Sherlock Holmes pastiches, literary and televised
"I am an omnivorous reader with a strangely retentive memory for trifles."
So said Sherlock Holmes in The Adventure of the Lion's Mane. Me, I can't claim to have a good memory, but I'm most certainly both a reader and strangely retentive at times. And, as anyone could tell you, a fan of Sherlock Holmes.
The public's fascination with the world's best known consulting detective didn't end with Sir Arthur Conan Doyle's death; there has been a steady stream of pastiches, re-works, analyses, and all manner of Sherlockian studies -- even to this day. So, while I've been ill, I've read two recent books that are clearly Holmes pastiches or approximations thereof, and I've watched two BBC filmatisations of Holmes stories.
Book: The Final Solution: A Story of Detection by Michael Chabon (2003)
This is a very unusual book in many ways, to the point where calling it a pastiche is no longer justified. Set in the 1930s, it introduces Holmes in the twilight of his life, 89 years old and farming bees in the Sussex Downs (as per canon). Drawn into a mystery featuring a mute boy, a magniloquent parrot, and a murder, he makes his old man's way through the wonderful motions of his craft, ever-clever in mind if feeble of body (as the book often takes the time to mention). The shadow of the impending war is very much present; the reference to Hitler's endlösung in the book's name is, I believe, no accident.
It's a curious book. The style is more Wodehouse Lite than Conan Doyle, and the combination of the language and the slow pacing make this a true Chabon book. Nevertheless, this modernisation does not detract from the brilliance of his Holmes characterisation, nor do the clever verbal acrobatics do a disservice to the genre.
I missed my Watson (the oblique references to him brought a smile to my face) and the vitality of Holmes's being as a whole, but neither would be appropriate for the story. As it stands, it was a good read, neither a pure mystery nor highbrow lit, but entertaining nonetheless.
Four out of five stars.
- - - - -
Book: The Italian Secretary by Caleb Carr (2005)
This short book by the author of The Alienist is one of the better pastiches I've read. It captures the speech patterns and customs of Victorian Britain admirably, and Holmes does, for once, seem like himself most of the time. The mystery revolves around the royal residence of Holyroodhouse in Edinburgh and two puzzling yet seemingly unrelated deaths there. Holmes is called to aid and he speeds off into the mists of Scotland with his Watson in tow.
The book reads like a Very Special Episode of the Holmes show -- it involves royalty, espionage, assassination plots, and the imperial kitchen sink. The book also has the usual small but niggling factual errors that one has come to expect in modern pastiches. For example, Holmes speaks of the Prime Minister, yet the first government official to call himself that didn't assume office until 1904, which is three years after Queen Victoria died. Sigh.
On the bright side, Holmes does get to do his miraculous chains of deductive reasoning to their usual effect, and it's always nice to see more of Mycroft. However, the book's ending leaves a taste of the supernatural (explained by circumstances of commission in the afterword interview with Carr), and that's what mostly turned me off the thing. After all, to me, Holmes is at his most interesting when dealing with the very mundane problems of, say, a battered billycock and its unknown owner.
Three out of five stars.
- - - - -
Film: The Hound of the Baskervilles (2002)
BBC did yet another filmatisation of this classic Conan Doyle story in 2002, and I have to say, I was positively surprised. It stars Richard Roxburgh as a startlingly fair-haired Holmes and Ian "Professor Quirrell" Hart as the endearingly bemoustached Dr. Watson, and the story must be known to all. The last of the Baskervilles, family curse, large dog, yadda yadda.
In what must be an effort to modernise the text and provide a bit of an edge, the story is embellished both with gratuitous IV drug use by Holmes (groan), as well as the occasional bout of fisticuffs. Unlike Roxburgh's accent, these I can sort of forgive, because they do add an edge to Holmes that this otherwise rather protracted story needs. Hart's Watson is no bumbling idiot but a true ex-soldier with a temper -- a good match for the capricious sleuth. I guess they learned the Granada lesson.
The only blot on the otherwise good production is the ridiculous CGI hound, which startled me into laughter, not fear. But the locations are well done, with just the right touch of gothic dread to the proceedings, and the cast is solid. There is, thank goodness, no deerstalker hat but instead, a galore of the really, really handsome Victorian suits that always make me wish that those high collars would come into fashion again. A good yarn, and a good production.
Four out of five stars.
- - - - -
Film: Sherlock Holmes and the Case of the Silk Stocking (2004)
This BBC feature-length Holmes filmatisation from 2004 is not based on any of Conan Doyle's original stories but instead, it was written by one Allan Cubitt. It stars Rupert Everett and his variably-successful accent as the master sleuth, and once again Ian Hart plays Dr. Watson. The story revolves around a serial killer targeting society daughters for unknown, nefarious purposes, and Watson wrangles Holmes away from gratuitous drug use to solve the case.
As always, the Beeb did a fabulous job with the costuming and the props in terms of appearance, if not in the temporal sense -- telephones did not exist in abundance in Holmes' time, and so forth. Everett does look the part with his beaky nose and lanky build and Ian Hart does a decent Watson. So my beef does not lie with the details or the cast; instead, it's on the butcher's job the production does both on Victorian England and on Holmes himself.
Outdoors, the sets seemed almost a parody of Victorian London, with ever-present wafting fog and moist alleyways and cobbled streets free of any mud that might stain Holmes's patent leather shoes. Or if it was not that, it was a parody of Holmes -- apparently, he also smokes opium (WTF? Did you not read TWIS, Beeb?), does not bother to wear a coat outdoors, and spouts psychobabble about serial killers at the drop of a hat. He is the very model of an insolent, snotty lazyarse, not the gimlet-eyed, excitable, facts-only man of canon.
It's also the little things. Watson's American psychoanalyst wife! The autopsy divinations! The "victim board" at Scotland Yard! Opium! Argh. This was CSI: Victorian London meets The Alienist, not Holmes. What went wrong, Beeb?
One out of five stars.
- - - - -
Executive summary? Watch the HOUN filmatisation. Read Chabon's book, but don't expect a true pastiche. All books and DVDs are available at least on Amazon.co.uk.
What makes me really sad is that they canned the Stephen Fry (curious trifle: I'm a member of the same Sherlockian society as Mr. Fry) and Hugh Laurie filmatisation of an unnamed Holmes story. That would've been ace.
So. Who would be your ideal on-screen Holmes? Or Watson?
So said Sherlock Holmes in The Adventure of the Lion's Mane. Me, I can't claim to have a good memory, but I'm most certainly both a reader and strangely retentive at times. And, as anyone could tell you, a fan of Sherlock Holmes.
The public's fascination with the world's best known consulting detective didn't end with Sir Arthur Conan Doyle's death; there has been a steady stream of pastiches, re-works, analyses, and all manner of Sherlockian studies -- even to this day. So, while I've been ill, I've read two recent books that are clearly Holmes pastiches or approximations thereof, and I've watched two BBC filmatisations of Holmes stories.
Book: The Final Solution: A Story of Detection by Michael Chabon (2003)
This is a very unusual book in many ways, to the point where calling it a pastiche is no longer justified. Set in the 1930s, it introduces Holmes in the twilight of his life, 89 years old and farming bees in the Sussex Downs (as per canon). Drawn into a mystery featuring a mute boy, a magniloquent parrot, and a murder, he makes his old man's way through the wonderful motions of his craft, ever-clever in mind if feeble of body (as the book often takes the time to mention). The shadow of the impending war is very much present; the reference to Hitler's endlösung in the book's name is, I believe, no accident.
It's a curious book. The style is more Wodehouse Lite than Conan Doyle, and the combination of the language and the slow pacing make this a true Chabon book. Nevertheless, this modernisation does not detract from the brilliance of his Holmes characterisation, nor do the clever verbal acrobatics do a disservice to the genre.
I missed my Watson (the oblique references to him brought a smile to my face) and the vitality of Holmes's being as a whole, but neither would be appropriate for the story. As it stands, it was a good read, neither a pure mystery nor highbrow lit, but entertaining nonetheless.
Four out of five stars.
- - - - -
Book: The Italian Secretary by Caleb Carr (2005)
This short book by the author of The Alienist is one of the better pastiches I've read. It captures the speech patterns and customs of Victorian Britain admirably, and Holmes does, for once, seem like himself most of the time. The mystery revolves around the royal residence of Holyroodhouse in Edinburgh and two puzzling yet seemingly unrelated deaths there. Holmes is called to aid and he speeds off into the mists of Scotland with his Watson in tow.
The book reads like a Very Special Episode of the Holmes show -- it involves royalty, espionage, assassination plots, and the imperial kitchen sink. The book also has the usual small but niggling factual errors that one has come to expect in modern pastiches. For example, Holmes speaks of the Prime Minister, yet the first government official to call himself that didn't assume office until 1904, which is three years after Queen Victoria died. Sigh.
On the bright side, Holmes does get to do his miraculous chains of deductive reasoning to their usual effect, and it's always nice to see more of Mycroft. However, the book's ending leaves a taste of the supernatural (explained by circumstances of commission in the afterword interview with Carr), and that's what mostly turned me off the thing. After all, to me, Holmes is at his most interesting when dealing with the very mundane problems of, say, a battered billycock and its unknown owner.
Three out of five stars.
- - - - -
Film: The Hound of the Baskervilles (2002)
BBC did yet another filmatisation of this classic Conan Doyle story in 2002, and I have to say, I was positively surprised. It stars Richard Roxburgh as a startlingly fair-haired Holmes and Ian "Professor Quirrell" Hart as the endearingly bemoustached Dr. Watson, and the story must be known to all. The last of the Baskervilles, family curse, large dog, yadda yadda.
In what must be an effort to modernise the text and provide a bit of an edge, the story is embellished both with gratuitous IV drug use by Holmes (groan), as well as the occasional bout of fisticuffs. Unlike Roxburgh's accent, these I can sort of forgive, because they do add an edge to Holmes that this otherwise rather protracted story needs. Hart's Watson is no bumbling idiot but a true ex-soldier with a temper -- a good match for the capricious sleuth. I guess they learned the Granada lesson.
The only blot on the otherwise good production is the ridiculous CGI hound, which startled me into laughter, not fear. But the locations are well done, with just the right touch of gothic dread to the proceedings, and the cast is solid. There is, thank goodness, no deerstalker hat but instead, a galore of the really, really handsome Victorian suits that always make me wish that those high collars would come into fashion again. A good yarn, and a good production.
Four out of five stars.
- - - - -
Film: Sherlock Holmes and the Case of the Silk Stocking (2004)
This BBC feature-length Holmes filmatisation from 2004 is not based on any of Conan Doyle's original stories but instead, it was written by one Allan Cubitt. It stars Rupert Everett and his variably-successful accent as the master sleuth, and once again Ian Hart plays Dr. Watson. The story revolves around a serial killer targeting society daughters for unknown, nefarious purposes, and Watson wrangles Holmes away from gratuitous drug use to solve the case.
As always, the Beeb did a fabulous job with the costuming and the props in terms of appearance, if not in the temporal sense -- telephones did not exist in abundance in Holmes' time, and so forth. Everett does look the part with his beaky nose and lanky build and Ian Hart does a decent Watson. So my beef does not lie with the details or the cast; instead, it's on the butcher's job the production does both on Victorian England and on Holmes himself.
Outdoors, the sets seemed almost a parody of Victorian London, with ever-present wafting fog and moist alleyways and cobbled streets free of any mud that might stain Holmes's patent leather shoes. Or if it was not that, it was a parody of Holmes -- apparently, he also smokes opium (WTF? Did you not read TWIS, Beeb?), does not bother to wear a coat outdoors, and spouts psychobabble about serial killers at the drop of a hat. He is the very model of an insolent, snotty lazyarse, not the gimlet-eyed, excitable, facts-only man of canon.
It's also the little things. Watson's American psychoanalyst wife! The autopsy divinations! The "victim board" at Scotland Yard! Opium! Argh. This was CSI: Victorian London meets The Alienist, not Holmes. What went wrong, Beeb?
One out of five stars.
- - - - -
Executive summary? Watch the HOUN filmatisation. Read Chabon's book, but don't expect a true pastiche. All books and DVDs are available at least on Amazon.co.uk.
What makes me really sad is that they canned the Stephen Fry (curious trifle: I'm a member of the same Sherlockian society as Mr. Fry) and Hugh Laurie filmatisation of an unnamed Holmes story. That would've been ace.
So. Who would be your ideal on-screen Holmes? Or Watson?