Consistently amusing, deliciously mean-spirited, Robert Altman pulled off one last comeback after a dud decade with this UPSTAIRS/DOWNSTAIRS social-strata roundelay cum murder-mystery. As if Agatha Christie penned a DOWNTON ABBEY episode, circa 1932, without conflating good manners with good behavior. Villainous little foxes in every corner, but especially UPSTAIRS. Yet it was actually written by, of all people, ABBEY’s very own Julian Fellowes a decade before the series began. (Altman’s original idea must have been RULES OF THE GAME meets MURDER ON THE ORIENT EXPRESS.*) The cast is large, lux & famous, really incredibly posh, which lets us get our scorecard straight over a first half that darts all over one of those grand British ‘piles’ during a weekend shooting party. One that brings out the worst in the rich & titled, the not-so-rich & titled and a huge house staff augmented by visitor valets & lady’s maids. (Only a pair of showbiz types & a few staffers offer recognizably decent behavior.) It's after the murder, about mid-point, that the set up starts to pay off. And if Stephen Fry’s blunderbuss police investigator is a clueless parody figure, nearly all the personal mysteries, as well as the murder, are satisfyingly solved without him. With priceless perfs from Maggie Smith, Michael Gambon, Jeremy Northam, Clive Owen, Helen Mirren, Alan Bates & Eileen Atkins, all divine; a dozen more nearly as good. You’ll need five forks (two just for the fish course), four spoons and three & a half knives to do it justice.
DOUBLE-BILL: *That’s Sidney Lumet’s 1974 MotOE not Kenneth Branagh’s unwatchable 2017 version.
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