Soon, secrets emerge, and twists arise, eventually leading to an explosive climax involving the least likely suspects. He slowly interrogates them all and finds that jealousy, bitterness, and greed have infected the whole clan, leading Hayward no closer to the truth. Hayward takes on the case because of his past love affair with Haviland, but he quickly learns that he signed up for more than he bargained for when it becomes obvious that every member of the sprawling Leonides family is a suspect in the patriarch’s death. The plot hews quite closely to the source material: Private detective Charles Hayward ( Max Irons, utterly devoid of charm or personality) has been hired by Sophia de Haviland ( Stefanie Martini) to solve the possible murder of her tycoon grandfather. Thus, “Crooked House” feels as lifeless as the corpse at its center. It’s a bland exercise in mystery that ostensibly highlights the performances from its randomly assembled cast ( Glenn Close! Gillian Anderson! Christina Hendricks! Terrence Stamp?), but the actors never once seem engaged with the material beyond the surface. Unfortunately, director Gilles Paquet-Brenner never bothers to inject a spark of life into his merely competent adaptation, let alone other necessary qualities like suspense or entertainment. Yet, there’s another adaptation of a Christie novel that has snuck in under the wire before the end of the year: “Crooked House,” a drawing room mystery set in an enormous estate owned by a brutish, recently deceased patriarch.
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