I love Sherlock Holmes, I love the character, the mystery, the writing style, the era, all of it. I’ve read all the short stories, all the novels, watched the the Jeremy Brett Sherlock series, the Benedict Cumberbatch tv series ( not the Jonny Lee Miller, I find that horrible) and the Robert Downey Jr. movies. Needles to say, I’m a big fan of the detective icon.
I first started out with the short stories, the thrill and the crime solving got to me, but more than that, I loved Conan Doyle’s style of writing, I loved how he shaped he character and I loved the Victorian era of things. Then I moved over to the tv series and a few animations as well, coupled with Guy Ritchie’s Sherlock movies, with a very good Downey accent. He’s the only american so far that I appreciate as Sherlock. All of these adaptations were straight from the literary canon, with their due adaptations, as inspired by or adapted from. But Mr. Holmes was different, very different. I first saw the trailer just before it came out and then, somehow, completely forgot about. Still can’t figure out how that happened.
In any case, I finally managed to get to it a few days ago. Spoilers ahead.
The movie doesn’t have the thrill of one of Conan Doyle’s stories, but it doesn’t have to be. It’s a different kind of story, a story of an old man trying to remember his past, while coping with the inevitable side effects of age. It’s an old Holmes movie, adapted from a book written by Mitch Cullin, an american author. The story itself piqued my interest, but the fact that Ian Mckellen was playing Holmes, topped it all out. That man is a pure geniu of acting.
The single most interesting thing about the movie (for me), going beyond my love of Sherlock, is the journey of an old, lonely man, trying to postpone his own decay, for closure, before embracing death.
It’s worth 104 of your minutes