In A Haunting in Venice, one can almost immediately tell that director/actor Kenneth Branagh intends to class things up, especially after the glossy Murder On The Orient Express (2017) and star-filled Death on The Nile (2022). In Branagh’s third outing as Hercule Poirot, a sense of doom hangs over the film from the very first frame – a distinctly Hitchcockian visual of a murder of crows – after which a visibly traumatised Poirot wakes up in his apartment in Venice.Another inspired choice that reveals Branagh’s plans to move away from glamour of his earlier films is the presence of composer Hildur Guðnadóttir – best known for Joker and Chernobyl (both released in 2019). Guðnadóttir – famous for her unconventional scores that convey mood rather than leaving the audience with ‘melodic’ or ‘hummable’ pieces – is an excellent choice to communicate the sense that something’s not quite right.Opening in 1947 in the city of canals, we’re shown Poirot in self-imposed retirement. He has a bodyguard (Riccardo Scarmaccio) who ensures the detective can enjoy being retired, without being hounded by potential clients who queue up in front of his house every other day. He’s visited by a friend – a mystery writer called Ariadne Oliver (Tina Fey) – who as Poirot puts it, is there to seduce him with a case by provoking his curiosity. Oliver tells Poirot about a psychic named Joyce Reynolds (Michelle Yeoh) – only recently released from prison – claiming to be a medium who talks to people who have passed on. As a mystery writer, Oliver tells Poirot how she’s uncovered nearly all the fraudulent ways of Reynolds’ kind, except for Reynolds herself. Oliver convinces Poirot to participate in a seance on Halloween night to uncover Reynolds’ tricks.Based on Christie’s Hallowe’en Party, it’s a fine set-up. What better way to start off a story about (probable) spirits and ghosts than to have one of the most staunch rationalists in the room? Branagh treats A Haunting in Venice like a horror film. There are carefully crafted scares that are almost guaranteed to provoke a few screams in the theatre. Reynolds’ character is introduced wearing a Noh mask – which goes on to become an important plot-point in the film. At one point, Poirot – whose disdain for the likes of Reynolds cannot be contained – is confronted by the psychic about knowing the curse of being the “gifted” one. It’s a tremendous moment between towerings actors – Branagh and Yeoh – where the film hints that everything can’t have a reasonable explanation. It’s one of the finest attributes of the film – which merely doesn’t go about debunking the myths like a checklist – but also acknowledges that even the wisest among us can’t categorically explain every occurrence.The whodunit skeleton has gotten a reinvention over the past few years, most famously in Rian Johnson’s Knives Out films. Johnson’s films almost feel like feature-length winks at audiences, given how the films use the tropes of the genre, suffuse them with ‘topicality’ and place dramatic actors (to varying degrees) at the heart of the most bizarre set-ups. And his films are undeniably sexy – with superb performances, and dazzling visual language – which could easily spawn replicas. Thankfully, Branagh goes in the opposite direction and treats his whodunit like a genre film rather than as a blockbuster. The result is, the visual language of a moody A24 film (the studio behind the excellent Talk To Me recently), rather than a standard 20th Century production.The gothic medieval architecture, Guðnadóttir’s foreboding score, Branagh’s most low-key ensemble – including Jamie Dornan, Kelly Reilly, Camille Cottin, Kyle Allen, apart from Fey and Yeoh – adds up to a mystery that ties up its loose ends neatly, perhaps too neatly, by the end, but one that also references old-school satisfaction of mysteries. Branagh’s ostentatious Belgian accent doesn’t get in the way of a haunted performance of a man – who knows everything there is to know – and yet seems to be grappling with the unknowables.Branagh’s film even while flirting with the supernatural roots its horrors in the plausible. The palazzo, where a majority of the film unfolds, is said to have been an erstwhile children’s hospital – where doctors and nurses are believed to have locked and abandoned their patients, during the plague. A character recounts the terror he witnessed in the Second World War – leaving them with a permanent case of “Battle Fever” – making everyone jumpy during social gatherings and lash out during the most unexpected moments. Another character casually recounts how when they bumped into a battalion and mentally prepared to die, instead finding refuge in a Hollywood classic and watching it on repeat with friendly soldiers for a whole month.It boils down to a splendid thesis that even though it is Branagh’s third film in a lucrative franchise, it’s possible to locate its personality. For a film busting myths about ghosts and spirits, maybe this is one way to exorcise the threat of looming studios.