It’s fair to say that the studio took a gamble appointing Guy Ritchie to head up this sumptuous return to Holmsian London -the director’s previous, Rocknrolla took a piffling $6M in the US – but you can certainly see where the idea came from –who better to guide us on a romp through the gas lit streets than Guy bonafide mockney bowbells me old son Ritchie dotchaknow missus. It’s woolly thinking, and it reaps its own rewards, turning Conan-Doyle’s most famous creation into a semi action hero with downplayed detective skills and an appalling case of League of Extraordinary Gentlemen syndrome.
Of course, Sherlock represents a particular challenge for any filmmaker, the great detective has probably been lensed more times than anyone this side of Jesus, so finding a fresh take is going to be a struggle and the film certainly does struggle – at least to start with. There’s way too much set-up here, with lots of juddery slo-mo-fast-forward cuts as Ritchie brings his particular brand of stylised violence to proceedings. It’s strange to think anyone making a Sherlock Holmes movie would shy away from actual detective work, but that’s exactly the case here – Ritchie spends way too long chucking flash effects and animation at the screen – the opening cobblestone credits are a fun case in point, and we’re well in to the second act before any actual plot or deductive powers kick in . It’s fair enough to re-invent Holmes as a rough tough fightin’ machine, but the core of his stories – and his enduring appeal – has always stemmed from his deductive skills and their elegant unwinding. Here you keep expecting Jason Statham to turn up as a bobby (I’m saying that as though I think it would be a bad thing – apologies to the Stath!)
When it does finally arrive, the supernatural plot is another ill-fit, The Hound of The Baskerville’s may be the most famous Holmes story, but it’s a brief flirtation with spooks and spectres that stands apart the otherwise rock-solid canon. Here it’s more of an excuse for Ritchie to fling extra explosions at the screen in the hope some stick, before washing them off with a surfeit of testosterone. Likewise the family audience the movie goes after effectively neuter any of the more dubious flirtations Holmes enjoyed, and while Watson accuses Holmes of being Depraved at regular intervals, there’s precious little evidence of this on screen.
The two actors do work as a duo, but unfortunately it’s often for the wrong reasons. Downey Jnr seems to be exploring the Jonny Depp path to stardom – bug eyes and borderline mania – but does bring a genuinely likeable undercurrent to proceedings, working hard to fill out a script that’s surprisingly low on luaghs, while Jude Law is a pit of anti-charisma. You find yourself eyeing him like a traffic accident, convinced that he’ll fall over and be revealed as a cardboard standee halfway through a scene.
Once the game is genuinely afoot however, this turns into a thoroughly enjoyable action romp, there’s some genius set-pieces, and while it doesn’t take Poirot to work out the resolution, there are enough twists and turns to keep you guessing without worrying that an M.Night Shyamalan twist is going to spoil things any minute, and enough hints crop up to warn of a certain villainous Professor turning up in the inevitable sequel.
All in all it’s a fun enough romp, very, very stylish but suffering from too much set-up and too little fun, and while it sounds strange coming from Slashing The Seats, but it’s a movie that might benefit from slightly fewer exploding buildings, and slightly more talk. Ritchie isn’t a perfect fit – we’re voting for Sam Raimi next time round – but it’s a solid enough second string franchise, just don’t expect Holmes to eclipse Stark on Downey’s resume anytime soon.
