A crime caper so fizzy-light it probably couldnt even stay anchored to aCluegameboard,Murder Mysteryseems to know from the first frame how silly it is, right down to the placeholder name.
That makes it feel more fun than it should be to watchJennifer AnistonandAdam Sandleras a working-class New York couple (working-class, of course, except for Anistons wardrobe) who find themselves unlikely guests on a tetchy billionaires yacht bound for Mediterranean ports and multiple homicides.
As Nick and Audrey Spitz hes a beat cop, shes a hairdresser they seem mostly happily married, though his idea of a 15th anniversary gift is an Amazon gift card off the rack from Rite Aid; panicked by her disappointment, he pretends that he had planned to take her on their long-delayed European honeymoon all along.
Credit: Scott Yamano/Netflix
On the plane, Audrey wanders into first class and befriends Luke Evans dashing, mustachioed viscount (as you do), who spontaneously invites them to join him (as viscounts apparently do) at the floating nuptials of his estranged uncle, Malcolm Quince a silver-haired misanthrope who just happens to be one of worlds richest men, and is played, far too briefly, by Terence Stamp.
On the boat, a smorgasbord of soon-to-be-suspects awaits: a swanning succubus of an actress (Gemma Arterton), a one-eyed colonel (John Kani), a race-car driver (Luis Gerardo Mendez), and a chatty Maharaj (Adeel Akhtkar), plus Malcolms bitter prodigal son (David Wallaims) and much-younger new bride (Shioli Kutsuna), a Japanese tennis ace named Suzi.
When they all start dropping like manor guests in a dinner-theater Agatha Christie, Audrey and Nick mostly hang back; Audrey is a little bit thrilled that the trip is playing out like one of her favorite novels; Nick would just really like to bring some grilled shrimp back to his stateroom.
But soon theyre the prime suspects in the crosshairs of Inspector de la Croix (Dany Boon), the chain-smoking French police detective so Clouseau-y he might as well have a Pink Panther pinned to his lapel.
Aniston and Sandler, paired before in 2011sJust Go With It, relax into their roles as if their only stake inMysteryis to enjoy the free trip to Italy and have fun running down cobblestones.
Sandler, far from his manic man-child mode, throws off dry one-liners like theyre free packets of cocktail sauce, though hes still the shlub who would wear cargo shorts to his own funeral, and Aniston stays plucky-bright, even when she has to scooch around a corpse or dodge a blowdart.
None of it ever really matters, and even the big reveal of whodunit evaporates like so much morning mist over a villa or like 100 minutes of zero-gravity Netflixing you might swig down like boxed Prosecco, and never have to think of again.B
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