 | | Sherlock Holmes: A Game of Shadows ***
| Year: | 2011 | | Director: | Guy Ritchie |
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The typical modern cinema event film, a blockbuster, can be identified by several characteristics, such as a childish contrived plot that bends to be convenient and, at worst, pander to the audience; and characters that are exploited for the same reason. They rarely have ambition to be anything other than great fun. When compared against a more thoughtfully crafted and ambitious film, it will invariably fall flat, but as a sum of its parts can still be considered great. Our capacity to be entertained means that they will always have an audience. You cannot accuse the best of these kinds of films of treating the audience as stupid, because usually the audience is eagerly complicit anyway and there is always an exception to the rule, such as a
Kick Ass or an
Inception. I fondly remember getting a slagging off for giving
Eagle Eye a four and
The Untouchables a full five, but my point is, a new scale is adopted for this kind of cinema and when they excel, the result can be sublime.
Sherlock Holmes: A Game of Shadows ticks all of those boxes and so my criticism of it is based on the reasons and timing it was made, not on its ability to be a brilliant bit of popcorn cinema. By those usual and typical standards, both Sherlock Holmes films are indeed superb entertainment and I even look forward to seeing them again. Marie has already reviewed the film and I have little cause to disagree with her.
There. That's the disclaimer dealt with, because on balance there was a lot about this film that really annoyed me!
All things being equal, I should be rating this particular instalment higher than I have and breathlessly enthusing about its many virtues: that it continues from the first film in successfully reclaiming the superhero, tongue in cheek sense of adventure of Arthur Conan Doyle’s original stories from the rather staid incarnations to date; that the wonderful chemistry between Holmes and Watson is rich with comedy, but the unspoken bond is heartfelt and makes this a period buddy cop film that, so far as the buddy cop sub-genre goes, is right up there with the best; that the set design is a feast for the eyes and the incredible stunts absolutely thrilling; and it’s all held together by a top drawer cast. It is a quality production and I really enjoyed it (Watson’s poor dog!) in a detached sense. When I saw the first film, I was blown away by how successful an interpretation it was and I was very happy to see the character used in such a fun way. It felt fresh and exciting, even though the plot was crap. That should be unforgivable when it’s Sherlock Holmes, but I was in a forgiving mood because everything else worked so well.
But all things are not equal and not long after Sherlock Holmes was released, the BBC broadcast Stephen Moffats modern retelling. In a stroke, Guy Ritchies fantastic film was reduced to a novelty item because the TV series was not only fun, it treated the viewer with intelligence while the characters all complemented each other beautifully. At least Ritchie can claim his approach was valid at the time it was conceived and released. How was he supposed to know the Beeb were going to hit the nail so perfectly?
Well he knows now and so has no excuse for the fact his sequel fails so spectacularly to build on the first film (especially as Moffat’s version has got even better for the second series). It looks fantastic and an action sequence in the second half (the running through woodland as seen in the trailer) is jaw-droppingly good, but all he has done is exploit the story to showcase his credentials as a mainstream filmmaker.
Downey Jr.’s is a selfish interpretation of Sherlock and doesn’t bear comparison on any level whatsoever with Benedict Cumberpatch. None of this is his fault, but he is trapped in a plot that treats the character as a clown rather than an architect or scientist and, as befits this kind of film, his brilliant deductions are only valid if demonstrated by an absurd set-piece. Jude Law is also excellent as Watson, but treated in much the same manner. The chemistry between the two leads is good, but narratively dumb and in retrospect, rather hollow. The actors make it work, while the writing just assumes that’s what they’ll do and the viewer fills in the gaps.
The most damning indictment of the film though is in three other characters that should be essential to Holmes’ make-up and existence, but precisely because they are not Holmes or Watson, the plot doesn’t allow that to happen. Irene Adler should be a seductive genius, the only woman who can get to Holmes, the only person he can’t predict, yet she is reduced to a pathetic, very predictable cypher. Nothing more than a plot point, an excuse to push the story in the right direction. Moriarty, Holmes’ incredible nemesis, is presented here merely as clever as he needs to be (which is a movie villain typical of, say, a Bond film). Again, predictable, and the scenes between the two are just dull! Like watching two stage magicians masturbate each other:
“I told you I was doing that, because I was actually doing THIS!”; “Ah, but I knew you were doing that and I played along, so I could do.. THIS!”; “Aha! But I knew you knew I was doing this because I knew you were doing that and I knew you knew I was playing along and I knew you knew so I could actually get away with doing THIS!”; “Ah, but I…”. Oh just sod off, please. The mental tussles of these two great characters are supposed to be astonishing, not infuriating.
But if you require any proof that the producers have no ambition and don’t care about credibility, just consider that they cast Stephen Fry as Mycroft. He doesn’t play Mycroft, he plays Stephen Fry, because that is the character they wanted the audience to be entertained by. He is already a bit posh, slightly eccentric and very clever. Who needs to act? Job done, tick that box and move on! Quite frankly, the nude scene and the doddery butler are just ridiculous and are in the wrong film. Just look at Mark Gatiss’ interpretation of Mycroft in the BBC version and see how elegant his relationship with Sherlock is.
Sorry to bang on about the TV version, but it really is superb and has rendered both of Guy Ritchie’s films utterly redundant. He only has himself to blame. As a blockbuster film, it has moments of brilliance (the central relationship, the horses, the action), sags horribly in the middle, but is otherwise an excellent four-star thriller yet only because in the second half, it gleefully abandons any pretence of being properly clever. If you liked the first film and all you ask for is “same again please”, then fill your boots. You’ll have a great time. Otherwise do your brain a favour and leave it in your head while you watch the BBC series.
