An Elementary New Year

I am a fan of Sherlock Holmes, though not a fanatic. Mostly, I like the series of 14 movies made between 1939 and 1946 with Basil Rathbone as Holmes and Nigel Bruce as Watson. I've read perhaps a dozen of the original stories by Arthur Conan Doyle, but I don't feel compelled to forge on through all 56 short stories or the 4 novels--in fact, I enjoy Holmes' homages and pastiches by other authors more than the Doyle originals. I more like the idea of Holmes that has been established in popular culture: the eccentric bachelor whose prodigious skills of observation and reasoning always lead him to solve the crime, sometimes going undercover, sometimes without even leaving his digs at 221-B Baker Street.

Over the New Years' holiday, we had a mini-marathon of Holmes movies (some on DVD, some courtesy Turner Classic Movies), virtually all ones I'd never seen before: 3 of the later Rathbones (Pearl of Death, Dressed to Kill, Pursuit to Algiers), one early British talkie (Sherlock's Holmes' Fatal Hour, with Arthur Wontner, who looks more like the original Holmes illustrations than any other filmed Holmes), and the new Hollywood blockbuster with Robert Downey Jr. and Jude Law.

I don't automatically object to tinkering with or updating Holmes and his world; after all, in the Rathbone movies, Watson is turned into a blundering, blustering fool, which he was not in the stories (his portrayal in Fatal Hour as a staunch assistant is much closer to how Doyle wrote him). Also, aside from the first two films in the series, Hound of the Baskervilles & The Adventures of Sherlock Holmes, the other twelve Rathbone stories are all updated to wartime England. When the previews for the new Sherlock Holmes made the character look like an action hero, I was intrigued--after all, the character does engage in the occasional fisticuffs in the stories and earlier films. But sadly the director, Guy Ritchie, goes beyond action hero to superhero, and Holmes' legacy is the worse for wear.

The plot of the new film has promise: Lord Blackwood, who has killed several young women in occult sacrifices, is caught by Holmes and Watson and put to death, but seems to return from the dead to finish his plans to use the dark arts to conquer England and the world. Downey, though far fitter than any other Holmes I've seen (I have missed Jeremy Brett's TV portrayals, which many fans like more than the Rathbone movies), is a little too eccentric for my taste. Yes, Holmes was an odd duck, but Ritchie has not bothered to tone down Downey's twitchy intensity, which actually worked well for him in making Iron Man stand out a bit from the superhero crowd. Still, Downey (above) is not the main problem. Neither is Jude Law (below) who is quite wonderful as Watson and even manages to subtly steal some scenes from Downey with his reaction shots.

The real problem is the use of the computer in the film's look and style. This is yet another movie with a grungy gray color-leached palette, lots of computer-generated fog and smoke, artificial fast- and slow-motion fight scenes, and wildly improbable and very artificial looking set pieces involving CGI structures and a vertigo-inducing swooping camera. None of these things is necessarily bad, used in moderation and for particular effects, but we get an overdose of them here, at the expense of dialogue and character. Downey and Law work well together, and there is an occasional good witty exchange, but fistfights, body blows, pistol shots, and concussions (and all the rollercoaster Dolbyized noise and vibrations that go with them) are the rule here, so for the climax to be climactic, Ritchie has to go all X-Men and Spider Man on us, and the last 15 minutes or so, set on the unfinished Tower Bridge, are just dreadful. The movie is also, in general, badly directed; many scenes look off-center or framed on the fly, with more attention paid to the fast editing of the action scenes than to coherent dialogue scenes.

The women, admittedly not a big part of the original Sherlock's world, get incredibly short shrift here: Rachel McAdams moseys through the thankless damsel-in-distress role of Irene Adler and Kelly Reilly, interesting looking though she is, has nothing to do as Watson's fiancee; we don't get to know her at all, though I was thankful that she was not presented as a hapless harpy, jealous of Watson's relationship with Holmes. Speaking of which, this may be the gayest Holmes ever; Holmes seems to physically want Watson every minute of the day (well, yeah, he's Jude Law!), and despite Adler's supposed romantic history with Holmes, the two have zero chemistry.

Still, I can't say I'm sorry to have seen this. There is fun in fits and starts, and the Satanist plot provides some good moments for Holmes' rational puncturing of supernatural baloney. Unfortunately, Ritchie cares too much for visual baloney. This isn't a movie I can imagine wanting to see a second time.