That is not the Sherlock I know. Apologies for the snooty literary conservatism, but when Harry Potter was adapted for the big screen, the teenage swot wasn’t miraculously transformed into a hard-man, martial arts expert. So why is it, then, that Guy Ritchie has corrupted my Sherlock into some sort of Bruce Lee of the 19th Century?
The plot in Sherlock Holmes: A Game of Shadows is practically nonexistent. Reading Conan Doyle, I got a lot of pleasure from those bits when everything comes together; the clever eureka moment that features in any whodunnit worth its salt. Amid showy explosions and slo-mo judo kicks, any such cleverness is lost in this film.
Ritchie’s sequel relies on Robert Downey Jr.’s kooky portrayal of the leading man, a performance which is at best bearable and at worst mildly irritating. And don’t start me on Watson. The special relationship between Law and Downey Jr. - so often cited when justifying this movie franchise as ongoing - is self indulgent in a film where the only laughs come from a naked Stephen Fry. How lazy.
In fact, for want of a better, ruder word, I might has well have just watched Ritchie, Downey Jr. and Law all mutually masturbate for a couple of hours.
Elementary, my dear. Not a clever film.
No comments:
Post a Comment