These are dark days indeed. London is frozen in the grip of fear; paralyzed by a devilish evil and its dread practitioners. Lord Blackwood, captured by Sherlock Holmes and executed by the police for murder and black sorcery, has returned from the grave more powerful than before. His wicked schemes seem to drive forward relentlessly, as if powered by the winds of Hell. With time short and hearts faint, only England’s greatest detective and his loyal friend and colleague can stop him.
Guy Ritchie’s Sherlock Holmes, starring Robert Downey Jr. and Jude Law is a strange film. And I loved it. It feels at once so radically progressive, but on the other hand, it somehow embraces the roots of both celebrated Hollywood and acclaimed literature, and even goes beyond to tap into the elusive and primeval tradition of storytelling.
This postmodern take on the Victorian hero is a winner; it’s often aberrant, sometimes conventional, but always entertaining. There’s something oddly comforting about it. The film doesn’t keep you guessing; it instead provides the perennial pleasure of watching the illustrious Sherlock Holmes piece together a collection of disparate clues in his tireless pursuit of the villain.
He’s always a reassuring step ahead; and the plot twists aren’t so much a shock or even a change of direction as much as a gradual unveiling. I was rapt with attention at every turn, always watching as the curtains were slowly pulled back, waiting patiently but with anticipation to see what was just beyond.
Despite its modern embellishments and the heavy brush strokes of director Guy Ritchie, Sherlock Holmes is actually the most nostalgic picture I’ve seen in years. I’m not sure that effect was intentional, and while it may seem antithetical to label the contemporary reboot of a vintage franchise “old-fashioned”, I just can’t shake the notion that there is something in this movie – something in its structure and performances, perhaps – that belies its flashy exterior and reveals a bloodline that traces all the way back to the classics.
I could go on philosophizing on why it all works, but the simple fact is, logical or not, it does. The film starts off admirably with an awesome Bond-like pre-credits sequence (emulate Bond without aping him and you will almost always earn my esteem), and though it gets bogged down a bit in the middle, it still finishes strong. There was never a moment when I was not entertained. By the time everything had fallen into place and the final, delightfully clever twist had been revealed, I was hooked. I want to see more of this Sherlock Holmes.
The film’s eccentricities are mirrored in Robert Downey Jr.’s take on the literary detective. This Holmes is detached, peculiar, and misanthropic. He is apart from the human race, yet intensely interested in the particulars of men and their motives. He’s astute in his observations, and though he seems cold-hearted, he has a pathological desire to use his gifts for the preservation of life and society. Oh – and he has a mean right hook. This Sherlock Holmes is the original superhero – sort of a Gregory House with a black belt.
Jude Law makes for a formidable sidekick as a svelte and capable Dr. Watson. He and Downey Jr. share a charming sort of chemistry that hints at a deep and accommodating friendship between men of strength and intellect.
Some commentators (including Robert Downey Jr. himself) have seen shades of homosexuality in this relationship, but I would argue that such a view is ironically narrow-minded and colored with the juvenile mores of our contemporary culture. It is widely known that men throughout history have not shared our modern hesitations about expressing love and even affection in a close friendship. Holmes and Watson care for each other deeply and they live as roommates in their London apartment, but there is nothing in the film to indicate anything sexual in nature (unless you go in looking for it with modern and suspicious eyes).
Rachel McAdams does well enough in a small role as Holmes’ feisty old flame, but I wish she had been given a bigger role. William Houston and Eddie Marsan are fantastic as Holmes’ and Watson’s allies in the police department, but Mark Strong fails to make a lasting impression as the nefarious Lord Blackwood. Part of the problem is that the villains’ plot and motives aren’t justly explained or fully fleshed out.
Still, despite this misstep, on the whole, the film is well-written and tightly edited, moving quickly and holding you in suspense until the closing credits. Guy Ritchie is most certainly an auteur. His directorial style is heavy-handed, and while it might at first seem an ill fit for the world of Sherlock Holmes, it actually works rather well. The camera angles are engaging, the performances are pleasant and entertaining, and while he does indulge in one too many slow-motion sequences, I’d say that Ritchie was, surprisingly, the right man for the job after all.
I’ve been a bit embarrassing in my lavish praise, but I must finally make mention of Hans Zimmer’s excellent score and Philippe Rousselot’s gorgeous cinematography. I haven’t been a fan of Zimmer’s since Crimson Tide (and then only just), but I might have to revise my opinions. The music in this picture is very good. It artfully conveys that certain indescribable fragility of the Victorian Age and infuses it with a modern, pulsating intensity. The musical score gives life to the camera and every darkly evocative scene. Sherlock Holmes seems born of gaslight and lived in among the shadows.
The film is rated PG-13. Parents with young children will likely want to skip this detective story filled with occult images and occasionally brutal violence. Lord Blackwood and his minions are palpably menacing, and there’s a pretty creepy vibe through much of the running time.
The film opens with a ghastly occult ceremony, and devilish imagery pops up in and out of the story from time to time thereafter. While there are plenty of pentagrams and rams’ heads to go around, it’s actually not as horrific as you might imagine; and the picture’s tone never tips too far into darker territory.
I don’t remember there being any bad language, and the sexual content is also rather limited. A girl dressed in a wispy slip writhes around on a stone table during the occult ceremony, Holmes’ ogles a woman as she undresses (although the audience isn’t granted a glimpse), and he is later found tied up naked in a bed with nothing to cover his vital areas but a decorative pillow.
One man is set on fire, another drowns as his killer watches, and Holmes and Watson inspect a freshly buried corpse. A number of people are murdered or killed in self-defense, but the homicides are not as gruesome as I feared. The lengthy and surprisingly graphic fistfights, on the other hand, are squirm-inducing. Holmes and Watson break bones and punish bodies like Mike Tyson on a reunion tour, and the camera covers it all in lavishing detail (often in slow-motion). The action is well-choreographed, but it might just make you wince.
After suffering through Avatar and its myriad crimes against humanity, I was almost ready to throw in the towel and leave the cinematic train wrecks of 2009 behind me. Still, I’m a fool for movies. They hurt me, kick me, and abuse me, and yet I keep coming back for more. Sometimes I forget why, but films like Sherlock Holmes always remind me.
Caution Rating: 7
