So, my husband and I love mysteries set in the past - 20s, 30s, 40s especially. So when we heard about this film, described as a comedy mystery set in 1934 England, we couldn't wait to see it. Twenty min in, we seriously discussed just turning it off, but ultimately stuck it out. I'm not sure we made the right decision. The story set up seems fairly straightforward, a beautiful heiress named Honey enlists the help of a police detective in solving the murder of her beloved husband one year ago at the couple's annual Halloween masquerade. To that end, she throws another party which is the copy of the one her husband died at to every detail, down to the guest list, certain it will result in a solution. The detective is to don her late husband's last costume and ferret out a culprit before the sun comes up. Sounds good, right? But...oh boy, is it not. Stylistically, it's pretty visually stunning and campily noir. That's where the fun ends. Every character delivers their lines like they're in a community play and every bit of dialogue is SO over written it's exhausting. Also, the film suddenly veers into weird surreal moments that come out of nowhere - like where a French chanteuse enters the room where the detective has been taken hostage and blithely tells a story about her first love that has a punchline like a bad vaudeville routine, then departs. No explanation, no point to her having been there, no thought as to why she hasn't noticed the danger of the situation. Nothing. Or the scene where the detective finds out Honey may have lied about what day her birthday is (turns out in the end she had not) and becomes so unglued by the possible untruth he has what looks like a panic attack and passes out. My husband was convinced he must have been drugged, but, no, it's shown to be just a panic attack. Why? Would an an experienced policeman really lose his bearings so severely when told someone may have lied during an investigation? Wouldn't he be used to that? Then there's the sudden, glaringly loud inclusions of punk and rock music in the 1930s setting that serves no purpose whatsoever. Don't even get me started on the scene where 3 of the murderers engage in a madcap montage of snorting coke with the heiress' beautiful and unwitting friend (she doesn't know they're the villains) to more punk music. It's like several people got together with wildly different ideas for a movie - modern camp noir, madcap satire, surreal arthouse and stylish British mystery - then couldn't decide what to choose and just said, let's mash them all in a blender, press frappe and put it on screen. Then there's the fact they all keep saying the heroine's husband was stabbed to death in their mansion kitchen...and when we finally see the kitchen it is an almost empty room with an old fridge, a table and...nothing else. No stove, no range, no equipment. Is this a secondary kitchen? Where are the caterers staging all the food and drink for the massive party that's been raging? By the time the detective and the heiress solve the mystery (hint, it involves a hastily explained plan about pre-World War II nazi sympathizers wanting to buy the mansion for Hitler, which makes zero sense, and wanting to bump off Honey and her husband to get it) and fall for each other to live happily ever after, you'll be glad it's over.