After ten years of blogging without a comment section, this past year of doing so with that added feature has really made me consider Dr. Watson's position in a new light.
We all have our perspectives on the good doctor. His level of intellect. His relationships. His feelings about Holmes. His weight and height. Every one of these characteristics could be charted from Sherlockian to Sherlockian, and I doubt we would find that many mental images of John H. Watson, M.D. that are exactly alike.
Devoted husband and father or childless polygamist? Limping bitter atheist or able runner of hopeful faith? Confused sidekick or contributing partner? Watson has been considered in so many different lights over the years that he is as much an everyman as we shall possibly ever meet. And why?
Because we haven't met him. Because John Watson isn't our Facebook friend, he isn't tweeting away from Baker Street, and he doesn't show up at our parties. Sixty stories and done, that's our John H. Watson.
Can you imagine how different the world of Sherlock Holmes fans would be if Watson was connected to the internet? If the minute "The Red-headed League" or some other story was published, his readers could tweet their immediate reactions to him?
"No, Mary's still alive," he would have to write. "She just had nothing to do with that case."
"Yes, Mary's still speaking to me. She didn't get jealous after the way I described Irene Adler last month and kick me out. I just overnighted on Baker Street because we got back late. I'd sent her a telegram earlier."
"I do not put veiled political comments about the Afghan campaign into Holmes's cases, and I'm sorry if you interpreted it so."
"I do not own a single pair of red underpants, thank you very much."
Of course, those are just some possibilities spun out of my particular view of Watson. He could be espousing liberal causes, railing against England's gun laws, or promoting spiritualism in his online presence -- we just don't know. If there was a solid, living, breathing single point of John H. Watson-ness out there to measure our thoughts against, life as a Sherlockian would be a completely different thing. We might not even like the guy.
If Watson decided to tweet something rudely against or ardently in favor of marriage equality just before publishing The Hound of the Baskervilles, he would probably lose a few readers on one side of the issue or the other. Thanks to the internet and twenty-four-hour news cycles, we're all still adapting to having viewpoints so different from our own constantly on our radar. Thirty years ago, you could get into a debate at a social event, sure. You could write into a publication and read someone's arguments against your point weeks or months later. But now, a connected life gives one a constant awareness that our personal views don't always line up with everyone else's, often strongly and immediately.
Unlike Watson, all of those people with such unbelievably strange opinions, are real people, who are out there, living lives we know nothing of, 24-7. Their paths have been quite different than our own, and have led them to very different destinations a lot of the time. And we don't get to decide who they are or tweak them to our tastes, as we do with our friend Watson.
Which is probably why we go to everyman Watson for relaxation, and are a little bit happy he's not out there tweeting away. And that is just fine. Occasionally, however, we have to get out there and deal with those nutty real people, and that is where the internet now challenges us to be better human beings than The Strand Magazine did with its readers. At least that's what's happening with me these days.
But I know how I'm dealing with it, for better or worse. It's Dr. Watson I wonder about.
And probably always will.
The ongoing investigation of Sherlock Holmes, reported from the Peoria, Illinois outpost of Baker Street's dirtiest half a dozen.
Sunday, May 19, 2013
Saturday, May 18, 2013
The greatest story never told.
Conan Doyle was an incredibly gifted writer, as anyone who has read his work knows. Sometimes, however, talent or no, you just get lucky. And that, it now seems to me, was what happened with a little tale called "The Final Problem."
We were discussing "The Final Problem" last night as the Hansoms of John Clayton, Peoria's local Sherlockian society, gathered once again. We're more of a smaller, book discussion group these days than a bigger society of speakers and banquets, and that does not seem to be an entirely bad thing. The chance to not miss anyone's ideas, as one might in a larger crowd, provides the opportunity for themes to develop, and last night the theme seemed to center on all the things Doyle didn't tell us in "The Final Problem." In fact, the entire story is practically untold.
"The Final Problem" begins with Watson saying he's only writing the story up because Moriarty's brother wrote letters defending his brother. Watson doesn't say what was in those letters, or why Colonel James Moriarty's words provoked him to publish Holmes's greatest triumph . . . which Watson was going to otherwise leave out of the public press.
When Sherlock Holmes first starts explaining about Professor Moriarty, it's all "dark rumours" and "hereditary tendencies of the most diabolical kind" instead of specifics. When Moriarty shows up in person for the first great confrontation between detective and mastermind, the conversation is completely "you know what you did" and "you know what I'm thinking" sorts of lines. But perhaps the capper is Holmes's own words about the battle between himself and Moriarty:
"I tell you, my friend, that if a detailed account of that silent contest could be written, it would take its place as the most brilliant bit of thrust-and-parry work in the history of detection." Sherlock Holmes comes straight out and says it: There's an incredible story here that is not getting told. Later in life, when Holmes could have taken the time and written up that story, what did he choose to do instead? Write short stories about a man with a disease and a sea creature, and then write a book on bees. All that material from the Moriarty campaign, and he writes about nothing to do with crime at all? There's an aspect of Holmes's psyche still unexplored.
But unexplored is the very heart of "The Final Problem." When Holmes and Moriarty have their final confrontation, Holmes calls an extensive time-out and writes Watson a letter. (It's a very casual final battle, apparently.) In it Holmes says that Moriarty has taken the time to explain how he tracked Holmes and Watson, and how he escaped the police, but do we get to hear it? Of course not.
Watson even closes the record with "As to the gang, it will be within the memory of the public how completely the evidence which Holmes had accumulated exposed their organization." The public? "The great unobservant public," as Holmes once called them? Watson's reliance on their memory instead of actually telling the story just denies us that much more.
It's well known that Arthur Conan Doyle wanted to be rid of Sherlock Holmes when he wrote "The Final Problem." And he apparently wanted to be rid of him as quickly and efficiently as possible. Filling out all the untold portions of that single story would have easily filled a novel that took long months or even years to write, which would have defeated the entire purpose of getting Holmes out of his life to begin with. So Conan Doyle took a lot of shortcuts. A LOT of shortcuts.
And while doing so may not have made for the most satisfying story, Doyle provided more fan fodder and pastiche primer that anywhere else in the stories of Sherlock. Had he contrived to set us up that way on purpose, one would have to bump his genius up quite a few notches in one's estimation. But, like I said at the start sometimes you just get lucky.
Without the cycle of Moriarty, death, and rebirth, Sherlock Holmes would still be a popular detective, yes. But would he rise to legendary? Mythic? That, like most of "The Final Problem," is one more story we shall never know.
We were discussing "The Final Problem" last night as the Hansoms of John Clayton, Peoria's local Sherlockian society, gathered once again. We're more of a smaller, book discussion group these days than a bigger society of speakers and banquets, and that does not seem to be an entirely bad thing. The chance to not miss anyone's ideas, as one might in a larger crowd, provides the opportunity for themes to develop, and last night the theme seemed to center on all the things Doyle didn't tell us in "The Final Problem." In fact, the entire story is practically untold.
"The Final Problem" begins with Watson saying he's only writing the story up because Moriarty's brother wrote letters defending his brother. Watson doesn't say what was in those letters, or why Colonel James Moriarty's words provoked him to publish Holmes's greatest triumph . . . which Watson was going to otherwise leave out of the public press.
When Sherlock Holmes first starts explaining about Professor Moriarty, it's all "dark rumours" and "hereditary tendencies of the most diabolical kind" instead of specifics. When Moriarty shows up in person for the first great confrontation between detective and mastermind, the conversation is completely "you know what you did" and "you know what I'm thinking" sorts of lines. But perhaps the capper is Holmes's own words about the battle between himself and Moriarty:
"I tell you, my friend, that if a detailed account of that silent contest could be written, it would take its place as the most brilliant bit of thrust-and-parry work in the history of detection." Sherlock Holmes comes straight out and says it: There's an incredible story here that is not getting told. Later in life, when Holmes could have taken the time and written up that story, what did he choose to do instead? Write short stories about a man with a disease and a sea creature, and then write a book on bees. All that material from the Moriarty campaign, and he writes about nothing to do with crime at all? There's an aspect of Holmes's psyche still unexplored.
But unexplored is the very heart of "The Final Problem." When Holmes and Moriarty have their final confrontation, Holmes calls an extensive time-out and writes Watson a letter. (It's a very casual final battle, apparently.) In it Holmes says that Moriarty has taken the time to explain how he tracked Holmes and Watson, and how he escaped the police, but do we get to hear it? Of course not.
Watson even closes the record with "As to the gang, it will be within the memory of the public how completely the evidence which Holmes had accumulated exposed their organization." The public? "The great unobservant public," as Holmes once called them? Watson's reliance on their memory instead of actually telling the story just denies us that much more.
It's well known that Arthur Conan Doyle wanted to be rid of Sherlock Holmes when he wrote "The Final Problem." And he apparently wanted to be rid of him as quickly and efficiently as possible. Filling out all the untold portions of that single story would have easily filled a novel that took long months or even years to write, which would have defeated the entire purpose of getting Holmes out of his life to begin with. So Conan Doyle took a lot of shortcuts. A LOT of shortcuts.
And while doing so may not have made for the most satisfying story, Doyle provided more fan fodder and pastiche primer that anywhere else in the stories of Sherlock. Had he contrived to set us up that way on purpose, one would have to bump his genius up quite a few notches in one's estimation. But, like I said at the start sometimes you just get lucky.
Without the cycle of Moriarty, death, and rebirth, Sherlock Holmes would still be a popular detective, yes. But would he rise to legendary? Mythic? That, like most of "The Final Problem," is one more story we shall never know.
Thursday, May 16, 2013
Love. A finale.
Tonight it all comes to a close. The long season of Elementary, the seemingly endless series of scathing blogs on that subject. It has been said that Elementary can do no right in the eyes of some of us, while Sherlock can do no wrong. And that, it must be said, is somewhat true.
Tonight, I have come to understand why, thanks to one of life's curious coincidences. The season finale of Elementary just happened to be on the same night as the release of Star Trek: Into Darkness. One could say it's Benedict Cumberbatch and Jonny Lee Miller double feature night, if you time it right, and I was lucky enough to do just that. A 4:45 matinee of Star Trek, followed by an 8:00 showing of Elementary.
So let's talk about Star Trek. I love Star Trek, just as I love Sherlock Holmes. Both mythos are, at their heart, about humanity at its best, facing the unknown with logic, passion, and courage. In Star Trek, we find those qualities spread across a larger cast, true, but they are the same. And tonight, I really enjoyed Star Trek: Into Darkness, despite a few flaws which struck the good Carter more strongly than myself. I think I enjoyed it even more than its predecessor.
And here is why. Among all the story elements, plot twists, sly and not-so-sly references, I got one message from director J.J. Abrams and writers Robert Orci, Alex Kurtzman, and Damon Lindelof, and one message alone. That message?
We understand. And we love Star Trek, too.
For all the running, running, running, the constant action, and occasional moment of cheese, that single message touched the very heart of my love of Star Trek.
We understand. And we love Star Trek, too.
If you were to ask me why I don't seem to see the imperfections of Sherlock (Yes, I am not fond of "The Blind Banker," either.), it is because I get the same message from both seasons of Sherlock and its creators, Stephen Moffat and Mark Gatiss:
We understand. And we love Sherlock Holmes, too.
The story of how they came upon the idea to do a modern day Sherlock Holmes story is a story of fans, the sort of story I'd hear from friends of mine, if they worked in television. And those really good episodes of Sherlock showed a fan's knowledge and caring. The use of A Private Life of Sherlock Holmes to build "A Scandal in Belgravia," was sheer subtle genius. Putting Moriarty on trial, as Basil Rathbone did, a true confection. With such beautifully woven bits of reverence to the Master, how could I not forgive Sherlock a few imperfections?
We understand. And we love Sherlock Holmes, too.
And now comes the season finale of Elementary. And, SPOILER ALERT, here comes Irene Adler at last. Irene Adler the painter, Irene Adler the prisoner of a fellow named Stapleton, Irene Adler the princess held away in a modern castle. Joining Moran, the serial exsanguinator. Watson, the sober companion. Miss Hudson, the expert in ancient Greece. And Mr. Elementary.
Canonical references scattered like bread crumbs to pigeons.
There is no love of Sherlock Holmes in tonight's soap opera of Mr. Elementary and painter Irene. This, as with the rest of the season, is that classic egotism of the non-fan who thinks they can rewrite a classic to their own needs (or the needs of the network that's paying them) and turn out a product that's just as good. Or maybe even better, they hope. They're just doing their job, and not everyone gets to work at a job they love.
CBS could have done a little more thorough job search and found someone who loved Sherlock Holmes to create this show. They could have negotiated a little further with the Sherlock folk. But they took the cheap and expedient route and we got Elementary, a show that may be a labor of love to somebody, but it's not the love of Sherlock Holmes.
And personally, I'm not a pigeon who is going to be happy with a few crumbs. Or a mythos where every single character is a victim. As I said before, both Sherlock Holmes and Star Trek are about humanity at it's best and most hopeful. The original Holmes tales were about finding reasonable truths behind the most unbelievable circumstances. Elementary feeds into the culture of fear and victimization, where serial killers lurk around every corner and people do the most evil things to each other. Mt. Elementary literally stands shorter among his fellow man than the classic Sherlocks, and figuratively as well.
Mr. Elementary leaves Joan Watson to deal with Moriarty in this sad, sad world. And that's not the least of it. Irene is Moriarty. Yup. And, I saw this cheap little twist a'coming. Yes, I did. And what's the message I get from one more manipulation of the characters to put a square peg in a round twist hole?
We don't get Sherlock Holmes. And we don't care.
That's the message I get from Elementary, week after week. I know there are those folks out there who enjoy this show for reasons of their own. Maybe they even love it, though I don't seem to hear those words being said a lot, like I do when the subject of Sherlock comes up. But that's for them to describe in their blogs. And I hope they love their show enough to write those blogs.
Me, I love Sherlock Holmes. And I love creators that love Sherlock Holmes, too, even if they're bad pasticheurs who are bravely attempting a character beyond their skills. I'll take those attempts over a corporate-produced ratings fodder like Elementary any day.
So tonight, we bid adieu to Mr. Elementary for a few months. I won't miss him. Forty-five minutes left in tonight's episode, and I think I'll let his fans have those forty-five minutes of content without my commentary as a parting gift. If something turns this whole season of episodes around in that time, you can count on me coming back, but I think it's shot its wad for tonight.
Oh, and Benedict Cumberbatch in Star Trek: Into Darkness? Amazing.
Tonight, I have come to understand why, thanks to one of life's curious coincidences. The season finale of Elementary just happened to be on the same night as the release of Star Trek: Into Darkness. One could say it's Benedict Cumberbatch and Jonny Lee Miller double feature night, if you time it right, and I was lucky enough to do just that. A 4:45 matinee of Star Trek, followed by an 8:00 showing of Elementary.
So let's talk about Star Trek. I love Star Trek, just as I love Sherlock Holmes. Both mythos are, at their heart, about humanity at its best, facing the unknown with logic, passion, and courage. In Star Trek, we find those qualities spread across a larger cast, true, but they are the same. And tonight, I really enjoyed Star Trek: Into Darkness, despite a few flaws which struck the good Carter more strongly than myself. I think I enjoyed it even more than its predecessor.
And here is why. Among all the story elements, plot twists, sly and not-so-sly references, I got one message from director J.J. Abrams and writers Robert Orci, Alex Kurtzman, and Damon Lindelof, and one message alone. That message?
We understand. And we love Star Trek, too.
For all the running, running, running, the constant action, and occasional moment of cheese, that single message touched the very heart of my love of Star Trek.
We understand. And we love Star Trek, too.
If you were to ask me why I don't seem to see the imperfections of Sherlock (Yes, I am not fond of "The Blind Banker," either.), it is because I get the same message from both seasons of Sherlock and its creators, Stephen Moffat and Mark Gatiss:
We understand. And we love Sherlock Holmes, too.
The story of how they came upon the idea to do a modern day Sherlock Holmes story is a story of fans, the sort of story I'd hear from friends of mine, if they worked in television. And those really good episodes of Sherlock showed a fan's knowledge and caring. The use of A Private Life of Sherlock Holmes to build "A Scandal in Belgravia," was sheer subtle genius. Putting Moriarty on trial, as Basil Rathbone did, a true confection. With such beautifully woven bits of reverence to the Master, how could I not forgive Sherlock a few imperfections?
We understand. And we love Sherlock Holmes, too.
And now comes the season finale of Elementary. And, SPOILER ALERT, here comes Irene Adler at last. Irene Adler the painter, Irene Adler the prisoner of a fellow named Stapleton, Irene Adler the princess held away in a modern castle. Joining Moran, the serial exsanguinator. Watson, the sober companion. Miss Hudson, the expert in ancient Greece. And Mr. Elementary.
Canonical references scattered like bread crumbs to pigeons.
There is no love of Sherlock Holmes in tonight's soap opera of Mr. Elementary and painter Irene. This, as with the rest of the season, is that classic egotism of the non-fan who thinks they can rewrite a classic to their own needs (or the needs of the network that's paying them) and turn out a product that's just as good. Or maybe even better, they hope. They're just doing their job, and not everyone gets to work at a job they love.
CBS could have done a little more thorough job search and found someone who loved Sherlock Holmes to create this show. They could have negotiated a little further with the Sherlock folk. But they took the cheap and expedient route and we got Elementary, a show that may be a labor of love to somebody, but it's not the love of Sherlock Holmes.
And personally, I'm not a pigeon who is going to be happy with a few crumbs. Or a mythos where every single character is a victim. As I said before, both Sherlock Holmes and Star Trek are about humanity at it's best and most hopeful. The original Holmes tales were about finding reasonable truths behind the most unbelievable circumstances. Elementary feeds into the culture of fear and victimization, where serial killers lurk around every corner and people do the most evil things to each other. Mt. Elementary literally stands shorter among his fellow man than the classic Sherlocks, and figuratively as well.
Mr. Elementary leaves Joan Watson to deal with Moriarty in this sad, sad world. And that's not the least of it. Irene is Moriarty. Yup. And, I saw this cheap little twist a'coming. Yes, I did. And what's the message I get from one more manipulation of the characters to put a square peg in a round twist hole?
We don't get Sherlock Holmes. And we don't care.
That's the message I get from Elementary, week after week. I know there are those folks out there who enjoy this show for reasons of their own. Maybe they even love it, though I don't seem to hear those words being said a lot, like I do when the subject of Sherlock comes up. But that's for them to describe in their blogs. And I hope they love their show enough to write those blogs.
Me, I love Sherlock Holmes. And I love creators that love Sherlock Holmes, too, even if they're bad pasticheurs who are bravely attempting a character beyond their skills. I'll take those attempts over a corporate-produced ratings fodder like Elementary any day.
So tonight, we bid adieu to Mr. Elementary for a few months. I won't miss him. Forty-five minutes left in tonight's episode, and I think I'll let his fans have those forty-five minutes of content without my commentary as a parting gift. If something turns this whole season of episodes around in that time, you can count on me coming back, but I think it's shot its wad for tonight.
Oh, and Benedict Cumberbatch in Star Trek: Into Darkness? Amazing.
Monday, May 13, 2013
The month of "M."
May is the right month for contemplating Professor Moriarty, I think.
It's the month when educations reach their climax and hiatuses begin for the young . . . a metaphor which might work for them. But the young have their whole lives ahead of them, unlike Professor Moriarty, or Sherlock Holmes for that matter. For Moriarty, May meant the end of an empire. For Sherlock Holmes it meant the climax of a career. And for both, it meant seeing all the truths of that mutual moment and having the brains to recognize them.
And that's what fascinates about Professor Moriarty.
Conan Doyle, the master of describing genius, held back from trying to detail what took place between Holmes and Moriarty, and none who have followed him have had the mind to succeed where Doyle refrained. We have had many who have tried, but none have apparently had the canvas nor the colors to paint that perhaps unseeable vision.
But it's fascinating to stare into that abyss and try to see what Sherlock Holmes saw as he looked across the London criminal world and began to see patterns. And from the patterns, trace threads back to the center of what he came to see as an enormous web, to put a name to the spider who lived there. And once he saw that spider, to quietly gather all the data needed for Scotland Yard to bring that web down in one perfectly timed action. It's unimaginably complex.
And from Professor Moriarty's side, it's just as intricate. After first building his vast and multi-layered empire, weaving it with safeguards to keep himself well removed from the slightest accusation, Moriarty had to recognize that Sherlock Holmes had become a threat to that entire organization, from end to end, from big to small. And then he had to have the vision and intellect to see one thing more.
To the mere mortal eye, the final confrontation of Professor Moriarty and Sherlock Holmes is riddled with puzzles. Why did neither man seem to bring a gun to the fight? Why would a plotter of incredible genius decide to attempt murder by something not unlike a football tackle, especially after a period of civilized talk that involved one of them actually writing a short letter?
The best indicator of Moriary's final encounter with Sherlock Holmes is given us in their earlier exchange at 221B Baker Street.
"All that I have to say has already crossed your mind."
"Then possibly my answer has crossed yours."
Reichenbach was the end of a master's chess game with a board as big as London, where both players see clearly that conclusions are inevitable. When they met at Baker Street, Professor Moriarty seemed certain that conclusion was Moriarty's immense crime machine rolling over a sole crusader, however clever that man was. But by their second meeting in Switzerland, the professor saw things a little differently, having possibly added in a very weighty factor we don't often consider.
Personally, I think that factor was Moriarty learning that Sherlock had an "M" of his own behind him, with an actual empire at his disposal. The big guy wouldn't just drive a carriage and keep the rent paid when his kid brother was threatened with death, would he? C'mon. Having seen the spider at the center of Mycroft Holmes's web, Moriarty's self-sacrificing attempt to kill Sherlock Holmes makes much more sense -- it's not revenge against Holmes the younger, it's spitting in the face of Holmes the greater with that one last act. Moriarty can only escape Mycroft by heading for death's own realm and tries to take Sherlock with him. It's quite mythic, really.
Professor Moriarty's tale is a battle of gods when you come right down to it, not something mere mortals were meant to comprehend. That's probably why adaptations so often fall short . . . well, that, and who but a fool would attempt something that a master of writing about Sherlock Holmes would not even attempt? And fools have issues of their own.
Happy month of "M." Consider it carefully.
It's the month when educations reach their climax and hiatuses begin for the young . . . a metaphor which might work for them. But the young have their whole lives ahead of them, unlike Professor Moriarty, or Sherlock Holmes for that matter. For Moriarty, May meant the end of an empire. For Sherlock Holmes it meant the climax of a career. And for both, it meant seeing all the truths of that mutual moment and having the brains to recognize them.
And that's what fascinates about Professor Moriarty.
Conan Doyle, the master of describing genius, held back from trying to detail what took place between Holmes and Moriarty, and none who have followed him have had the mind to succeed where Doyle refrained. We have had many who have tried, but none have apparently had the canvas nor the colors to paint that perhaps unseeable vision.
But it's fascinating to stare into that abyss and try to see what Sherlock Holmes saw as he looked across the London criminal world and began to see patterns. And from the patterns, trace threads back to the center of what he came to see as an enormous web, to put a name to the spider who lived there. And once he saw that spider, to quietly gather all the data needed for Scotland Yard to bring that web down in one perfectly timed action. It's unimaginably complex.
And from Professor Moriarty's side, it's just as intricate. After first building his vast and multi-layered empire, weaving it with safeguards to keep himself well removed from the slightest accusation, Moriarty had to recognize that Sherlock Holmes had become a threat to that entire organization, from end to end, from big to small. And then he had to have the vision and intellect to see one thing more.
To the mere mortal eye, the final confrontation of Professor Moriarty and Sherlock Holmes is riddled with puzzles. Why did neither man seem to bring a gun to the fight? Why would a plotter of incredible genius decide to attempt murder by something not unlike a football tackle, especially after a period of civilized talk that involved one of them actually writing a short letter?
The best indicator of Moriary's final encounter with Sherlock Holmes is given us in their earlier exchange at 221B Baker Street.
"All that I have to say has already crossed your mind."
"Then possibly my answer has crossed yours."
Reichenbach was the end of a master's chess game with a board as big as London, where both players see clearly that conclusions are inevitable. When they met at Baker Street, Professor Moriarty seemed certain that conclusion was Moriarty's immense crime machine rolling over a sole crusader, however clever that man was. But by their second meeting in Switzerland, the professor saw things a little differently, having possibly added in a very weighty factor we don't often consider.
Personally, I think that factor was Moriarty learning that Sherlock had an "M" of his own behind him, with an actual empire at his disposal. The big guy wouldn't just drive a carriage and keep the rent paid when his kid brother was threatened with death, would he? C'mon. Having seen the spider at the center of Mycroft Holmes's web, Moriarty's self-sacrificing attempt to kill Sherlock Holmes makes much more sense -- it's not revenge against Holmes the younger, it's spitting in the face of Holmes the greater with that one last act. Moriarty can only escape Mycroft by heading for death's own realm and tries to take Sherlock with him. It's quite mythic, really.
Professor Moriarty's tale is a battle of gods when you come right down to it, not something mere mortals were meant to comprehend. That's probably why adaptations so often fall short . . . well, that, and who but a fool would attempt something that a master of writing about Sherlock Holmes would not even attempt? And fools have issues of their own.
Happy month of "M." Consider it carefully.
Sunday, May 12, 2013
A mother's burden.
Let's take a holiday today, and let our minds wander a little ways into the future.
A young lad, we'll call him little Johnny, as his mother was a big fan of a certain literary figure, has come home from a birthday party with a little goody-sack of temporary tattoos. Having the limits of a typical child of his age, he has applied every single one of them to himself and has come running proudly into his mom's hobby room, announcing:
"Look, mom! I'm Sherlock Holmes!"
His mother just shakes her head, knowing some ne'er-do-well brother-in-law has let the child watch Elementary on Netflix again. And then comes all those duties that make motherhood a job to be respected: Finding some picture books about the real Sherlock Holmes. Taking the lad to a family-friendly Sherlock Holmes society, where he can gain more Sherlockian education. Downloading The Great Mouse Detective immediately, but then spending some time debating on whether or not Young Sherlock Holmes is age-appropriate.
And all this, just because somewhere a TV producer hired an actor with vaguely Cumberbatchian credentials, and when confronted with the fact that said actor was covered in tattoos, went, "Well, our Sherlock Holmes will have tattoos." And why not? If you were not really a fan of the original material and were just assigned to create an American Sherlock, the sky's the limit. Have him wear rubber hip-waders to crime scenes and wear those glasses where spring-loaded eyeballs pop out to show he's observing things. That's just being original, after all!
But somewhere, a mother has to read her child Ray Bradbury's The Illustrated Man to show her child a character in fiction that actually has the tattoos he's now become fond of. And then take great pains, as all mother's do, to try to get that boy back on the path to being a reasonable specimen of adulthood.
So here's to the mothers out there, fighting a never-ending battle against the lazy whimsies of popular media. Happy Mother's Day, you maternal heroes! Continue to make sure the kiddies get to bed before ten, nine central, and you may never have to face that dreaded moment that little Johnny's mother had to deal with.
Because the birds and the bees talk will be a lot easier.
A young lad, we'll call him little Johnny, as his mother was a big fan of a certain literary figure, has come home from a birthday party with a little goody-sack of temporary tattoos. Having the limits of a typical child of his age, he has applied every single one of them to himself and has come running proudly into his mom's hobby room, announcing:
"Look, mom! I'm Sherlock Holmes!"
His mother just shakes her head, knowing some ne'er-do-well brother-in-law has let the child watch Elementary on Netflix again. And then comes all those duties that make motherhood a job to be respected: Finding some picture books about the real Sherlock Holmes. Taking the lad to a family-friendly Sherlock Holmes society, where he can gain more Sherlockian education. Downloading The Great Mouse Detective immediately, but then spending some time debating on whether or not Young Sherlock Holmes is age-appropriate.
And all this, just because somewhere a TV producer hired an actor with vaguely Cumberbatchian credentials, and when confronted with the fact that said actor was covered in tattoos, went, "Well, our Sherlock Holmes will have tattoos." And why not? If you were not really a fan of the original material and were just assigned to create an American Sherlock, the sky's the limit. Have him wear rubber hip-waders to crime scenes and wear those glasses where spring-loaded eyeballs pop out to show he's observing things. That's just being original, after all!
But somewhere, a mother has to read her child Ray Bradbury's The Illustrated Man to show her child a character in fiction that actually has the tattoos he's now become fond of. And then take great pains, as all mother's do, to try to get that boy back on the path to being a reasonable specimen of adulthood.
So here's to the mothers out there, fighting a never-ending battle against the lazy whimsies of popular media. Happy Mother's Day, you maternal heroes! Continue to make sure the kiddies get to bed before ten, nine central, and you may never have to face that dreaded moment that little Johnny's mother had to deal with.
Because the birds and the bees talk will be a lot easier.
Saturday, May 11, 2013
Post-Elementary blog blog.
The day after a really bad episode of Elementary always makes me a little philosophical.
Questions arise as the comments roll in, such as: "If a TV show is awful, and no one but its fans watch it, is it still awful?"
To some, it seems, the only thing wrong with CBS's fiesta of faux-Sherlock is that I, for some inexplicable reason, decided last August that I would go on a nine-month tirade against it. But the reason I am so hard on Elementary is pretty simple, actually: I watch the show.
A lot of more sensible Sherlockians gave up on that a long time ago. And a lot of more kindly and politic Sherlockians simply keep their thoughts on the matter to themselves.
But if we all quit watching the show, all those folk who say, "It's gotten a lot better" might have their words accepted at face value. While Elementary might have shown some improvement on an episode like "Snow Angels," it also went back to showing its true colors with its latest foray into machina ex machina storytelling on "Risk Management," an episode so obviously co-written by series creator Rob Doherty.
Despite what those curious Elementary fans who continue to read this blog seem to think, I really don't sit in front of my television set every Thursday with an agenda of hate. This particular Thursday, I wasn't even going to comment on the episode at all, as the show came on while I was writing about next season's plan for Mr. Elementary to go to England. But then the show came on, and I reacted.
When I wrote the words, "SPOILER ALERT! I hate Elementary," that wasn't my ongoing state of being. That was me, sitting there, watching the show, and just responding accordingly to what was presented. A very Zen moment of critique. And then I post, and in that marvelous turnabout of life on the net, I become the one getting critiques. I don't suppose anyone goes about hating me on a daily basis, just as I don't hate Elementary every hour of my day. They'd be quite happy if I'd turn into a fan of the show, or even if I'd just turn it off, just as I'd be quite happy if I'd sit down one evening and find a totally engrossing, top-notch episode of Elementary.
But neither of those events seems to be going to happen anytime soon. It's telling when the comments run more about me than the episode I was talking about, and my major points go unaddressed. The fact that Elementary's writers had Moriarty stealing Holmes's lines to brag about himself was particularly gallilng, and, really, just some very un-Moriarty-like characterization. The fact that he had to explain to a fellow who is supposed to be Sherlock Holmes exactly who "Moriarty" is both denigrates the original Moriarty as a criminal mastermind and the original Sherlock Holmes as a detective. I react to things like that, and write them down here. Just doing what comes naturally.
But it would appear that if I didn't point these things out, to some, Elementary might be a better show. Which makes me think of a quote from another non-Moriarty villain, like that prank caller in Thursday's Elementary. It might be familiar to you, and it goes like this:
"And I would have gotten away with it, too, if it weren't for you meddling kids!"
To which I can only say, "Rooooby rooby roo!"
When I wrote the words, "SPOILER ALERT! I hate Elementary," that wasn't my ongoing state of being. That was me, sitting there, watching the show, and just responding accordingly to what was presented. A very Zen moment of critique. And then I post, and in that marvelous turnabout of life on the net, I become the one getting critiques. I don't suppose anyone goes about hating me on a daily basis, just as I don't hate Elementary every hour of my day. They'd be quite happy if I'd turn into a fan of the show, or even if I'd just turn it off, just as I'd be quite happy if I'd sit down one evening and find a totally engrossing, top-notch episode of Elementary.
But neither of those events seems to be going to happen anytime soon. It's telling when the comments run more about me than the episode I was talking about, and my major points go unaddressed. The fact that Elementary's writers had Moriarty stealing Holmes's lines to brag about himself was particularly gallilng, and, really, just some very un-Moriarty-like characterization. The fact that he had to explain to a fellow who is supposed to be Sherlock Holmes exactly who "Moriarty" is both denigrates the original Moriarty as a criminal mastermind and the original Sherlock Holmes as a detective. I react to things like that, and write them down here. Just doing what comes naturally.
But it would appear that if I didn't point these things out, to some, Elementary might be a better show. Which makes me think of a quote from another non-Moriarty villain, like that prank caller in Thursday's Elementary. It might be familiar to you, and it goes like this:
"And I would have gotten away with it, too, if it weren't for you meddling kids!"
To which I can only say, "Rooooby rooby roo!"
Thursday, May 9, 2013
The manatees work toward a finale at CBS.
OH . . . MY . . . GOD . . . .
SPOILER ALERT! I hate Elementary. I'm also giving away pieces of this week's episode. If either of those might cause you upset, better move along now. Now.
This week's Elementary just began with Moriarty calling Mr. Elementary on the phone and delivering lines straight from the Canon. One problem, however.
They were Sherlock Holmes's lines.
What was perhaps the longest bit of Holmes's Canonical dialogue in the show so far, and it was delivered by Mor-fricking-arty. And not a scary, creepily genius version of Moriarty. Just a guy on the phone, sounding like a guy on the phone. And it gets worse.
Moriarty wants to hire Mr. Elementary. Mr. Elementary wants information about the death of Irene Adler, and Moriarty says he'll give it to hiim if Mr. Elementary solves a murder for him.
Yes, now Mr. Elementary is actually letting Moriarty solve the case that fascinates him more than any other. Bad enough that Joan Watson has been played as a victim to Mr. Elementary's little social terrorisms for so much of this year, but now the show's prime detective is letting Moriarty run him around like one more minion in his web? This show isn't about heroes. It's about victims. Always has been. Victims of addiction. Victims of career disaster. Victims of just being less than adept at living in society.
Interestingly, Mr. Elementary makes some small deductions about Moriarty from the phone call. His age, for one. The fact that he comes from Sussex for another. Sussex. That place where the real Sherlock Holmes eventually retired, and to some students of the Master, grew up as well. One almost envisions a classic Sherlock Holmes hanging up the phone with a chuckle and going, "Well, Watson, I've got that New York pretender looking into the case, which is about all it rates."
Joan Watson spends a lot of time spreading peanut butter on bread this episode, which I quite enjoyed. It has kind of a Zen calming effect, watching the smooth, rhythmic motion of the table knife. Ah.
But back to Mr. Elementary. No, wait . . . Joan Watson is talking about Gregson's penis. What is it with this show? Mr. Elementary kicks a soccer ball against an indoor wall, this being his random irritating act for this episode. Find one irritating thing that the real Sherlock Holmes did without an obvious and productive reason for doing it. This show continues to reveal that it just doesn't know how actual smart people work. It's like a stupid person's subjective version of someone of high intelligence, "This is what they act like. I don't know why they act like that, but this is how they are!"
. . . and Moriarty is back, telling Mr. Elementary he's not done enough and that there's more he needs to find out about the case. Let's think about that for a moment. It's almost like our boy has a mentor in Sussex who actually knows how to solve a case.
Man, you have to like the sound of Jonny Lee Miller's voice to like this show. And that accent, which is completely wrong for Holmes and makes me wish I had Professor Higgins's ability to place his upbringing . . . wait . . . what? Mr. Elementary just made a reference to the smell of Joan Watson's urine. Seriously, people think this is a good show? Seriously? I am as baffled as I was back in September and October of last year.
After monologue after monologue by Mr. Elementary, he tag-team solves the case with Joan Watson, Bell, and Gregson. They're a pretty solid team for those few minutes of the show, which might be cool if they actually were a team the rest of the time. One more random bit of writing in a random show.
And the last scene of this week's Elementary? The thing that makes Mr. Elementary wrinkle up his face in fussy-baby emotion? More random writing. Oh, look, the whole reason for his original breakdown and addiction, the whole crux of this show, seems to be a lie . . . a lie that he wasn't smart enough to see at square one. Or else we're talking twins, the most hackneyed soap opera twist of all.
They say that dogs have a more highly developed sense of smell than ours, by a multiple of thousands. And yet dogs seem to enjoy sniffing crotches and poo. In that same fashion, perhaps my brain is just not highly developed enough for Elementary. Because it sure looks like crap to me.
SPOILER ALERT! I hate Elementary. I'm also giving away pieces of this week's episode. If either of those might cause you upset, better move along now. Now.
This week's Elementary just began with Moriarty calling Mr. Elementary on the phone and delivering lines straight from the Canon. One problem, however.
They were Sherlock Holmes's lines.
What was perhaps the longest bit of Holmes's Canonical dialogue in the show so far, and it was delivered by Mor-fricking-arty. And not a scary, creepily genius version of Moriarty. Just a guy on the phone, sounding like a guy on the phone. And it gets worse.
Moriarty wants to hire Mr. Elementary. Mr. Elementary wants information about the death of Irene Adler, and Moriarty says he'll give it to hiim if Mr. Elementary solves a murder for him.
Yes, now Mr. Elementary is actually letting Moriarty solve the case that fascinates him more than any other. Bad enough that Joan Watson has been played as a victim to Mr. Elementary's little social terrorisms for so much of this year, but now the show's prime detective is letting Moriarty run him around like one more minion in his web? This show isn't about heroes. It's about victims. Always has been. Victims of addiction. Victims of career disaster. Victims of just being less than adept at living in society.
Interestingly, Mr. Elementary makes some small deductions about Moriarty from the phone call. His age, for one. The fact that he comes from Sussex for another. Sussex. That place where the real Sherlock Holmes eventually retired, and to some students of the Master, grew up as well. One almost envisions a classic Sherlock Holmes hanging up the phone with a chuckle and going, "Well, Watson, I've got that New York pretender looking into the case, which is about all it rates."
Joan Watson spends a lot of time spreading peanut butter on bread this episode, which I quite enjoyed. It has kind of a Zen calming effect, watching the smooth, rhythmic motion of the table knife. Ah.
But back to Mr. Elementary. No, wait . . . Joan Watson is talking about Gregson's penis. What is it with this show? Mr. Elementary kicks a soccer ball against an indoor wall, this being his random irritating act for this episode. Find one irritating thing that the real Sherlock Holmes did without an obvious and productive reason for doing it. This show continues to reveal that it just doesn't know how actual smart people work. It's like a stupid person's subjective version of someone of high intelligence, "This is what they act like. I don't know why they act like that, but this is how they are!"
. . . and Moriarty is back, telling Mr. Elementary he's not done enough and that there's more he needs to find out about the case. Let's think about that for a moment. It's almost like our boy has a mentor in Sussex who actually knows how to solve a case.
Man, you have to like the sound of Jonny Lee Miller's voice to like this show. And that accent, which is completely wrong for Holmes and makes me wish I had Professor Higgins's ability to place his upbringing . . . wait . . . what? Mr. Elementary just made a reference to the smell of Joan Watson's urine. Seriously, people think this is a good show? Seriously? I am as baffled as I was back in September and October of last year.
After monologue after monologue by Mr. Elementary, he tag-team solves the case with Joan Watson, Bell, and Gregson. They're a pretty solid team for those few minutes of the show, which might be cool if they actually were a team the rest of the time. One more random bit of writing in a random show.
And the last scene of this week's Elementary? The thing that makes Mr. Elementary wrinkle up his face in fussy-baby emotion? More random writing. Oh, look, the whole reason for his original breakdown and addiction, the whole crux of this show, seems to be a lie . . . a lie that he wasn't smart enough to see at square one. Or else we're talking twins, the most hackneyed soap opera twist of all.
They say that dogs have a more highly developed sense of smell than ours, by a multiple of thousands. And yet dogs seem to enjoy sniffing crotches and poo. In that same fashion, perhaps my brain is just not highly developed enough for Elementary. Because it sure looks like crap to me.
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