Making a Star Wars film must be one of the most daunting things in Hollywood, even while fans cry, “More, more, more!” with their wallets held wide open.
Disney paid George Lucas billions for the chance, and they’ve gone ham mining the Star Wars legacy for more cartoons, comic books, merchandise, anthology movies, and core trilogy films.
And in the thick of things, the company tries to corral a wary fanbase worried about the House of Mouse damaging a beloved legacy filled with lore and characters that are to American culture what air is to breathing.
It’s my opinion that no one, at this point, can create a movie in the series without inviting the wrath of fans. Not even the legendary Steven Spielberg himself could create a continuation film that would satisfy the masses and keep the vitriol from spreading to his Twitter feed.
Agatha Christie, 20th-century’s master crime novelist, is the highest-selling novelist of all time.
With 2-billion books sold, she’s behind only the Bible and Shakespeare.
But a quick survey of my inner and outer circles would either show that people in general just don’t read anymore or that pop-culture — in America — has room for Sherlock Holmes but not for Hercule Poirot, Christie’s master sleuth who’s appeared in 33 of her novels and a set of films, cinema and television, the last being 2013’s Curtain: Poirot’s Last Case with David Suchet ending a 24-year turn as the detective for the United Kingdom’s ITV.
Kenneth Branagh directs and stars in Murder on the Orient Express, a movie with a stacked ensemble cast featuring the likes of Johnny Depp, Penélope Cruz, Willem Defoe, Judi Dench, Michelle Pfeiffer, and Daisy Ridley. It could have done no less — watch any crime procedural on television, and you can spot the master criminal just by the guest appearance.