somewhat intriguing ideas -- namely, her setting, in that novel -- are swept away by obnoxiously moralistic and unrealistic motivations for the main characters, which seem to be the point of the novel, rather than the climax, which is at best an afterthought.
So when I learned that Ware's perhaps most well-known title was getting Netflix treatment, I was not particularly excited. Yet the trailer intrigued me; I'm a sucker for anything that even loosely resembles The Lady Vanishes or a Poirot mystery, and this looked like a modern version of Death on the Nile. In the hands of Simon Stone (The Dig), and starring Keira Knightley among a cast of fabulous actors, a single watch of this on Netflix renders it a fun and simple distraction this winter. As meatier fare, however, this dish leaves a lot to be desired.
Investigative journalist Lo (Knightley), rattled by witnessing the murder of a source, opts to take on a breezy, luxurious project to reset her professional regulation. Invited by dying billionaire Anne on a superyacht cruise to Norway, Lo is tasked with hobnobbing with wealthy guests and writing them up in a puff piece exalting their philanthropic activities. Anne, terminally ill with cancer, is opening a new charity as her final legacy, supported by her husband Richard (Guy Pearce); what Richard and everybody else doesn't know, however, is that Anne is going to donate her entire fortune. Anne tells Lo this privately, which gives Lo some pause. Why doesn't Richard know? Or the other guests, who seem to be longtime friends? Perhaps, we can almost hear her thinking as she gazes at the opulence around her, these people are all snivelling sycophants hoping for a slice of Anne's pie.
At least, that's the direction this could have taken. Instead, almost immediately, Lo encounters an unidentified, bedraggled woman onboard who suddenly disappears in what Lo believes to be a crime. Loose cigarette butts, a bloody handprint, and a body thrown overboard en route are more than enough to spark her hysterics. Crew and passengers alike dismiss her, yet her growing indignation make them all quite hostile. She's upsetting the applecart, yes, but also sucking up energy that should be spent glorying in Anne's fading glow. And when they all learn of her recent trauma, they chalk it all up to Lo simply losing the plot. It doesn't help that her flirtatious ex, Ben (David Ajala), has been assigned to this cruise as her photographer.
Apart from the obvious ties to other projects already mentioned, this film never really feels like its own thing. As with any murder mystery, the primary joys are to be found with its cast; unfortunately, this cast isn't given much to do, as their screenplay spends almost all its time with Lo. Though Knightley is eminently watchable doing the same kind of acting she always does, Lo always feels beholden to her caricature writ broadly; intensity is great, but she never feels like a real person thrust into a bizarre and sinister situation. This means that, apart from Ajala, no other actor gets a chance to do much more than play their thinly written, archetypal role. Pearce is greasy and smug as an overprotective and likely gold-digging hubby; Gugu Mbatha-Raw pops in a few times for good measure; Kaya Scodelario, Hannah Waddingham, and David Morrissey float around like vaguely suspicious red herrings in couture. There's a rockstar and a doctor, a crew uniformly in line behind a forced facade, and some consternation over the fate of Anne's fortune.
But all amounts to much less than the sum of its parts, narratively, in a story that consistently underwhelms with its predictability and rote beats. What works much better is the visuals, if only because the yacht and ocean are so beautiful to behold. Stylishly sapped of most of its color, an icy bluish-gray palette pervades each frame, so that the beautiful actors in their leisurely boating outfits become the only real reason to watch this movie. And I do mean that, because by the final act, so absurd in its machinations, I wanted to just turn the wretched thing off and keep the memory of furtive glances and trysts in the glassy hallways below deck as murderous designs lurk around each corner. Better to go watch Flightplan instead.
