MERRY SHERLOCKIAN CHRISTMAS

...This is one way to explain the Great Hiatus: with a wink and a smile

Guess what I'll be doing New Year's Day?

Finally, a REAL trailer for Sherlock Series III

First off,  make sure you go and re-read The Empty House to keep it all canonical. Project Gutenburg link

Then, watch this fabulous new trailer. WE GET MARY! WE GET MARY!







John's all: "I don't care how you faked it" and I am all " I AM DYING TO KNOW HOW YOU FAKED IT"

HAPPY HALLOWE'EN: an ode to 'The Hound of the Baskervilles'

Sidney Paget

First Off: a little review and then Hound rambles forevermore......

The Hound of the Baskervilles, 1959 

Our Holmes: Peter Cushing

Our Watson: Andre Morrell

Our Henry Baskerville: Lord Sauron

Our Hound: Marmaduke

This is not the worst Hound of the Baskervilles out there (Hello Matt Frewer and Kenneth Walsh); but it’s certainly not great either.  While it is atmospheric (in a technicolour-same-sets-and-costumes-as-Bonanza kind of way), it fails to emote any sheer terror. I am all for campy and I think that is where this best fits in.  Hammer productions was renowned for providing cinema adaptations of some of the greatest horror and thriller stories of all time ( often starring Cushing and Christopher Lee) and I think this is just one more case where they tried to evoke an atmosphere and slightly failed.  This Hound is not scary. Now, let’s face it, with the exception of the psychological terror we experience thanks to fog machines and good lighting and a modern premise in the BBC adaptation, few have actually seen a scary version of Hound.  The Richard Roxburgh “Hound” won’t keep you up at night.  The Jeremy Brett? Well, egads. Enough about that. The Basil Rathbone? Okay, dude, the Rathbone enterprise drives me bonkers. WHY? Because the Watson is useless. Nigel Bruce, you suck.

It is not particularly creepy; but it tries. It’s also not bad on the faithfulness front.

I don’t fault this version for its lack of provoked eeriness.  It does throw an “Elementary, My dear Watson” in and mentions Holmes’ “two pipe” (instead of notorious “three pipe” ) problem. There is little to no chemistry between  Watson and Holmes but that is part and parcel of extracting one view from the Canon. Those, indeed, are faults that a purist notes. They also played a lot with Miss Stapleton’s role and strayed far from canon.  The idea of spousal abuse might not have been as easy to film in the 1950s, perhaps.  The best part of this adaptation ( and why it is heralded as a pivotal adaptation) is in its conceptualization of Watson. No longer is he seen as the bumbling Watson of yore ( think Nigel Bruce, think Howard Marion Crawford in the 1954 TV series starring Ronald Howard); but rather as a deductive and intelligent individual in his own right. In short, as Watson is in the book.  

Prior to this, Hollywood and Television belief was that in order to draw in an audience, you needed to provide as many ingredients of a fascinating and entertaining tale as possible. Sherlock could provide the smarts and the wits and the super-brain, the tales themselves could provide the thrills and the Watson could provide the comic buffoonery.  This is before, I believe, they realized that the quiet balance between the two minds was indeed enough to draw in a thinking audience.  One need not sacrifice Watson for the ill-founded belief that a guy with his figurative foot-in-the-bucket is what is needed to generate appeal.  If this was so, why did thousands of people flock to the newsstands to buy the Strand upon its publication?

I think part of the beauty of  The Hound of the Baskervilles and the testament to its long-lasting appeal is that it is shaped around an oral narration.  The curse of the Baskervilles and the legend of the Hound has been passed down from generation to generation in the kind of story that flickers candles on a stormy eve and makes things go “bump” in the night.  You, of course, are deliciously scared when this occultish tale is spun by Dr. Mortimer at the beginning of the novella and  yet, on screen?  It’s hard to get to that deliciously creepy feeling as it tickles up your arms and causes you to look  behind your shoulder.

Sir Benedict as Sherlock on the moors in BBC "Hounds"

The brilliance of Hound is that it separates Holmes and Watson.  Watson, now more than ever, is our intrepid and trusty guide. It is Watson who , with service revolver ready, follows Sir Henry to Baskerville Hall and hellish Dartmoor.  It is Watson who encounters and theorizes the extent of the villainy of Stapleton and the outlaw-on –the-moors Selden.  Holmes works behind the scenes waiting, instead, for a self-proclaimed unneeded and grand entrance.  Often, film-makers find this a bit of a Catch-22.  While they are eager to adapt and visualize the most famous tale of the Canon; they are confronted with the very real fact that condensing this piece means sacrificing what little time the hero of the tale actually has in the story.  People want to see Sherlock Holmes deduce things and yet the story is very much an exploration of Watson’s endeavours to utilize Holmes’ methods when left on his own.

The novel is also brilliant in its mesmerizing marriage of detective thriller and horror story.  Those with a devoted interest to Conan Doyle know that he was absolutely obsessed with the Occult and the Supernatural.  He researched and practiced the New Age, believed in fairies (!!) and séances and was quite into all of this dreaded and spiritual stuff. As such, he is able to infuse his story with elements quite unexplainable to the untrained and naked eye.  To further this, he is able to clash his own beliefs in the extraordinary with his creation’s absolute certainty that nothing beyond the possible can exist.  Everything must have data, be circumscriptive to logistics and rationality.  Coupling his passion for the occult with his sleuth’s obvious disdain for anything that cannot be reasoned away provides added delight for the reader.

Perhaps the most pervading delight for the 1902 reader was the return of Sherlock Holmes.  The last they had seen him he had been thrown off the Reichenbach Falls by his nemesis Moriarty and eulogized in a postscript by Watson.  Modern Holmesians recognize that these intermittent years just make up the Great Hiatus; but readers of the long-awaited return believed this to be yet another memoir of a time set before Holmes’ death.  For many, who had worn black arm bands (across continents) and wrote threatening letters to Doyle, this was a much-needed glimpse back into a world they were starving for.

Sidney Paget

To show amends perhaps, and fair justice to his North American fans ( who were quite vocal and passionate), Doyle did well in including a North American in his tale: the Canadian Henry Baskerville who is much the same level of hero in the tale as Watson or Holmes.  Doyle is (perhaps) showing an olive branch for murdering the dear literary love of many; but also recognizing his success rested largely on other continents than his own.

 This Hallowe’en ---in the midst of the Frankenstorm that is shaking our tree limbs to tap on window panes, the lights to flicker and the rain to fall on the pavement illuminated by sleek streetlamps, it is the ideal time to light a few candles and curl up with this amazing story.  You can search to the ends of the earth to find a televised or film version  of it that will evoke the same giddy delights awaiting those who turn its creepy pages for the first time: you will come up with naught.  This is the story of the Canon because it is a marriage of all that is wonderful about the Holmes stories ,yes, but also contains the elements of the genres that keep us craving more narrative similarities: thriller, mystery, psychological horror. 

From "The Hound of the Baskervilles" graphic novel

[also see The Hound of the Baskervilles, BBC]

"Bending the Willow: Jeremy Brett as Sherlock Holmes" by David Stuart Davies

You guys. This book.

 You think it is about the making of the Granada SherlockHolmes. More still, the making of Jeremy Brett as the definitive Sherlock Holmes (many Holmesians believe this, including myself, though he is now closely rivaled by Benedict Cumberbatch). What it truly is, at its center, is an exposition of Jeremy’s strong battle with manic depression and his bravery and courage in trying to eradicate the stigma involved as a sort of involuntary advocate. Because the book is largely couched in incidents involving the Granada series: its conception and its development and subsequent airing, it is not a biography of Jeremy Brett the actor; rather an exploration of how Jeremy Brett the manic-depressive actor was able to use the slight eccentricities synonymous with his illness to craft a brilliant Sherlock Holmes.

For those fans of the Granada series, like myself, who have sat with the Canon open on your lap while you compare it to the action on the screen, the “behind the scenes” information given here is delightful.  One of my favourite parts of this facet of the book was the exploration of the relationship between Jeremy Brett and his first “Watson”, David Burke, then, secondly his second “Watson”, Edward Hardwicke.  The latter became more Watson-like than ever in his support of his ill friend who, often under the influence of drugs (lithium to quell the manic-depression) was in ill-health and high and low spirits.  

The author, whose own work was optioned for presentation by Granada when the Conan Doyle stories were wearing thin and they were exploring the realm of pastiche, has a remarkable passion for the material ( both the source material and its adaptation) and a wealth of conversational transcripts from all involved in the making of the series: including Jeremy Brett, David Burke and Edward Hardwicke.   I especially enjoyed the moments surrounding a play mounted starring Brett and Hardwicke which strained their relationship and Brett’s health while he tried to dig deeper still into the canyons of his fictional obsession.

You cannot really call this book a biography because it does not give a thorough account of Jeremy’s life and, though it is centered on his years as Holmes, speaks more to his portrayal and how is illness influenced this portrayal for better or worse.  It’s more an homage to a great idea excavated and enacted by a  brilliant man who was at times tortured by the creation he assimilated to and at other times soared on the wings of the narcissistic and manic creativity of Conan Doyle’s icon. 

Sherlockians will love the information provided on the careful re-tellings of the works by Granada and its producers.  For example, Brett and his colleagues worked painstakingly to create a sort of “bible” of canonical references: everything that Sherlock and Watson were referenced to be eating, wearing, thinking and doing within the 56 short stories and 4 novels.  This, and other careful attentions to historical detail, are largely why the series is so highly regarded by Sherlockians and academics alike. 

What struck me most about this story, however, was ( as mentioned) the true nature of manic depression and the absolutely horrific symptoms torturing its sufferers.  Many are well aware of how Jeremy Brett experienced hefty weight gain during the filming of some of the Sherlock installments.  This was a result of the lithium side-effect of water retention and often he (this is sounding crass) had to be drained of the excess fluid while still not getting down to his normal size.  For a vain actor playing a sinewy and lanky icon, this was more than disparaging. At points in the series, Brett’s heart had swelled to twice its size, again a ramification of the medication he was on. He was so unwell that he had to sit in a wheelchair between scenes.  But, more severe than the physical symptoms was the mental repression and depression.  Davies recounts numerous conversations where Jeremy was obviously experiencing an episode of illness and how is acute mental faculties (not unlike those of the character he famously played) were plagued and distilled and frenzied by his mental incapacities.   Further still, that it so wholly tortured a man who was but 61 upon his death.

 Mental illness is a trying and horrible and isolating thing.  It is made more so here as it ravages the talent of someone so well-suited to play an iconic literary hero. It saddens me that someone who, to my knowledge, understood Sherlock Holmes in a way few of us do was so wrought with tragedy during his portrayal of him.   To say Jeremy Brett is a brilliant actor is an understatement when you, like me, grew up seeing him absolutely embody the role and encompass all that made Holmes so unique.  What is interesting further and what Davies explores in a winning and intellectual (and often funny and touching way) is how Jeremy Brett’s illness provided an almost ironic edge to his ability to play Sherlock Holmes.  Holmes, to many, is one who suffers from some kind of illness: Cumberbatch’s Holmes is mentioned as being a “high-functioning sociopath” where other critics have mentioned Asperger’s when studying him, to say nothing of the universal belief that he was plagued with some sort of social compulsion or disorder. Having a mentally-tortured soul whose illness caused him to see-saw from great moods of high-energy and mental exultation to low, lethargic moments of depression and drug-abuse ( in Brett’s case, the abuse was prescribed by medical professionals and caused numerous allergic reactions) play a character who exemplifies the same mental traits is a good, if sorrowful match.  Those who have immersed themselves in the canon for lengths of time know how difficult it is to be engulfed by Holmes and his remarkable mood swings.  He will be high and happy and floating on air, his brain capacity filled with deductive reasoning and logic; only to be brought down, inflated, to the ground: surrounded by pillows, drawing long breaths on his pipe, the cocaine syringe not far from his reach: ostracizing Watson and the world around him.

There is a true marriage of geniuses here plagued by mental instability. 

As a sufferer of mental illness ( I speak to my anxiety disorder and OCD on the blog here sometimes), I am always moved and challenged by the plights of fellow sufferers who, though not perhaps diagnosed with same illness, are plagued by some of the over-arching and over-lapping symptoms and consequences.   I was loaned a book called A First-Rate Madness which delves into the links between mental illness, leadership and art.  Indeed, artists and leaders and gloriously eccentric personages are more likely to be sufferers (diagnosed or not) of some facet of mental illness.  I think we can safely assume that Holmes was one of these sufferers, if fictional, whereas Jeremy Brett certainly was.

Later, when I can handle revisiting this book, which moved me far more than expected and cast a bit of a shadow over the past few days: so distressed was I at reading of such suffering on a fellow human (egads! Jeremy Brett or not, this is to try the water works, friends!), I will have a post just involving my favourite quotes of the book.  There are great conversations and quotes herein and wonderful anecdotes.  I found myself highlighting something every few pages!  While the general populous will be bored out of their tree, my fellow Sherlockians will clap and gasp and “ooo!” and “ahhh!”

For a long while, Bending the Willow was incredibly hard to find and the Amazon used marketplace sellers listed it at over 1000.00.  Now, it is available on kindle. 

Poll: The Most Boring Sherlock Holmes Adventure

When I was in high school, I read the Sherlock Holmes stories to friggin' bare threads ( as most of you readers know).  At this point, I didn't own them, so I would sign out every edition from my school and public library (props, little Orillia, props!) and then return them and sign out ANOTHER edition. Because I was a badass at that.

Anyway, I would start at the beginning ( and by the beginning I mean A Scandal in Bohemia, because, face it, after Watson and Holmes move in together, the rest of A Study in Scarlet is rather boring and Sign of Four just means Watson moves away---albeit to marry Mary Morstan -- -but still kinda sad) and read through. I didn't every really separate one of the collections (such as The Adventures from another such as The Return. They all bled into each other and I knew, I always knew, I had 56 short stories and four novels to play with. One night I remember sitting at my parent's kitchen table with carnation hot chocolate, eating english muffins with jam and just indulging. A little Sherlock feast.  I had had a long day of rehearsals (I did a lot of performance and community theatre then) and just needed some time at Baker Street.   I remember then thinking, This is AWESOME! and I made a list of some of my favourites:

1.) A Scandal in Bohemia [obvy!]
2.) The Three Garridebs [because Holmes has to tell Watson he loves him]
3.) Speckled Band  [holla!]
4.) Hound of the Baskervilles
5.) Dying Detective [because Watson almost touches that little box with the sharp syringe and ALMOST DIESSSSSSSSSSSSSSS and because I learned what belladonna is --- I had to look it up --- and because they get to go to dinner at the end]
6.) Charles Augustus Milverton [because after a cold supper: which, in my mind, was always bread and cheese and lamb and sherry ---- I was a kid, remember, I thought sherry was just THE drink, y'all], they cut out silk masks and go a-burglaring
7.) Resident Patient
8.) Solitary Cyclist
9.)Priory School  [he MADE you drop the oranges in that carafe, Watson, that was TOTES not your fault]
10.) The Veiled Lodger [Sherlock has a heart!  Her life is not her own to take! It almost sounds Christian!]
11.) The Blue Carbuncle [goose]
12.) the Empty House [ oh Holmes! you and your books about druids! also, you're a jerk face for leaving Watson out to dry after Reichenbach]
13.) Six Napoleons [guys! YOU GUYS!!! awesome Gregson and Lestrade stuff!!]

and so on and so forth .... lots of awesome and lovely stories.


Then there were the ones I liked to skip....

In his introduction to the Bantam double-set complete paperback edition, Loren D. Estleman ( the intro is called 'On the Significance of Boswells', or something of the sort, FYI, which proves he is awesome because anything Watson-esque is fine by me), he mentions that the Sherlock-centric ones --- the reminiscences and the ones devoid of Watson-ness--- are rather dull because Sherlock is just too big and broad and vain NOT to be countered by an every-man such as Watson.  One of the reasons I don't like some of the following is just that.  I need my balance. I love my Holmes; but I NEED my Watson:

1.)Musgrave Ritual [this is worth it for the Paget illustrations; but little else indeed]
2.) The Final Problem [my heart can't handle it.  Your fault, ACD, I know that you tried to kill him. Worse still, you let Watson believe he was dead.  Worse still, Sherlock went to Mycroft instead of Watson and we all know this is gonna happen in the BBC version and I will not be HAPPY! ]
3.)Bruce-Partington Plans
4.)Black Peter
5.) The Mazarin Stone [which incidentally is the worst of the Granada lot, too]
6.) Valley of Fear [this is personal opinion, kids, I know people love it]
7.) Blanched Soldier
8.) Lion's Mane

The latter two are listed ( as is the first) for precisely the reason Estleman mentions:  the Sherlock-driven stories with lack of Watson ---or, indeed, narrated by Sherlock --- are just not up to snuff when it comes to the fare I want to accompany my carnation-hot-chocolate-drinking-muffin-eating-post-high-school-community-theatre-reclusiveness-with-an-edition-or-12-from-the-library.

Anyhow, this all started because I am currently reading Bending the Willow which recounts Jeremy Brett's portrayal of Holmes in the awesome Granada series and the writer recounts how no one knew how to film The Engineer's Thumb so they never did.  While they were thinking of the mechanics of bringing this creepy story to life, I was thinking: meh!

You guys?  Weigh in, my dears.

What you SHOULD be doing with your friday night....

Okay, I am a hypocrite, because I am not home tonight either; but I am definitely making sure that I have this PVRd

If you are a Canuck Holmesian (the term Sherlockian seems more and more to relate to followers of just the Cumberbatch franchise) then you, yes, YOU!, really want to tune into this

The Real Sherlock Holmes

It's going to tell us that without Sherlock there would be no MI:6 or Twitter or NASA ...and stuff like that.

Which is probably true.

The Girl Who Loved Sherlock Holmes: A near lifetime love affair with my fictional opposite

The other night I re-read The Final Problem while waiting to watch the last episode of the second series of the BBC Sherlock.  I remembered the first time I read the story. It was from my school library and I stayed up until 2:30 on a Wednesday night to finish it. For me, at that moment, there was no looming alarm clock in the morning or a sleepy day of classes ahead, there was just me and Sherlock and Watson who, at the time (and maybe still ) were my best friends.

We fictionally creative people spend life as outsiders: flooding moments which lead us to figure that no one on earth understands us and that, in turn, we fail to understand them has us fleeing to literary counterparts whose world we feel neatly fit into.

Throughout my latter elementary school years and well into high school, I felt safest between the shelves in the library, on one of those little rotating stools, revisiting my Sherlock stories. When I first read A Study in Scarlet my fingers trembled as I turned the pages excitedly. When my grade 10 english teacher assigned The Speckled Band and Silver Blaze as actual REQUIRED reading, I did a happy dance.  I could hang out with Sherlock and Watson for SCHOOL and not just for fun.

As I grow older and as the Canon has become as much a part of my psyche as the other books which guided me through my formative, book wormy years, I have attempted to deconstruct what it is about Holmes and Watson that fits into my flighty little brain. I am eccentric, overly emotional, wracked with an anxiety disorder, prone to guilt and panic, intuitively religious, exceedingly, romantically imaginative--- everything that the asexual and rigid Holmes disdains...

So why, then, why him... with his cold, automaton-like machine-like calculations and odd, irrepressible habits and imminent genius and arrogant demeanour and coke-addiction and three pipe problems and ethereal grey eyes and aquiline profile and penchant to squeak obnoxiously discordant strands of music from a violin....why him?

When the 1881 Beeton's Christmas Annual first threw itself upon the greater reading populous, readers ached for a new edition of the Strand and for the notes from John H. Watson's famous military box thrown into the world in full-fledged splendour, exposing a mind of such great importance and significance he would become not only immortal; but universally mourned when thought to be dead at the hand's of his (insignificant?) creator.  These characters were so much larger than life that many thought they were real, actual, earthly-habitants.  A great mind with great deductive prowess and his awed flatmate and friend.

When I first visited Baker Street, I didn't allow myself to contemplate the fact that the home I was touring was fictional that the persons to whom the museum was dedicated never actually lived. I was, instead, enamoured by the authenticity of the room's layout and by the thousands of letters people still addressed to Mr. Holmes of 221B Baker Street.  The literary pilgrimage was one of immense emotionally charged self-satisfaction. I was paying homage to a collective part of my psyche, my emotional upbringing, to two of my closest friends.

The pages of the 56 short stories and 4 novels have been read to shreds by me. I own dozens upon dozens of tomes, encyclopedias, pastiches, annotated and unannotated editions, biographies, works of religion and philosophy all indebted to the Great Detective.  No one can convince the part of me that construes such fascination with his world is an imaginative one.

On my dream trip to Austria I went out of my way to get to Meiringen, just to see where Holmes had "perished" (and wonderfully escaped) at the hands of the dastardly Moriarty.  The plaques therein and the museum devoted to Holmes' Swiss connection didn't seem to be relics of a fictional universe; rather part of a wonderful history--- a history I had faith in; bought into, loved and respected.

The plaque in London outside of St. Bart's which commemorates Holmes first introduction to Watson, the room at the Toronto Reference Library dedicated to one of the largest collections of Conan Doyle memorabilia in the world.... the mythos, the legend, the time-stopping, heart-grasping wonderment of it all continues to beguile me. As I learn more about myself and excavate the pieces and fragments which make up the individual I have become, this world is an indelible part of it.  I owe my fascination with Victorian London and, subsequently, my passion for its literature to the smoky lanterns, rattle of hansom cabs and murderous fogs pervading Baker Street.   Holmes and Watson's famous quotes, their moments of sarcasm, their colourful humanity pepper so many of my constant thoughts and speech.

And yet.... despite my ongoing passion and my determination to stalk the deceased Doyle's roots in Edinburgh this summer--- in an act of yet ANOTHER literary pilgrimage dedication to this fascination-- I am constantly questioned as to why.... why a bookish, romantic, imaginative and anxious girl metes out such literary investment to a calculating machine...

Everyone else as thrilled as I was when Benedict finally put that hat on?

It's because he's my opposite. Panic attacks in high school and university and nights spent sleeplessly, endlessly worrying found me seeking Baker Street for comfort.  Why? because it's a measured world. Baker Street and Baroque music, together: you know his methods, you know his calculations, his moods, his rigidity, his asexuality.  He never wavers in self-confidence the way I always second-guessed myself, he is never prone to doubt- the way I always thought I was doing wrong. He is assured, predictable, intelligently logical---everything I am not.

Sherlock Holmes is not swayed by bouts of imaginative fervour: he knows that there is a measured reason for everything and there is comfort in his ability to know all.  Where people, futures, puzzles, problems, conflicting and abnormal doubts plague human minds like mine, his brain was beyond that.  There is solace in his ability to unravel what we cannot.

For a girl raised in the spirit of evangelical religiousity: where rules regaled and faith took place of sight and touch and sound, so materializing Holmes' world offered a needed counter.  He is so forthright, he is so steady.... there is nothing that will surprise or haunt or trouble you about him.   He is everything that I am not.

Watson's adoration of Holmes and his continued awe-stricken fanaticism and enchantment mirrors my own. My love for Watson is just as potent as my love for Sherlock because we are both emotional, romantic and intelligent people--- unashamed to be baffled by a mind that, like clockwork, omits anything supernatural, unexplainable, borne of fraught imagination.

Thus, my overly emotional response to the predictable end of The Reichenbach Fall was precipitated by my engaging in the collective troubles and sorrows of two very close friends.  True, the television medium portrays Holmes and Watson in a myriad of ways: some more similar to my earliest mental images as others (thus my deriving what I find authentic to the source material and what I think strays); but the new contemporary vision just secures my own faith in Holmes and Watson. They are century agnostic.  They are not confined to the Victorian world of fog and smoke, they are as integral to our collective conscious as readers and seekers as they were when Doyle first created them.

I do love my deerstalker--straight from Baker St.

There is comfort in knowing that their fictional world exists and that the same imaginative plight that awaited me in surreptitious splendour the first moment I stole into their world and the hundreds of times I revisited will always be there: like magic, metric, measured enforcement.

They say that opposites attract and Sherlock Holmes, being in every way, shape and form my opposite, continues to be the great literary love of my life.

Thoughts on "The Reichenbach Fall"

I know.... I know.... I am keeping to my promise of no full reviews of the second series of Sherlock until they air in North America.

However, the Fall at Reichenbach in and of itself is common knowledge so I can say this much about the episode.....


IT BROKE MY FRAKKIN' HEART.

I guess that's what happens when you see trouble happen to friends.  For the record, Sherlock and Watson feel like my friends. I have known them of intimate bookish acquaintance for over 20 years and I feel strongly about both of them.

That's what we bookworms do.


So, if I can ever dry my tears from this stupid episode, I can stiff-upper-lip it and keep going until I am able to gush with all of you about the second round of this incredible series.

Also, Benedict Cumberbatch, if you asked me out to dinner... I would totally say yes.

Read about my trip to the REAL Reichenbach Falls in Meiringen, Switzerland here

a Study in Sherlock: I am SHERlocked

hey all,

I am not going to be giving full reviews of the latest BBC series of Sherlock until they are available here in North America on dvd and Masterpiece (because, *ahem*, I probably shouldn't have seen it anyways and there are plenty of fans on this side of the pond who are waiting more patiently than I). Needless to say, I was flabberghasted by how AMAZING the first episode of the new series was. A Scandal in Belgravia cast a perfectly strong Irene Adler ( Lara Pulver) to mentally match wits with the always- delightful Benedict Cumberbatch.
Some viewers found this risque and I do agree with those who thought that the BBC should've shelved this episode until after 9 pm; but it is discreet in its way and I had fun with the innuendo, sexual politics
 ( challenging our much-asexual hero) and spice and sass peppering the eccentric world of Baker Street. If anything, Scandal in Bohemia, perfectly loans itself to this sensual interplay.  It is very much about gender-struggle and who has power; Moffatt just ushered it into the 21st Century where things are much spoken of and less conservatively implied.

There are plenty of insider jokes in the first episode for we Sherlockians and enough of an homage to stay true to the spirit of Scandal in Bohemia-- one of my all-time favourite short stories of the Canon.

If you manage to see it before-hand, you are in for a treat. Moffatt and Gatiss are even stronger in the writing department this year ( if that is at all possible) and I am itching for Hounds of Baskerville on Sunday.

A trailer featuring the gorgeous Lara Pulver as Irene Adler ... a perfect match for our great detective.

Jude Law--- the Sidney Paget Moments

Jude Law: loaning authenticity to the rather inauthentic Downey Jr's Holmes since 2009.

I've said it before, dude looks like the Watson I knew growing up: because he resembles the Paget illustration.

I am an AWESOME Watson and will keep you fair viewers going until the BBC Sherlock resumes next year!

Random Sherlock moment!

It'll do in a pinch...

Steampunk Sherlock Vol. 2:  The ridiculous and hard-to-take-seriously Guy Ritchie franchise will have to see us through until the release of the much anticipated ( and far more faithful ) second round of Moffatt's BBC Sherlock.

oh well. I do love Jude Law's Watson and think he rather looks like the Sidney Paget illustrations:

The Case of the Two Watsons

a little treat for you this fall-ish Wednesday care of Kate Beaton, Canadian comic artist extraordinaire.
Late of Nova Scotia, Beaton is currently living in New York.   She has a brand new book released and will be at IFOA here in Toronto at the end of October. Discover more Hark, A Vagrant at her website where you can purchase prints, like this one, online at the e-store.

A Study in Sherlock: Murder by Decree (1979)

For another instalment in A Study in Sherlock and to add to my on-going contribution to the RIP Peril on the Screen Challenge, I give you Murder by Decree.

Holmes: Christopher Plummer
Watson: James Mason

Le Plot: Sherlock Holmes and Dr. Watson meet Jack the Ripper and discover a layered conspiracy wherein people are protecting the Ripper....

Should I start with the positive? There's not a lot positive ....so would you like the best first?  Okay.

I loved the Victorian London setting and, for a 1979 film, I thought they did a greatly luminous job: all cobblestones and gas lanterns and grimy brick, bells, dogs barking, fog.... hansom cabs, hoofs on pavement and a generously portentous feeling of uncertainty.

Jack's eyes are an inhumane black that penetrate the screen and give this (rather abysmal ) adaptation moments of perfect Hallowe'eny goodness.

notes:
I like James Mason's voice.
Christopher Plummer is Canadian.

Unfortunately, the aforementioned is about the range of the good.  I detested this movie. In fact, I detested it so much I didn't even finish it.  John Gielgud shows up! Donald Sutherland (knack! Canadian!) also shows up with a few well-played premonitions but the casting is all wrong, the plot reeks and my Sherlockian sensibilities were not bemused ( as they are in, say, the Guy Ritchie enterprise), rather ....bored.

Look, Watson, I have my deductive face on! 

Plummer, god bless his thespian soul, is just not a very good Holmes. He's not caricatured in the Matt Frewer way (more on Frewer and his less- than- stellar offering in another post); but he just doesn't suit---despite earnest trying.  He doesn't have the look ( Roxburgh didn't, also, but he had more of the feel.)
Plummer doesn't have the shrewdly resonant intelligence and irony of Holmes and the Watson/Holmes chemistry....

.....It's like James Mason ( great voice! Really! It's James Bloody Mason!) is in a completely different movie and he plays to the baffled Nigel Bruce-ean type rather than to the Jude Law/ Ian Hart/ Martin Freeman type. Since I am a huge Watson fan, I like my Watson's to be smart men-of-action. In other words, I like the Watson that Doyle created.

So, we've got Whitechapel, we've got gory murders, we've got foggy streets and ciphers and codes and something to do with the "Juwes" and royal uproar and crinolines brushing the damp street .... and even Sherlock playing Bach's cello suites on his overheard violin ----

...and there's Freemasons!
...and it's a co-Anglo/Canadian production ( more on those when we get into the baffling horror that is the Christopher Lee take on Holmes)

Holmes, you may have your deductive face on, but I am wearing exactly the same expression I did in the previous picture.
Shut up, Watson, I am admiring the fake set and trying to remember all of the words to Edelweiss

If you want Jack the Ripper in your Holmes, I have heard that this film is particularly good--it's novelization written by ELLERY QUEEN and all...

...and you can always find Dust and Shadow: An Account of the Ripper Killings by Dr. John H. Watson,
The Whitechapel Horrors by Edward B. Hanna or The Mycroft Memoranda by Ray Walsh and plenty more. It makes a lot of sense to pit Holmes against the Ripper: especially as Sir Arthur Conan Doyle was consulted by the police regarding the unending mystery. (My favourite is that some theorists list him as a suspect! how bizarre)

Long live Sherlockian pastiches! and long live Sherlock on Film.  Unfortunately, not this film.

Previously: The Hound of the Baskervilles

A Study in Sherlock: the Hound of the Baskervilles, BBC, 2002

Holmes: Richard Roxburgh
Watson: Ian Hart

This is a perfect way to start A STUDY in SHERLOCK: a short series I plan on undertaking as part of the RIP Challenge: Peril on the Screen.


This is not a faithful adaptation in terms of minute plot points; but it is faithful to the horror and gothic elements of the harrowing story.  The film opens in eerie fashion with Doctor Mortimer (here played by INSPECTOR BARNABY from Midsomer Murders) describing the horrible death of the wealthy Baskervilles upon the dreaded moors.  It's a perfectly Hallowe'eny overture to the hauntings to come.

A lot of Sherlockians find major faults with this adaptation: mainly in its straying from being pure to the tale. I would like to defend it.  First, it captures the spirit of The Hound of the Baskervilles: what with its supernatural premonitions that so enticed Doyle's fluid pen. Moreover, this Hound was released after a long drought in respectable Sherlock Holmes adaptations ( the Matt Frewer enterprise does NOT count as a respectable Sherlock Holmes adaptation. I don't care if they're as Canadian as I am).  Secondly, though many cite that Richard E. Grant ( here chilling in his silent, smiling portrayal of Jack Stapleton) has a physiognomy better suited to the aquiline-profiled Holmes... especially when seen next to Richard Roxburgh, our Holmes in the tale, I like Roxburgh.  What I appreciated about Richard Roxburgh was although decidedly of a different flavour than other actors ( sort of like when Daniel Craig emerged as the first blond Bond!), Roxburgh was not emulating any Holmes before him: his take is relatively fresh.   He's alert, his ears stick out slightly as if always ready to preamble him into action and he has a delicious sort of irony about him.

I also adore Ian Hart's Watson. Hart had a chance to revisit the role opposite Rupert Everett in Sherlock Holmes and the Case of the Silk Stocking; but I much preferred him in this canonical adaptation.  Watson is very much the antithesis here to the buffoon silly Nigel Bruce made him out to be: as in the novel, Watson is an essential part to the narration of the story ( as per always) because Holmes is off-screen for much of the action while Watson accompanies Sir Henry Baskerville to Baskerville Hall. Watson is a humane observer and he stands up to Sherlock when he needs to.  He also asserts his own medical skills and slightly lesser powers of deduction.  An ongoing spat between the two men about how trust weighs into their close friendship is welcome.  You truly see Holmes' affection for his roommate/biographer and Watson returns the favour with awed respect, yes, but also a modicum of understanding Holmes' limits.

I am an AWESOME Watson.

The style and dialogue do not fail to capture the essence of Doyle's work and his passion for the supernatural.  Sherlockians will appreciate small details, like Holmes' partaking of his infamous Seven Per Cent solution near the beginning of the film.

The villain is heartless and roguish and deceptively welcoming, the Baker Street rooms are comfy, beautiful and seem to completely adapt from our mental image of them and the moors are perfectly fogged and dim-lit as they paint the ground for the crumbling old gothic mansions which provide the action for the many scenes.



This is not the best Sherlock Holmes adaptation out there; but it has many, many memorable moments and is a swell undertaking for the initiated (and uninitiated) this spooky season.

In Which I Go Comic Book (It's like that Brian McKnight song---but worse)

Yesterday, I had a chat with a comic book aficionado friend who was able to shed some light into what DC's setting back to #1 this Fall actually means to the Comic Book World. In his opinion, this impending re-boot will simplify characters and storylines and move everything in each individual comic book universe back to a clean slate.

Character development, thus, completely washed away. Years of meticulous and thought out narrative trajectory? ..Wiped clean to ensure a new and engaging drawing board from which to re-boot characters and plots and storylines.

When I first read about the upcoming move for DC to move back to #1 I must confess that I gave it a quick glance. I didn’t know if it meant any real change to the content of the stories, or was just a Y2k digitized effort to re-boot a franchise ---- I mean, ignoramus that I am, I thought perhaps the numbers were running out ( As said, I didn’t give this much thought: I have dappled in comics ---more so as a child and teen--- have read my share of the popular graphic novels--- and keep a close eye on the film versions; but I am certainly not as well-versed as the friend who directed me to this article. I am also blonde). According to the above article: “DC is launching 52 titles at No. 1 in September featuring scores of its characters ranging from Wonder Woman to Green Lantern to the Justice League”

What is so poignant, potent and outraging about this particular article (sent as an example by my friend) is that it speaks to the loss of character development. Here, years of storyline devoted to the rather amazing Oracle (formerly Batgirl Barbara Gordon), will be completely obliterated.

This example was made more poignant, potent and outraging when I transplanted the idea into some of my favourite literary serializations.

People feel quite strongly about the fictional worlds they imaginatively inhabit. For comic book readers who invest hours of thought and mind-painting into the universe of their choice, they become as attached to character development and progression and relationship as the 19th Century Dickens reader on tenterhook for the next installment of, say, Great Expectations ( the most comic-booky of the Dickens’ novels, perhaps).

In contemporary times (and by contemporary, I point out the dime serializations of the early 1900s through Louis L’Amour, James Bond--- anything with a recurring character and “’verse”, especially in mystery, thriller and fantasy genres) we love the created sphere of character. We step in and let the world overtake us, the characters materialize in depth before our eyes, the nuances of the fictional world seep into our psyche.

So what would happen if George R R Martin (whose eagerly anticipated book awaits fans this summer), were to say “Scrap that! I’m going back to #1” --- all character development and emotional and imaginative investment wiped clean?

For examples closer to my literary taste and heart ( though I love me some fantasy sagas, don’t get me wrong--- hello Locke Lamora!) , what if on book 15 of the Aubrey/Maturin canon, Patrick O’Brian decided that he had had enough with the world he created for Jack and Stephen and decided that their relationship and all meticulous development thus far needed to be scrapped so, like painter with fresh easel and palette, he could start again?

Sherlock and Watson, to name another passionate following of mine….. or any mystery series that we read 10+ ( or even 20+ ) books of because we enjoy the characters and the world far more than we care whodunit.

I stretch a bit when I wade into comic territory because, as mentioned, it is neither my forte nor my expertise. But, literary passion, fictional obsession and careful eye to well-crafted character and world development is a niche of mine.

I stepped into the shoes of a comic book lover for a moment and realized that, to many, this is an issue that will spark fury and outrage.

Have you all heard about this? What think you? Is there ever a reason to scrap a well-developed and rounded world for the sake of starting fresh? What about the many different variations on several of the same universes ( there are different artists and writers for Archie, Batman, etc., )

In which I ramble about Sherlock... elsewhere

Once Upon a Bookshelf was kind enough to let me shamelessly promote my main literary squeeze, Sherlock Holmes last week in the weekly LISTED feature.

Visit me there and see what I was up to:

http://books.moonsoar.com/archives/2010/11/29/listed-a-study-in-sherlock-10-books-for-sherlockians/

Incoherent Ramblings about the BBC Sherlock Part II: The Blind Banker

First. Read this article because I seriously like it.

Here we are in the second installment of the series and after the teaser involving some ceramic tea pots we cut to Watson who is trying to figure out how to use one of those automatic Grocery check-out machines. Cue a bit of domestic tension as Watson arrives home to Baker Street and he and Sherlock have a spat about who should be in charge of groceries, Sherlock should go to the bank…etc., etc., So they GO to the bank and there is much deduction to be had because a former schoolmate of Sherlock’s points him to ciphers that have been painted over two refined portraits in the upper class bank.So Sherlock deduces and scopes things out and his brilliant coat ( which has had much attention here and here ) flutters against the sleek London backdrop and Watson is just brilliant and there are MYSTERIES! And CIPHERS! And CHINESE CIRCUSES and ACROBATS getting through windows.

....ANNNNND! SHERLOCK ALMOST GETS STRANGLED!

....And WATSON gets a date.

....All is very well as the two run about decoding things and being altogether swell. 

WHAT LARKS! The GAME IS AFOOT....

Several sources have noted that this is probably the weakest of the three instalments and I would agree. But, it is only weak in comparison to how dazzling the book-end episodes are. Compared to other telly it is simply marvelous.If I am ever in a tight spot, I want Martin Freeman to bail me out.Their domestic spats are charming and the relationship is slowly, and brilliantly, developing. I sort of missed Lestrade in this episode because I am a big fan and his casting, as with the rest of the series, is perfect.You want some Moriarty?---- whispered against the backdrop like a gothic sigh? You got him.

Highly entertaining, funny and fast-paced and sort of like Sign of Four and sort of like the Adventure of the Dancing Men and all in all a modern homage to the greatest series ever!

So hugs all around( and a double hug to Benedict Cumberbatch because that guy rocks my socks in this role! )

Incoherent ramblings about the BBC Sherlock: Part 1 A Study in Pink

DISCLAIMER: this is just me rambling on and on and on....

The BBC Sherlock is the greatest thing to ever happen to the world. Seriously.

The absolute best thing to ever happen to the world.

For a Sherlockian, there is a ton here to be geeked out about and I don’t really know where to start because practically every minute offers something that makes me clap and giggle and jump up and down.

So, to begin on what may just turn out to be the best and most complete rendition of the canon since Jeremy Brett, I really should take us episode-by-episode.

First off, if I have not alluded to this before, I am a massive SH fan. I have been since I was in grade 9 and read Silver Blaze for a class assignment ( followed by every subsequent short story and novel ---56 of one, 4 of the other )

So, this massive SH fan was very uber excited to see how the genius behind  Dr. Who would give a modern adaptation of Sherlock treatment.

I have always thought that SH could easily be transplanted into the 21^st Century because his brilliant mind is not exclusive to Victorian sensibility and his methods and deduction are so precise they could easily take a sharp-shooter approach to modern crime. Holmes’ fascination with forensics and his ability to observe what others have merely seen are certainly not century-specific. With this deduction --- not agnostic to time--- he could easily apply his genius to modern day London. Moreover, the characters and specifically the relationship between Watson and Holmes is what is so lasting about the series.

A Study in Pink, the first of the three part series, is a wonderful re-imagining of the first story introducing Holmes and Watson. It first appeared in serial format in Beeton’s Christmas Annual and propelled the characters into almost instantaneous fame. The most pivotal moment of the story is when Stamford introduces Watson to Holmes after determining that each is looking for a flat mate.

This immortal scene, set in St. Bart’s Hospital, has even been commemorated in London with an historic plaque. The meeting is here modernized; but its exposition is almost exactly the same.

Set up: Watson, having returned from the modern conflict in Afghanistan, has been suffering from a psychosomatic limp and seeing a therapist who attempts to work through his trust issues and wean him away from his horrific experiences by encouraging him to keep a blog. This, for narrator ( or Boswell ) Watson, is a stroke of genius in the modern adaptation. Watson is given an introduction as a writer and a perfect platform to relay his adventures with Sherlock. He runs into an old colleague and expresses the state of his dwindling army pension ( see: original ). Stamford introduces him to Sherlock who immediately observes his military bearing and his need to go “snacks” ( that’s Conan Doyle terminology ) on a flat in Baker Street.

Sherlock is introduced staring interestingly at a cadaver which he subsequently takes a riding crop to in hopes of highlighting bruising which would crack a case. This is, of course, barbaric way to meet someone and certainly not Inspector Barnaby but it is wholly canonical and thus alright with me.

The visuals in the series and the representation of Sherlock’s genius are very well married to the modern feel of the production. For example, when Sherlock is explaining how he knew so much about Watson on first observation, there is a freeze-framed flashback of what Sherlock saw on Watson’s physiognomy and on his phone ( rather like the moment he deduced that Watson’s brother was a drunk in the Adventures). Watson is, of course, thoroughly impressed and their relationship established.

As in the series, Sherlock is always flattered and surprised when Watson compliments him. The canon recites him “blushing like a school girl” when Watson or Lestrade praised his methods: offering a funny counterpoint to the often arrogant attitude he displays.

The mystery itself is intriguing as it presents a puzzle of seeming murder-suicides, the key being a lady in pink who breaks the trend of all previous victims. As in A Study in Scarlet, it appears as if she was writing the word “RACHE…” on the floor before she expired.

Watson and Sherlock attempt to crack the code while pitting themselves up against a maniac who almost outsmarts Sherlock. In the end, Sherlock’s willingness to risk his life to prove himself clever is a resonating theme.

The appearance of Mycroft ( here noticeably smaller in size ) is just as poignant and wonderful as in the book.

Also, for those aching to have a little Moriarty in their Mystery: the famed arch-villain is certainly alluded to.

One of my favourite scenes has Watson questioning Holmes about a mysterious person he has met:

“ I just met a friend of yours”,he explains. Sherlock, having no friends, is absolutely baffled. As soon as Watson responds with “An enemy” Sherlock immediately says” which one?”

Another favourite moment establishes the reticence of the police to work with Holmes. While Lestrade certainly summons him when they are out of their depth, his team, as is the case in the novels, is not so willing to oblige.

Anderson, a forensics expert calls Holmes a psychopath to which Holmes replies: “I’m not a psychopath! I’m a functioning socio-path. Do your research.”

{The above are infinitely better when seen on screen}

Intrepid young canadian on literary pilgrimage abroad follows in Famous Detective's doomed Footsteps

I recently returned from a fabulous vacation where I traipsed around Austria for two glorious weeks. I am sure there is a lot more to come on this. I tacked on Switzerland to the end of my trip for one sole reason: Meiringen was within my grasp. All Sherlockians are familiar with the Reichenbach Falls and our famous friend’s near-destruction at the hands of the disastrous Moriarty. Literary Pilgrimages, it would seem, are alive and well in my world and I re-capped the adventure and the rather sketchy funicular for my friends. Read on Sherlockian:



Intrepid young Canadian follows in the footsteps of the doomed literary detective during an ill-fated funicular ride


Tonight is my final night in Europe.

My last clean shirt had been saved for today's momentous occasion to the Reichenbach Falls in Meiringen. The Reichenbach Falls in Meiringen, the setting for Sherlock Holmes' demise at the hands of Prof. Moriarty in "The Final Problem." Next to Baker Street ( where I have been *natch*) this is the most important landmark for a Sherlockian.I left my swanky Zurich hotel this morning very early to catch the first train out. Meiringen is a little village about two hours north of Zurich and the earlier I got there, the earlier I could ensure I got back.... I didn't want to get stuck out there forever....

The train trip was beautiful and well worth the price of the train ticket alone.... even deplete of the destination. It was through the picturesque Interlaken district and our train wove around the Alps and through tunnels and over lakes the bright aqua colour one remembers from Banff. You will laugh at my pictures.

They have certainly capitalized on the Sherlock Holmes ( read: 65 year old British male retirees who wear cargo shorts with socks up to the knee and bucket hats with straps while snapping shots with disposable cameras) tourist population.There is an Arthur Conan Doyle Platz, a Holmestrasse ( or street), a statue of Holmes, a Sherlock Holmes hotel, a Sherlock Alpen nightclub and various pictures and reminiscences and signs of Arthur Conan Doyle and Sherlock Holmes.Without Sherlock Holmes, I suspect everyone would skip poor little Meiringen.I might. I had lunch there and it SUCKED. I ordered the traditional swiss lunch: which was beer and a plate which tried to win the title of "how many colours of stewed cabbage can we fit on a platter?"

Some Sherlockians in London have paid a hefty sum for a lot of the work there but the small museum and funicular rides up the Reichenbach Falls are run by a little old Swiss lady and her husband. I loved supporting them. The museum itself has nothing really to show for it, other than a magnificent set of original Strand magazines imported from London and a recreation of the famous Baker Street drawing room.I went in with about 12 British retirees... all about 40 years older than I. I didn't care. I love Holmes.We looked around and I spoke "canon" ( that is to say, any and all things Sherlock ) with some of the men who were flabberghasted by my knowledge.What was best, is they were a bus group from the Sussex Downs ---- where I stayed when I studied in England. Knowing the region, I said: "Where in the Sussex Downs?"To which they answered: " Hastings. Have you heard of it?"Hello?! Christopher Foyle, anyone?

After, I trekked the half hour hike along the trail to reach the funicular which would speed me up the mountain for a view of the Reichenbach Falls and the great, crested stone ridge.Unfortunately, and considering how well I have struggled to conquer my fear of heights this trip (mounting a sketchy bus up that steep, foggy ridgeway to Hitler's Kehl's Stein; how I have climbed 360 steep stone stairs [ without railing, mind you ]to the Glockenspiel in Graz; how I have climbed up 280 stairs to the highest point of Innsbruck: a Cathedral-like Dome which has little to steady you from heading into the baroque rooftops of the great city; how I climbed the abbey walls in Salzburg and saw the benedictine monks atop a hill which not only looks the city over but dates back to 714.......how I climbed up to the Alpenzoo...)Here, of all places, my fear overtook me.A few notes on the rather sketchy Reichenbach "funicular":Funicular, I believe, is synonymous with a rickety old, open wooden cart a la Road Runner when Wile E Coyote is on his tail and the bridge is truncated. The open and exposed cart, or so I saw from my vantage point safely at the bottom, chugs along a very sketchy track ( the men were working on the track with hammer and nail once one funicular got back in preparation for the next) up, up, up to the top of the falls.There are no rails: just open wooden cart and tracks up the rock.Something else of note: there is an aptly placed hospital at the foot of the mountain, I assume to give solace to those who have plummeted to their death and, like Stephen Boyd in" Ben-Hur", rasping incoherently until Judah shows up, are languishing on the point of extinction.

My stomach turned and I looked up, up, up and saw the spray of the falls and looked down at the plaque noting Sherlock's apparent demise at the hands of Moriarty over said falls and thought: NO WONDER HE DIED ....( We will now give you cynics a moment to insert frustratingly:" HE NEVER LIVED"... which we will ignore).

So, I trudged back to Meiringen happy with pictures and more happy that I didn't die in a freak-literary-pilgrimage- accident ( can you imagine the Globe and Mail Headline: Intrepid young canadian on literary pilgrimage abroad follows in Famous Detective's doomed Footsteps"?) on the very last day of my holiday.

See you all soon