Despite Branagh's every attempt to capitalise on the intimacy of the cinematic medium with (intrusive) close-ups, the direction is heavy handed; the result being a dramatic, but emotionally cold experience
Whether you like the film probably depends on whether you can treat it all as seriously as Pinter and Branagh. If you can't, this short, brackish piece will not work at all, even if you don't regard it as a piece of piss.
A Dead Film Walking, a zombie of a film, a shuffling Frankenstein's monster of a film, leaking electricity from its badly-fitting neck bolts, tragically whimpering at the pointless agony of its own brief existence.
A bold, initially fascinating but ultimately misguided attempt to 'Pinter-ize' an old-fashioned puzzle. Great mysteries leave their audience marveling 'how did they do that?' Sleuth 2007 leaves you scratching your head, wondering why they bothered.
Caine and Law rustle up a spicy chemistry which sustains a sizzle for an hour or so. But the second half panders to Pinter's self-indulgence, unravelling Branagh's high-tensile head-fuck as a hollow skirmish.