A creative chameleon with a penchant for art department moustaches, Branagh deserves the same cult status as Nicolas Cage
If you, like me, felt the craving and confidence to return to the cinema over the past few weeks, you might have taken a chance, despite the bad reviews, on the latest Christopher Nolan offering, Tenet. I mean, just how bad could it be, right? Well, Tenet is really bad. Like, spectacularly bad. So bad I loved it. And one of the main reasons for that is Kenneth Branagh.
I didn’t even realise Branagh was in the stupid film before I saw it. And yet there he was, like a long-forgotten soft toy found at the back of the wardrobe, rollicking around Nolan’s high-budget flop like it was his movie the whole time. He has a villainous Russian accent, he sports a stubby, gelled faux-hawk, his character loves checking his FitBit (relatable), and – huge spoiler – his demise involves a vengeful Elizabeth Debicki greasing up the deck of his superyacht with sunscreen and sliding him head-first off the side, like he’s on a fatal SPF50 Slip ’n’ Slide.
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