Though some of you might not enjoy the fact that Conan Doyle’s beloved violin-touting gumshoe has been transformed into a raggedly stylish fisticuffs enthusiast, you might appreciate the degree to which Guy Ritchie has rejuvenated the classic serials without completely abandoning the source material as a pretext to flout his usual style. (Shrug) Maybe it’s because he didn’t write it.
While more critical audiences might spin their impatient eyes and say “Oh god, another convoluted gangster film from (guess who)”, the more astute viewers would nod their heads and find themselves in the exact same spot that the big-wigs @ Warner most likely reached a year earlier. The naysayers invariably look back and see nothing but repetition in Ritchie’s track record but when you peel back those layers of pessimism you’ll find that it reveals one sure fact: the man is consistent. Though he’s had the habit of licking his wounds by huddling between flashy music videos for his now ex-wife Madonna, riding out the critical hailstorm with a fortitude that is equal parts pitiable and admirable, Ritchie’s affinity for the less-than-savory Cockney criminal elements (sometimes much weirder, e.g. “Ya like dags?”), puts his involvement with this latest Holmes installment into much clearer perspective. In fact, it seems pretty obvious now. What’s Ritchie good at? The London Underworld. What’s become tired and used? The London Underworld. How do we fix this? A time machine.
There’s a consistently grungy flavor to the way Ritchie captures that good ol' city on the Thames and he’s always done it in a way that’s been exhilarating. And so he returns. Only this time it's 1891. I’m not claiming that he can capture the soul of a city or anything as flowery as that. But he definitely captures its personality and its vitality. Especially when he’s zooming in on the kind of guys who utilize machetes (“big, f*ck-off, shiny ones”) or Desert Eagle Point Five-Os as tools of the trade. And while you might still feel like just a lame-o tourist wandering down the Gothic maze that is this film, you at least feel like an informed tourist. There’s an attention to detail that breathes life into the eyes of every soot-encrusted dock-worker or waist-coat-wielding gentleman. And you don’t have to love history to really feel it.
The movie’s not nearly so occult as previous versions have been (Barry Levinson’s “Young SH” and the virgin sacrifice readily comes to mind) and more than anything it’s an action flick sprinkled with the occasional spice of mystique. Not the other way around. But as I said before, Ritchie, despite a number of apparent re-writes, has managed to crank out something identifiable as a classical Holmesian story. Purists, however, should look elsewhere for their thrills though because it certainly isn't the best one out there. If you’re looking for a straight-up brain teaser of the traditional variety I’d recommend seeking out the BBC’s cycle of films staring Jeremy Brett or the retro avenue with the 40's capers by Roy William Neill.
But while Ritchie tends to get more tied up with the guts as opposed to the glory of the chase (a fact which he claims is more in tune with the books than previous adaptations have been), let’s not forget about our beloved RDJ. Facing off against an equally well-cast, strangely snaggle-toothed Mark Strong (“Body of Lies” & “Rock n’ Rolla”), Downey Jr’s portrayal is lovably disheveled but it’s sadly not something that strays not too far from the path of, say, the eccentricities of a frizzy-haired mad scientist. Minus designs of world domination of course. Jude Law’s Dr. Watson, however, is something of a saving grace. For those of you expecting that plump little tag-along fresh from Afghanistan, you’d be wrong. True, his military background still holds, but with Law’s lean jaw and even leaner sense of wingmanship, not to mention a vivacious Victorian at his arm, it seems as though the well-used archetype of Dr. Watson as the perpetual bungler has finally been put to rest. The equality upon which this re-envisioned relationship seems to stand only works to better embellish what had once before been only a slight hint of bromance. And it’s because of this that I was glad to see two friends making mischief, as opposed to watching just another know-it-all, commentating on confounding minutiae as he tugs along what could have been just another dull sheep struggling to keep up.
Instructions for ideal application: A.) If you enjoy the criminal formulaic (not criminally). B.) You liked RDJ in “Chaplin”. C.) Are hoping that Guy Ritchie can somehow turn his sh*t around.
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