What is one of the first things a modern Sherlock show likes to do to show us what a genius Sherlock Holmes is?
Show us how bored he is.
We can all relate to being bored, even if you haven't had moments of boredom lately, thanks to Netflix streaming, your smartphone, those silly little games people download and dive into during off moments . . . well, you remember being supremely bored at some point in your life, probably as a teenager.
In wandering through podcast world this morning, I stumbled across New Tech City's Bored and Brilliant project (because I was bored, of course), and something clicked.
Sherlock Holmes's boredom was, perhaps, the most important method in his entire "world's greatest consulting detective" bag of tricks. In fact, Sherlock's boredom was the reason for the rest of his bag of tricks.
"I was never a very sociable fellow, Watson, always rather fond of moping in my rooms and working out my own little methods of thought," Sherlock said of his college career, and why did he describe those days as "moping?" Because he was bored. He didn't mix with his fellow students because his interests and theirs weren't alike, and without that social element, boredom set in. And what do we do when boredom sets in?
Daydream. Mix and match the contents of our brains in a desperate attempt to find something to engage us. Work out any problem that we can pose for ourselves in whatever fashion we can possibly conceive.
Sherlock Holmes's entire career came out of boredom. In fact, Dr. Watson's second career as Sherlock's chronicler also came out of boredom as well, during those days he was lying around Baker Street trying to recuperate from the health issues of his military life: "My health forbade me from venturing out unless the weather was exceptionally genial, and I had no friends who would call upon me and break the monotony of my daily existence. Under these circumstances I eagerly hailed the little mystery which hung around my companion, and spent much of my time endeavoring to unravel it."
Boredom must be a very great thing, to inspire such men as those.
And why do you think we have all the marvelous things produced by the last hundred years of Sherlock Holmes fandom? Just ask any Sherlock fan waiting for Moffat, Gatiss, Cumberbatch, Freeman, and company to get another show out . . . once you are focused on something that keeps you wildly entertained and that thing goes away, you get bored. And when you get bored, you start getting creative on the very subject whose absence left you that way.
It's kind of silly that we hate on boredom so much, as seemingly painful as it can be, because boredom has given us every bit of Sherlockian culture, from Conan Doyle sitting bored in a slow medical practice to this very blog. (Okay, maybe we can hate on boredom for some of the things it has produced.) But as Tech City's week on "the lost art of spacing out" examined, boredom is a pretty important part of the human way of getting things done, a part of our lives we should consciously embrace in a world where distraction comes far too easily.
Boredom was, after all, the method at the core of all of Sherlock Holmes's other methods. And probably the one most accessible to any of the rest of us, no matter what our chosen field of endeavor.
The ongoing investigation of Sherlock Holmes, reported from the Peoria, Illinois outpost of Baker Street's dirtiest half a dozen.
Saturday, February 7, 2015
Friday, February 6, 2015
He deserves to be called "Sir," just for this.
I will openly admit to my fanboy disappointment when I first heard they were doing a big screen adaptation of Mitch Cullin's A Slight Trick of the Mind. I remembered being disappointed in both that book and Michael Chabon's The Final Solution after reading them, back in 2005 because they both featured an ancient Sherlock Holmes who was not up to par. To my mind they were just two more incarcations of "broken Holmes," a version of Sherlock I've never been fond of, whether he is incapacitated by age, drug addiction, or a solid hit to the head. One buys the ticket to see Superman use his powers, after all, not be Clark Kent for the whole movie.
And in 2005, we hadn't been introduced to BBC Sherlock's younger, vital Holmes yet, so the thought that all our Holmeses from there onward were going to be doddering old fools was rather painful.
So, like I said, my first reaction to the announcement of the movie that would later be titled "Mr. Holmes" was pretty negative. Didn't care that it was coming, didn't want to see the trailers, generally decided to avoid it, sight unseen. Yes, I am that kind of fanboy, as anyone who has read enough of my screed on Elementary well knows.
But this morning, I had a little too much time to kill, and Mary Michaud Loving had posted a link to that Mr. Holmes clip that's been making the rounds on the Norwegian Explorers Facebook page, so I gave it a go.
Sir Ian McKellen has been a favorite actor of mine for a while. I mean, sure his Gandalf and Magneto are popcorn-movie favorites, but things like Gods and Monsters were very enjoyable bits of his acting goodness as well. None of those things, however, prepared me for his aged Sherlock Holmes.
The old fellow we see strolling down the country lane with his housekeeper's son in that Mr. Holmes clip is not a "broken Holmes" at all. He seems very much a true Sherlock Holmes who has lost some steps with age, yes, but is still holding it together. He's intelligent and charming . . . not that mandatory mass of socially crippling quirks that our modern stuff wants to attach to the Great Detective. (And quirks which will normally knock the capital letters off "Great Detective" at that!) And he totally satisfies that gut-level Sherlock Holmes test we all have that says "Sherlock" or "not Sherlock," at least in my case.
So, bravo, Sir Ian! I shall happily look forward to Mr. Holmes from here on in, with complete fanboy satisfaction. True talent is a fine medicine for the sour prejudgment.
And in 2005, we hadn't been introduced to BBC Sherlock's younger, vital Holmes yet, so the thought that all our Holmeses from there onward were going to be doddering old fools was rather painful.
So, like I said, my first reaction to the announcement of the movie that would later be titled "Mr. Holmes" was pretty negative. Didn't care that it was coming, didn't want to see the trailers, generally decided to avoid it, sight unseen. Yes, I am that kind of fanboy, as anyone who has read enough of my screed on Elementary well knows.
But this morning, I had a little too much time to kill, and Mary Michaud Loving had posted a link to that Mr. Holmes clip that's been making the rounds on the Norwegian Explorers Facebook page, so I gave it a go.
Sir Ian McKellen has been a favorite actor of mine for a while. I mean, sure his Gandalf and Magneto are popcorn-movie favorites, but things like Gods and Monsters were very enjoyable bits of his acting goodness as well. None of those things, however, prepared me for his aged Sherlock Holmes.
The old fellow we see strolling down the country lane with his housekeeper's son in that Mr. Holmes clip is not a "broken Holmes" at all. He seems very much a true Sherlock Holmes who has lost some steps with age, yes, but is still holding it together. He's intelligent and charming . . . not that mandatory mass of socially crippling quirks that our modern stuff wants to attach to the Great Detective. (And quirks which will normally knock the capital letters off "Great Detective" at that!) And he totally satisfies that gut-level Sherlock Holmes test we all have that says "Sherlock" or "not Sherlock," at least in my case.
So, bravo, Sir Ian! I shall happily look forward to Mr. Holmes from here on in, with complete fanboy satisfaction. True talent is a fine medicine for the sour prejudgment.
Thursday, February 5, 2015
E3:13. A lighter touch.
A character named Sherlock Holmes with a heroin problem and a sexual three-way . . . ?
Tonight's Elementary begins with a scene that can't help but remind a Sherlockian videophile of 2002's A Case of Evil (a movie IMDB now mysteriously calls Sherlock . . . huh?), quickly segues into some exotic monk chat, and a nice twist as Mr. Elementary sneaks up on a secretary. WTF, Elementary? I'm actually enjoying this!
Written by Arika Lisanne Mittman . . . hmm, a new name on the Elementary writers staff. Hopes rise.
I mean, walking around in his pea-coat, Mr. Elementary looks like he's a corn-cob pipe and a squint away from playing Popeye, but still . . . a missing persons case and not a murder, Mr. Elementary looking for a room-mate as a character subplot. There is a certain simple elegance to it, normally missing in the tries-too-hard sensationalism of so many of Mr. Elementary's tales.
Speaking of elegance, Baker Street was always a properly Victorian jumble, but it was never shabby. When the story picks up on Elementary, I find myself greedily wanting more . . . like a less shabby residence. And that NYPD office they spend so much time in . . . done completely in 1950s institutional, with those yellow block walls that have never seen paint other than what was baked on them by Elvis before he became famous, or some other denizen of that era.
But Mr. Elementary and Joan get out of the city for a bit, and things look a little better for a while.
Wait a minute . . . is Detective Bell wearing a freakin' B.S.I. tie tonight? Blue, purple, mouse. Yup, that's a B.S.I. tie. Has he been doing that for a while, or is this new? (Pause to ask Twitter.)
Clyde seems to be the one on the show from the Vernet bloodline in this adaptation, as his joy in painting is revealed this episode. Phil Simms gets a call. Mr. Elementary gives Joan a pleasant wake-up for a change (obviously trying to get her to move back in). A lot of happy little details this episode, and Elementary is always better with a lighter touch.
After a discussion started by Rob Nunn on Twitter today asked why "modern versions stress the friction between between Holmes & Watson so much," it was rather ironic that part of the pleasure of tonight's Elementary was seeing its consulting detective and his partner actually getting along better than they have in three years.
Of course, all this pleasantry could possibly just have been setting the audience up for what should have been a horrific moment in the show's final moments. But, as has been Elementary's issue for a long time, anyone besides the four main characters (and possibly the Moriarty-Mycroft-Kitty Winter one-per-season semi-regular) doesn't get enough development for us to really care about them too much. Somebody dies at the end, and the saddest part of that shocking turn is that I'd have reacted more strongly for Clyde the turtle taking a flesh-wound in a shoot-out.
But such is the stuff of Thursday nights. Oh, and by the way, speaking of Thursday nights, if you watched Elementary tonight, or on any night previous to this one, here's a little something for you . . . .
Tonight's Elementary begins with a scene that can't help but remind a Sherlockian videophile of 2002's A Case of Evil (a movie IMDB now mysteriously calls Sherlock . . . huh?), quickly segues into some exotic monk chat, and a nice twist as Mr. Elementary sneaks up on a secretary. WTF, Elementary? I'm actually enjoying this!
Written by Arika Lisanne Mittman . . . hmm, a new name on the Elementary writers staff. Hopes rise.
I mean, walking around in his pea-coat, Mr. Elementary looks like he's a corn-cob pipe and a squint away from playing Popeye, but still . . . a missing persons case and not a murder, Mr. Elementary looking for a room-mate as a character subplot. There is a certain simple elegance to it, normally missing in the tries-too-hard sensationalism of so many of Mr. Elementary's tales.
Speaking of elegance, Baker Street was always a properly Victorian jumble, but it was never shabby. When the story picks up on Elementary, I find myself greedily wanting more . . . like a less shabby residence. And that NYPD office they spend so much time in . . . done completely in 1950s institutional, with those yellow block walls that have never seen paint other than what was baked on them by Elvis before he became famous, or some other denizen of that era.
But Mr. Elementary and Joan get out of the city for a bit, and things look a little better for a while.
Wait a minute . . . is Detective Bell wearing a freakin' B.S.I. tie tonight? Blue, purple, mouse. Yup, that's a B.S.I. tie. Has he been doing that for a while, or is this new? (Pause to ask Twitter.)
Clyde seems to be the one on the show from the Vernet bloodline in this adaptation, as his joy in painting is revealed this episode. Phil Simms gets a call. Mr. Elementary gives Joan a pleasant wake-up for a change (obviously trying to get her to move back in). A lot of happy little details this episode, and Elementary is always better with a lighter touch.
After a discussion started by Rob Nunn on Twitter today asked why "modern versions stress the friction between between Holmes & Watson so much," it was rather ironic that part of the pleasure of tonight's Elementary was seeing its consulting detective and his partner actually getting along better than they have in three years.
Of course, all this pleasantry could possibly just have been setting the audience up for what should have been a horrific moment in the show's final moments. But, as has been Elementary's issue for a long time, anyone besides the four main characters (and possibly the Moriarty-Mycroft-Kitty Winter one-per-season semi-regular) doesn't get enough development for us to really care about them too much. Somebody dies at the end, and the saddest part of that shocking turn is that I'd have reacted more strongly for Clyde the turtle taking a flesh-wound in a shoot-out.
But such is the stuff of Thursday nights. Oh, and by the way, speaking of Thursday nights, if you watched Elementary tonight, or on any night previous to this one, here's a little something for you . . . .
Wednesday, February 4, 2015
The Thursday Night Elementals.
Once upon a time, a great sage of Sherlockian wisdom was asked what one needed to create a Sherlock Holmes society. His answer has resounded through the decades: "All you need are two Sherlockians and a bottle of booze . . . in a pinch, you can dispense with one of the Sherlockians."
If that's all it takes to create a Sherlock Holmes society, what then could one create from seven million Elementarians and an hour of broadcast network television?
Well, if you put them all in one place, you'd get something either like Switzerland or Bulgaria, or maybe Honduras, on an off night. Seven million is "national population" sized numbers. But, thanks to those happy people at Neilsen, we don't have to round them all up in some European land or Central American republic to get a find out just where they are. On Thursday nights, they're at home, in front of their television sets, tuning in the formerly titled Columbia Broadcasting System.
And I am, all too often, one of that legion. John Foster, of the Harpooners' Blog, has conjectured that I am becoming a fan of Elementary, but being an old school Sherlockian, I could never quite feel entirely like a true fan unless I belonged to a society of some sort. So in order to help John's cause along, and perhaps move myself a few microns more toward Elementary fandom, I am going to propose we build an Elementarian society around the place I'm currently sitting in relationship to the show.
That society will be called, quite naturally, the Thursday Night Elementals, paying homage to the regular viewer of that show as no other title could. (You're welcome to come up with your own society name and form a scion of the Thursday Night Elementals, of course.) And rather than attempt to come up with rigorous criteria for member traits, as some clubs do, the Thursday Night Elementals has but one membership requirement: You watch Elementary on Thursday night on CBS. At some point.
No pressure at all on the membership to dress up, sweat over creating a clever enough toast, or cough up banquet fees. In fact, the Thursday Night Elementals is so low pressure that you don't even have to expend the mental energy to recognize that you belong to the club . . . precious brainpower that can now be used to savor the adventures of Mr. Elementary and Joan Watson on Thursday nights.
Now, how does the existence of the Thursday Night Elementals make the world any different from the same seven million watching Elementary on some night before the society existed? Well, what's the difference between any Sherlock Holmes society meeting and that same set of people gathered for any other social evening, as often happens with one's local friends who might happen to be Sherlockians? It's all just a question of scale, really.
So keep an eye on your Thursday nights. You may not think you're an Elementary fan, the sort of person to join the Thursday Night Elementals. But you wind up walking past an East coast television turned to CBS during the 10 o'clock hour, or one in the Midwest between nine and ten, etc., and the *POOF!* instant member of the Thursday Night Elementals. Now that's an inclusive society.
I'll start getting your membership card made up.
(And, oh, yes: Mr. Elementary. I will persist in the use of that honorific, of course. That title lifts the show's main character up, unmistakably, from any other consulting detective using that common name "Sherlock Holmes," separating him from the pack. There can only be one Mr. Elementary, as anyone who has watched the show knows. No one is quite like him, and he is not quite like anyone else. He is, to a tea, Mr. Elementary.)
If that's all it takes to create a Sherlock Holmes society, what then could one create from seven million Elementarians and an hour of broadcast network television?
Well, if you put them all in one place, you'd get something either like Switzerland or Bulgaria, or maybe Honduras, on an off night. Seven million is "national population" sized numbers. But, thanks to those happy people at Neilsen, we don't have to round them all up in some European land or Central American republic to get a find out just where they are. On Thursday nights, they're at home, in front of their television sets, tuning in the formerly titled Columbia Broadcasting System.
And I am, all too often, one of that legion. John Foster, of the Harpooners' Blog, has conjectured that I am becoming a fan of Elementary, but being an old school Sherlockian, I could never quite feel entirely like a true fan unless I belonged to a society of some sort. So in order to help John's cause along, and perhaps move myself a few microns more toward Elementary fandom, I am going to propose we build an Elementarian society around the place I'm currently sitting in relationship to the show.
That society will be called, quite naturally, the Thursday Night Elementals, paying homage to the regular viewer of that show as no other title could. (You're welcome to come up with your own society name and form a scion of the Thursday Night Elementals, of course.) And rather than attempt to come up with rigorous criteria for member traits, as some clubs do, the Thursday Night Elementals has but one membership requirement: You watch Elementary on Thursday night on CBS. At some point.
No pressure at all on the membership to dress up, sweat over creating a clever enough toast, or cough up banquet fees. In fact, the Thursday Night Elementals is so low pressure that you don't even have to expend the mental energy to recognize that you belong to the club . . . precious brainpower that can now be used to savor the adventures of Mr. Elementary and Joan Watson on Thursday nights.
Now, how does the existence of the Thursday Night Elementals make the world any different from the same seven million watching Elementary on some night before the society existed? Well, what's the difference between any Sherlock Holmes society meeting and that same set of people gathered for any other social evening, as often happens with one's local friends who might happen to be Sherlockians? It's all just a question of scale, really.
So keep an eye on your Thursday nights. You may not think you're an Elementary fan, the sort of person to join the Thursday Night Elementals. But you wind up walking past an East coast television turned to CBS during the 10 o'clock hour, or one in the Midwest between nine and ten, etc., and the *POOF!* instant member of the Thursday Night Elementals. Now that's an inclusive society.
I'll start getting your membership card made up.
(And, oh, yes: Mr. Elementary. I will persist in the use of that honorific, of course. That title lifts the show's main character up, unmistakably, from any other consulting detective using that common name "Sherlock Holmes," separating him from the pack. There can only be one Mr. Elementary, as anyone who has watched the show knows. No one is quite like him, and he is not quite like anyone else. He is, to a tea, Mr. Elementary.)
Nigel Bruce's day.
It was a happy thing to be reminded of Nigel Bruce's birthday this morning, by a tweet from @CanadianHolmes. Perhaps it's just my generation, but I've always had a big soft spot for his lovable "boobus Britannicus" Watson.
As much as one might decry Nigel Bruce's character's departure from Canon, his addle-headed Watson is simply a comic portrayal like all those wacky-yet-lovable nerds that sitcoms are currently finding so useful, taking one of our less-awful mental stereotypes and working our prejudices for laughs. (Yes, yes, it all may not be as funny now, but comedy is such a personal thing that decades of time can hit its effectiveness overly hard.)
One thing I've come to appreciate Nigel Bruce's comic Watson for, in this day and age, is that because he took the hit, Basil Rathbone's Sherlock Holmes got to be pretty normal. Brilliant, yet normal. No hygiene issues, no distractingly large personality flaws, no social issues. Bruce's Watson took one for the team, and we got a healthier Sherlock Holmes for it.
One could practically chart the rise of Dr. Watson as a functional, healthy human being coinciding with the fall of his Sherlock Holmes, as I've noted here before. One of the reasons I've enjoyed BBC's Sherlock over the other most recent versions is that its Holmes and Watson both seem to share the load equally -- both being very good at who they are and what they do, yet both taking the comic foibles hit when the funny has to happen.
Nigel Bruce, however, took it all, and was just such a big lovable teddy bear of a man while doing so, a sort of charmingly befuddled uncle one wouldn't mind having at family reunions. It was a stereotype he played in more than just Sherlock Holmes movies, but at that time, with that Holmes, it just fit perfectly. Bruce wouldn't have gone with Jeremy Brett's Holmes whatsoever, Benedict Cumberbatch's Holmes would have surely killed him by accident, and as for CBS's Mr. Elementary? Well, I'd pay to see that debacle -- somehow Watson would surely wind up mistakenly putting heroin in his tea at some point.
Oddly, I could almost see Nigel Bruce's Watson fitting in with Robert Downey Jr.'s Sherlock . . . if the old boy could keep up with all that running and jumping. Perhaps it's because Nigel Bruce just belongs on the big screen, as a larger-than-life Watson.
And today is his birthday. Raising a glass to you, N.B., even if it is the breakfast glass of milk. Good job, well done.
As much as one might decry Nigel Bruce's character's departure from Canon, his addle-headed Watson is simply a comic portrayal like all those wacky-yet-lovable nerds that sitcoms are currently finding so useful, taking one of our less-awful mental stereotypes and working our prejudices for laughs. (Yes, yes, it all may not be as funny now, but comedy is such a personal thing that decades of time can hit its effectiveness overly hard.)
One thing I've come to appreciate Nigel Bruce's comic Watson for, in this day and age, is that because he took the hit, Basil Rathbone's Sherlock Holmes got to be pretty normal. Brilliant, yet normal. No hygiene issues, no distractingly large personality flaws, no social issues. Bruce's Watson took one for the team, and we got a healthier Sherlock Holmes for it.
One could practically chart the rise of Dr. Watson as a functional, healthy human being coinciding with the fall of his Sherlock Holmes, as I've noted here before. One of the reasons I've enjoyed BBC's Sherlock over the other most recent versions is that its Holmes and Watson both seem to share the load equally -- both being very good at who they are and what they do, yet both taking the comic foibles hit when the funny has to happen.
Nigel Bruce, however, took it all, and was just such a big lovable teddy bear of a man while doing so, a sort of charmingly befuddled uncle one wouldn't mind having at family reunions. It was a stereotype he played in more than just Sherlock Holmes movies, but at that time, with that Holmes, it just fit perfectly. Bruce wouldn't have gone with Jeremy Brett's Holmes whatsoever, Benedict Cumberbatch's Holmes would have surely killed him by accident, and as for CBS's Mr. Elementary? Well, I'd pay to see that debacle -- somehow Watson would surely wind up mistakenly putting heroin in his tea at some point.
Oddly, I could almost see Nigel Bruce's Watson fitting in with Robert Downey Jr.'s Sherlock . . . if the old boy could keep up with all that running and jumping. Perhaps it's because Nigel Bruce just belongs on the big screen, as a larger-than-life Watson.
And today is his birthday. Raising a glass to you, N.B., even if it is the breakfast glass of milk. Good job, well done.
Tuesday, February 3, 2015
The show that we're seeing but not watching.
Are we over the Sherlock teases yet?
We're getting to the point where we separate the serious fans of the BBC show from the average viewer, I suspect, as when I saw the latest teaser leaked out (this one "officially," as opposed to the Setlock stuff), my first thought was, "Yeah, yeah, call me when you're going to put something on television."
I mean, there was a time when enthusiasm ran high, when there were questions to be answered, and it all seemed like there was a game to it somewhere in there.
But now that we've been seeing bits and pieces of a Victorian version of the modern version of the Victorian tales since filming began, that cat's out of the bag and the questions, "Is it a dream, a hoax, an alternate reality?" quit being interesting when DC Comics used them up on "imaginary" Superman stories in the 1960s.
There are some dedicated fans out there, and it'll be fun to see just who they are as the more faddy folk drop away. Sherlock love is starting to transition from sprint to marathon, and only those with steady endurance or true fanaticism will remain running alongside the hansom cab that this year's Christmas special seems to be becoming. (And if people thought that wedding episode was a change in tone they didn't like . . .)
For now, Sherlock is the show that we're seeing but not watching. Whether that proves to be a good thing this time around shall be interesting.
We're getting to the point where we separate the serious fans of the BBC show from the average viewer, I suspect, as when I saw the latest teaser leaked out (this one "officially," as opposed to the Setlock stuff), my first thought was, "Yeah, yeah, call me when you're going to put something on television."
I mean, there was a time when enthusiasm ran high, when there were questions to be answered, and it all seemed like there was a game to it somewhere in there.
But now that we've been seeing bits and pieces of a Victorian version of the modern version of the Victorian tales since filming began, that cat's out of the bag and the questions, "Is it a dream, a hoax, an alternate reality?" quit being interesting when DC Comics used them up on "imaginary" Superman stories in the 1960s.
There are some dedicated fans out there, and it'll be fun to see just who they are as the more faddy folk drop away. Sherlock love is starting to transition from sprint to marathon, and only those with steady endurance or true fanaticism will remain running alongside the hansom cab that this year's Christmas special seems to be becoming. (And if people thought that wedding episode was a change in tone they didn't like . . .)
For now, Sherlock is the show that we're seeing but not watching. Whether that proves to be a good thing this time around shall be interesting.
Sunday, February 1, 2015
Immortal detective, immortal fandom?
As I was drifting off to sleep last night, I was thinking about Gunsmoke fans.
What, you've never heard of Gunsmoke, the cowboy drama that ran on CBS television for the entirety of my childhood? Well, good for you, you lucky soul! That means the Grim Reaper isn't nearly as close on your heels as he is on mine. I'd happily forget about Gunsmoke to add the number of years in your future to mine.
I mean, c'mon, part of my past and all, but it wasn't that good a show.
The point I want to make here is that like Sherlock Holmes, Gunsmoke had its fans.
Unlike Sherlock Holmes, about thirty years from now, Gunsmoke probably isn't going to have hardly any fans.
If I stroll into any venue and start speaking of a love of Gunsmoke, a judgment is quickly going to be made by anyone who recognizes the reference: "Oh, you're that old." If I do the same thing with Sherlock Holmes? Well, if the graying hair, aging skin, and middle-aged paunch are somehow obscured, nobody is going to immediately know just how old I am. Because thanks to the latest revival, we have Sherlock Holmes fans of all ages.
Heck, if I squee about Benedict Cumberbatch, as I am apt to do anyway, I might even pass for a whole lot younger than I am.
Back when we used to celebrate Sherlock Holmes being miraculously alive after a hundred years or so of life, as that was still in the realm of possibility, his longevity was attributed to things like "Royal Jelly" from his bees. And as much as I sometimes gripe about the cranky old bastards of Sherlockiana, of which I seem to have become one, there is something about the essence of Sherlock Holmes that gives us a longer life as fans.
Do Sherlockians live longer than the average human? Well, our subset of humanity is so small that no one has found value in doing such a study as yet, and there are so many other factors involved other than just a love of Holmes (education, family income, those life perks that allow us time for pleasure reading). But as a fandom, genus Sherlockianus seems to have some staying power.
As with vampires, who claim immortality yet inevitably always die at some point, Sherlock Holmes will not carry on forever. Even if at the end of man's time in the cosmos some machine race carries the legend forward, even they will surely have a final expiration date. And all good things must come to an end at some point, even Sherlock Holmes.
Which really isn't a bad thing. Recognizing that even our fandom will one day go the way of Gusmoke should be cause for celebration -- not celebration that it will one day end (Insert mandatory Elementary reference here.) but celebration that we have it to enjoy now.
One has to dance while the music plays, whatever venue one finds one's self in. And there aren't many tunes sweeter than Sherlock Holmes to that special breed with ears to hear it.
What, you've never heard of Gunsmoke, the cowboy drama that ran on CBS television for the entirety of my childhood? Well, good for you, you lucky soul! That means the Grim Reaper isn't nearly as close on your heels as he is on mine. I'd happily forget about Gunsmoke to add the number of years in your future to mine.
I mean, c'mon, part of my past and all, but it wasn't that good a show.
The point I want to make here is that like Sherlock Holmes, Gunsmoke had its fans.
Unlike Sherlock Holmes, about thirty years from now, Gunsmoke probably isn't going to have hardly any fans.
If I stroll into any venue and start speaking of a love of Gunsmoke, a judgment is quickly going to be made by anyone who recognizes the reference: "Oh, you're that old." If I do the same thing with Sherlock Holmes? Well, if the graying hair, aging skin, and middle-aged paunch are somehow obscured, nobody is going to immediately know just how old I am. Because thanks to the latest revival, we have Sherlock Holmes fans of all ages.
Heck, if I squee about Benedict Cumberbatch, as I am apt to do anyway, I might even pass for a whole lot younger than I am.
Back when we used to celebrate Sherlock Holmes being miraculously alive after a hundred years or so of life, as that was still in the realm of possibility, his longevity was attributed to things like "Royal Jelly" from his bees. And as much as I sometimes gripe about the cranky old bastards of Sherlockiana, of which I seem to have become one, there is something about the essence of Sherlock Holmes that gives us a longer life as fans.
Do Sherlockians live longer than the average human? Well, our subset of humanity is so small that no one has found value in doing such a study as yet, and there are so many other factors involved other than just a love of Holmes (education, family income, those life perks that allow us time for pleasure reading). But as a fandom, genus Sherlockianus seems to have some staying power.
As with vampires, who claim immortality yet inevitably always die at some point, Sherlock Holmes will not carry on forever. Even if at the end of man's time in the cosmos some machine race carries the legend forward, even they will surely have a final expiration date. And all good things must come to an end at some point, even Sherlock Holmes.
Which really isn't a bad thing. Recognizing that even our fandom will one day go the way of Gusmoke should be cause for celebration -- not celebration that it will one day end (Insert mandatory Elementary reference here.) but celebration that we have it to enjoy now.
One has to dance while the music plays, whatever venue one finds one's self in. And there aren't many tunes sweeter than Sherlock Holmes to that special breed with ears to hear it.
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