Hate-watcher on trial.

Ladies and gentlemen of the jury, my client has been accused of the crime of hate-watching.

You might not be familiar with the term "hate-watching," as it has not been long on the books. Wikipedia describes it as "a neologism for watching a television show while simultaneously hating its content or subject." Google, on the other hand, describes "hate-watch" as follows: "watch (a television program) for the sake of the enjoyment one derives from mocking or criticizing it." As you can see, since this is a fairly new term, we, as a culture, have not completely settled on its definition yet.

My client, as you see him here, is a lifelong follower of Sherlock Holmes, raised among the Sherlockian faithful during a time before expressing a negative opinion upon a particular theatrical adaptation of that classic character became a hurtful attack upon anyone who stumbled into a critical review that disagreed with their own opinion. He also came into his Sherlockian majority during that era when the followers of Sherlock Holmes took great pride in considering Holmes as a real person, a historical character if you will, who existed before any actor took the stage endeavoring to counterfeit that illustrious personage.

A more political man might describe a particular Sherlock-related entertainment as a "boring example," one "that painstakingly want(s) to be original Holmes, but are made with such a lack of love that they surely miss the goal" and is "mainly just constructed mystery plots with an investigating cliche duo in the middle." Such a critic might wisely not identify the source material he is speaking about in the middle of broadly expressing his love of another Holmes adaptation and go scott-free of any accusation of wrongdoing. But my client, ladies and gentlemen, my client is no such wisely political man.

He once described being a Sherlockian collector as using a "vacuum" approach -- taking in anything that came his way that had anything to do with Sherlock Holmes. Yes, my friends, there was a time in our distant past when a man or woman could do that on a middle-class income, as hard as that is to imagine now. A time when a Sherlockian expressed his or her love of Holmes by gathering up any item with a deerstalker or featuring a character named "Irene Adler" or "Grimesby Roylott" despite the quality or actual pertinence of said thing to Sherlock Holmes. It was a different time, a time before the world-wide popularity of the legendary Cumberbatch, before Etsy, before CafePress, before all those T-shirt sites started producing items custom-designed to stimulate fannish cravings.

As a Sherlockian collector used to taking in all things Sherlock-related, what was my client supposed to do when a particular television company began to air a show with a character named "Sherlock Holmes" featured throughout? Plainly, the makers of the show wanted people who loved Sherlock Holmes to watch their show, to give them a ready-made audience, or else they wouldn't have named their main character "Sherlock Holmes." If I give a child a kidney pie and tell them it's a doughnut, I'm probably trying to get that child to eat a kidney pie knowing they like doughnuts. And that child, that poor innocent child, will trustingly take a bite before realizing that what they've been served is not a doughnut at all.

"Ah, yes," you might say, "but once that child takes a bite, they realize the ruse and will cease to eat the kidney pie."

But what if the world only has real doughnuts once every two years, and the kidney pie is served weekly, being called a doughnut every time? Will not this poor child who loves their doughnuts so, try that faux doughnut a second time? Might he not continue to eat the kidney pie as research to prove to that this so-named "doughnut" is kidney pie after all?

Ladies and gentlemen, we live in a time when the term "hater" is thrown around as commonly as references to Adolph Hitler when differences occur. And as with the Hitler references, using the word "hate" in reference to another is typically an attempt to villify them, to make the "hater" a villain who is predisposed to the practice of evil. And once something is tossed in that "evil" category, we no longer have to consider its merits, do we? It's evil and will one day burn in hell, so we no longer have to consider that said point of view might just have a valid point or two.

We all watch plays, movies, or television shows that we find fault in, even after we spot the faults sometimes. The kids want to watch that silly cartoon. The spouse wants to watch that over-the-top drama. One's fellow Sherlockians want to watch a dull procedural. No one is stopping any of those folks we care about from watching their favorite shows. And occasionally, we might find ourselves in a situation where we watch along with them, out of concern for what they're taking in.

Does that make us Adolph Hitler for not enjoying said thing as much as they do?

Of course not.

Ladies and gentlemen of the jury, I'm asking you today to throw out this ridiculous charge of "hate-watching," for not just my client, but all of the accused. Perhaps I have gone overlong in my remarks, perhaps I have strained a metaphor, or overcomplicated my arguments. But in the end, I hope you have seen the simple, even elementary, reasons for a verdict of innocent.

I rest my case.

Appreciating Dorothy Leigh Sayers.

For some reason, I decided to pick Unpopular Opinions by Dorothy Sayers off the bookshelf last night for a read. I've always liked that title, for one, being a spouter of certain unpopular opinions myself, and am, at this juncture, finding an even more splendid perspective in reading it.

After another healthy dose of Benedict Cumberbatch, one always sees a few comments from elder male Sherlockians dismissing female Holmes fans almost entirely for the large enthusiasm for the current screen Sherlock. Going back and reading Dorothy Sayers kicking Sherlockian scholarship ass in the 1930s, admiring her detailed reasoning and ability to call her Sherlockian peers on their faulty conclusions, one has a rock-solid reminder that the notion that gender discrimination belongs nowhere in the cult of Sherlock Holmes fandom.

Sayers' works collected in Unpopular Opinions, "Holmes' College Career," "Dr. Watson's Christian Name," "Dr. Watson, Widower," "The Dates in The Red-Headed League," and "Aristotle on Detective Fiction" were written in the prime of Sherlockian scholarship, some as early as 1934. She gave us Dr. Watson's best middle name, to oh-so-perfect "Hamish." She was a part of the original Sherlock Holmes Society of London at a time when their New York counterparts weren't exactly sure where they stood on female Irregulars. (Ever consider how one of the first "female" contributors to the BSJ was Morley's "Jane Nightwork"? Thank God he wasn't Norm MacDonald or we'd have been saddled with "Jane Crackwhore.") But I digress . . . .

. . . or do I? Also included in Unpopular Opinions is Sayers' talk "Are Women Human?" a fascinating take on women's rights that is still worth reading today. Sayers was a great thinker (do we have great thinkers any more?) and goes deep in considering the many aspects of an issue, whether it was a serious matter like a woman's place in society or something frivolous like Sherlock Holmes's choice of college.

Looking back on a day when a long, well-considered paper on Holmes was more common than four hundred word blog posts on our friend Sherlock gives one a sense of perspective to start with, but there is so much more to see when one goes back to our Sherlockian predecessors and their assorted works. It is definitely a trip worth taking, now and then.

The unicorn horn of positivity.

All Sherlock is good Sherlock to someone.

Even if it's just the person who created it. Even if that person only saw ten minutes of "Hands of a Murderer" and were so impressed by Edward Woodward that they turned off the movie and just started writing. Even if they weren't quite sure that the toaster was not invented in 1885.

Because all Sherlock is good Sherlock . . . to someone.

It doesn't matter what their reason is for loving Sherlock. It doesn't matter what their motive is for their involvement. It doesn't matter how far they've taken it.

Because all Sherlock is good Sherlock.

To Someone.

And all of us. Every single one of us. Enjoys those three syllables.

Sher. Lock. Holmes.

Just keep to that, you'll be all right.

Yes.

And now, a palate cleanser . . . that other TV show.

"Arthur Conan Doyle’s detective is absolutely everywhere on television, in ancestral DNA if not always in name (although of course there is also Elementary, though that tends to feel like a descendant who was named in honour of his grandfather)."

-- David Berry, "Why network television loves Sherlock Holmes," National Post

Now that Sherlock has established that you can do just about anything in Sherlock Holmes's mind palace with the right combination of pharmaceuticals, we have a whole new way to appreciate CBS's Elementary. It could be Sherlock Canon, if it takes place in Cumberbatch Holmes's mind, too, as he imagines his Victorian self's descendants living in the modern world.

Things have just gotten to be that strange.

So what's Sherlock Sherlock's imaginary past self's grandson Sherlock up to this week? And what about Sherlock Sherlock's imaginary past self's son, Morland? Let's look in on them, shall we?

Grover Ogden is apparently the Arthur Conan Doyle of Elementary world, we learned tonight, just before a gory wood-chipper moment. He's writing about Mr. Elementary and Joan under different names in a novel called The Heart Bled Blue. Gregson's sister is even reading it.

Wait! "Grover Ogden" is Joan's father, Henry Watson. (Sherlock Sherlock's imaginary past self's friend John's son? So does that make "Arthur Conan Doyle" the mind palace pen name of Sherlock's mental Victorian John Watson? Curse you, mind palace head trips!)

Side note: somehow a fellow in India has reviewed this episode on IMDB before it ever aired here, and the fact that he's calling Lucy Liu too wooden when tonight she really isn't at all, along with some other comments, make me wonder.

Elephant dung coffee.

"I am the basis for several characters, across multiple media," or something like that, Mr. Elementary says as he sips said beverage. He's taking the mind palace rabbit hole to a whole new level . . . claiming Monk, House, Psych, The Mentalist, even . . . Sherlock?  Bad enough that Christmas special left us wondering whether one Cumberbatch was a figment of the other, or vice versa, but now a BBC Sherlock inspired by Mr. Elementary?

Who needs drugs to get their mind a little bent with all this going on? If Mr. Elementary goes to sleep and dreams of Robert Downey Jr., I'm running into the streets singing "Columbine's New-fangled Banner!"

This week's mystery is pretty creepy on a lot of levels, and one of Elementary's better ones, sensational as always, but with a bit more life to it than previous seasons. The solution seems a bit obvious at about the thirty-five minute mark, but that's okay. Plenty of creepy left in getting there.

Wait a minute . . . speaking of creepy, it just sunk in that Henry Watson wrote a novel where his daughter is having sex with her detective friend. "I missed you, Joanie. That's the real reason I wrote about you." Why did I have to have that thought just before he said that? Why?

And speaking of creepy, Papa Morland Holmes, with his moment of evil in the last seconds of the previous episode, has been noticeably absent this week.

Oooooh, the devious Bagginses tricked me, they did! The real villain of this piece feels a lot like . . . oh, this episode "Miss Taken" is all about daughters, isn't it? And if a certain actress is currently too busy with a hit HBO show, a horror movie out this weekend, etc., then perhaps we have one more daughter here.

Nice.

This has been one trippy week all around -- they say that a high tide raises all boats -- perhaps all the excitement over the Sherlock Christmas special will buoy Elementary's ratings this week as well.

"There is an element of self-worship in almost all Sherlock fans — only the truly clever among us can appreciate such a clever man cleverly getting his clever on all over the place." 

-- David Berry, "Why network television loves Sherlock Holmes," National Post

Forgiving "Abominable Bride," the big screen experience.

Let's face it, even M. Night Shyamalan can't do M. Night Shyamalan any more.

There was a prime moment when that Shyamalan plot-twist-out-of-nowhere made his name and made you want to go back and re-watch his films to see all the details you had missed, the clues to the sharp turn you never saw coming, but were delighted in. But even he couldn't keep that pace up. Why was I thinking of Shyamalan tonight? Not because of the twist -- because of that re-watch his early movies made so enjoyable. One watch to be surprised, one re-watch to see all the clues you missed.

When I first saw Sherlock's "The Abominable Bride" on New Year's Day eve, I was hit by a different sort of plot twist out of nowhere . . . one that wasn't all that delightful. Instead of a happy "Wow, they pulled that trick off with such skill!" my reaction was, "What? Why did they ruin it with that?" I spent the next four days thinking of the Sherlock special as damaged goods.

But, being a Sherlockian means devotion to our man Sherlock, and devotion means sometimes doing things that aren't your first impulse. Like watching three full seasons of Elementary. Or paying fifteen bucks (about six more than the average Peoria evening ticket price) to see a TV show that I just saw four days ago. Sherlock Holmes is in theaters so infrequently that I think if Fathom Events put an episode of Elementary in a theater for one night, I'd pay fifteen bucks and go see that . . . just because I'm a devout Sherlockian.

Yeah. I know.

So I paid my fifteen bucks tonight, plus another twelve for popcorn and Coke (the drink for a Sherlock Holmes film), and went to watch "The Abominable Bride" for a second time.

First, big kudos to Fathom Events for their presentation -- Holmes trivia on-screen all during the pre-show, limited promotional ads, a little Moffet-led "Tour of 221B" before the episode and a "Sherlock Special" cast interview show after it. I really felt like I got my money's worth, and want to go see some of their other events.

But back to that "Abominable Bride." Watching it a second time, knowing all the tricks to come, knowing that when those odd words "a virus in the data" come out, why they're there, it was a much better experience. Sure, there is a whole prologue of Watson narration up until the point Sherlock declares his purpose in the case that makes absolutely no sense when you know what's going on . . . it's still a flawed episode, yes . . . but there is just so much worthwhile content in the damned thing that I think it will one day be one of the most beloved episodes of the show.

When I wasn't busy having my head angrily spinning at the twisty-turn bits this time, the Reichenbach Falls scene was something I looked forward to, and loved for the message it delivered: We all have our Moriartys. We also have our Watsons. I'm going to cherish that bit, even if it's something I'm over-playing in my own mind, because over-play or not, I got it handed to me by the Sherlock team and it's a worthy message. And there were a lot of other things, just as lovely, to enjoy when you are not getting pissed off at being banged about the bus by the driver jerking the wheel a bit too much.

Like good old Swift once said (Taylor, not Johnathan), "And the haters gonna hate, hate, hate, hate, hate," and I can respect that. If you weren't much of a fan of Moffat, Cumberbatch, and company before, and were hoping for a little retro Granada-Brett homage action, WOW, was this a poisoned pill to swallow. Sorry you got lured into taking it. If you're an Elementary fan who was just looking for weakness in a Sherlock episode to be able to feel better about that show, well, good luck with that. Hold on to this moment until Elementary's eventual musical episode.

But if you like the new BBC kids at all, I think the superfans who immediately rewatched "The Abominable Bride" over and over again actually had it right. This is the one you come to love despite its faults as you hang around it a little more. It's a real treasure chest.

Tonight was a good night. I got to see a crowd of a couple hundred Sherlock fans enjoying Sherlock Holmes on a goodly sized screen in Pekin, Illinois. And maybe it's the Coca-cola talking (my own mind palace kind of gets a little wild during the rare indulgence), but tonight, I've forgiven "The Abominable Bride" all its sins and looking forward to its long and happy inclusion in the Canon of Sherlock.

Headcanon of Sherlock, even. *snort* Yeah, Coca-cola. If I knew the recipe beyond caffeine-laden cola nuts and high fructose corn syrup, I'd be putting that on my list.

Critic-proof Sherlock?

Once we attained majority internet connectivity, we gained a lot of new terminology, and among them, this one: "critic proof."

"Critic proof" usually means something that's fan base is so strong that any poor reviews by critics will not affect its sales or box office performance. It may not be the perfectly appropriate term for BBC Sherlock's "The Abominable Bride," as its largest consumer base surely saw it all at once on January 1, before any critics could say word one about it. And even now, with it's American theatrical release tonight, the critic aggregator site Rotten Tomatoes has nothing to say about it.

But the fans? Those who make a product "critic proof?"

Well, in reading their reviews, it looks like the creators of Sherlock found a new way to may their show's latest incarnation impossible to pick apart . . . at least to those who would argue in its defense.

Oh, yes . . . spoilers . . . blah, blah, blah, spoiler alert, move along now, silly people who are reading things without having seen it . . . clear? Clear.

By making the entire episode happen in Sherlock Holmes's head, any flies in the ointment can be retroactively explained by some pseudo-psychological analysis of how Holmes thinks. At least the Victorian parts. The modern day parts . . . the character bits, the odd choice to mix a dreamy drug cocktail out of whatever was on that plane (or somehow brought with for who knows what reason) . . . are a little tougher, unless you go with that Sherlock and friends existing in the mind of Victorian Sherlock. The whole episode is a bit of a rabbit hole that way . . . and an interesting contrast to what happened after Sherlock "killed himself" in "The Reichenbach Fall."

After "The Reichenbach Fall," fans spent the next two years trying to explain what they had seen, and actually affected the narrative, making no simple mechanic for Sherlock's survival by the writers a viable option. Having learned that lesson, it's almost as though, this time out, they just dumped a bunch of random data into the episode so that fans could be content spinning their wheels for the next hiatus. "The Abominable Bride" would not exist without the fan interaction with the series of the past five years. Sherlock is, of course, a series ripe with "what ifs." What if Cumberbatch and Freeman had not gotten so much attention from it, and remained fully available for filming new seasons on a regular basis? What if the fans had not worked so hard on solving "The Reichenbach Fall?" And now, what if they had done a Christmas special based in the show's regular continuity, outside of anyone's head?

No doubt, "The Abominable Bride" is a pretty piece of work. It's kind of like another critic-proof property, the Transformers movies . . . quite the extravaganza of remarkable things. Give the center mass of fans such a great big wedding cake of an entertainment, and they'll be happy. "The Abominable Bride" definitely did that. Mission accomplished. We've all got something to talk about during the long wait until . . . well, after this, God knows what. I literally have no expectations for the next season. My Sherlock mind is blown, and not in a transcendent, hippie-tripping way.

There have been those Sherlockians past who, in analyzing the original texts, theorized that after Reichenbach Falls, Sherlock Holmes was not the same man. Literally, not the same man -- a stand-in Vernet cousin brought in by Watson or something. Of course those Sherlockians past may have all been in the head of one particular Sherlockian of the 1920s. Sound familiar?

Because we've all been here before. And Sherlock Holmes has been critic-proof for a very, very long time. Just take a look at some of the Casebook stories we accept as "Canon." Nobody can blame Moffet, Gatiss, or "the Cumberbitches" for those.

So on we go . . . .

Fat Mycroft and Steve Dixie.

Having read "The Adventure of the Three Gables" not long before seeing "The Abominable Bride" this weekend, I couldn't help but see a Canonical reference that I'm pretty sure all of the "spot the reference" listers missed: the connection between Mycroft Holmes and Steve Dixie.

Steve Dixie, of "Three Gables," is something we Sherlockians don't like to talk about. An African-American comic stereotype from a bygone era. Something most of us are pretty ashamed of now, even though we had nothing to do with it.  Perhaps because there might just be a tiny bit of it left inside us, lurking. Perhaps because it lessens our history heroes like Arthur Conan Doyle, to think they were prone to such cultural faults.

And now we have obese Mycroft Holmes. I'm going to be the last person to throw the first stone on that one, being quite guilty of playing with him as a comic figure myself in Action Sherlock Brain Theater, actually using an action figure of the X-men villain called the Blob to play him. And just like I've done, "The Abominable Bride" uses him for a cartoonish glutton, eating figgy pudding after figgy pudding while Sherlock calculates how much shorter his lifespan will be with each pudding.

Perhaps we excuse the fat-joke because we feel like that actor-in-a-fat-suit extreme is something any of us could go to, given a complete lack of self-control. Our constant battle with that last five pounds would seem to make us part of the group we're making fun of, but it doesn't, really. If you've ever known anyone with a true obesity problem, if you ever had a friend die far too young due to their weight, you know better. I sure do. And yet, the occasional fat joke comes out.

Which is why I don't want to be a complete buzz-kill in the wake of the latest Sherlock and all its quirky zigs and zags. But then I think of Steve Dixie.

I'm sure Steve Dixie was just hi-larious to some folks, once upon a time. Conan Doyle would seem to have been one of those folks, at some point in his life. But now, old Steve is an embarrassing relic of our past . . . and perhaps a reminder of how we might look to some future folk one day.

Watson doesn't make fun of Mycroft for his weight. He presents his friend's brother almost objectively . . . his size, the shape of his hands, the extreme motionlessness of his lifestyle . . . but not as a comic figure. Thanks to that choice, we may not ever have to be as ashamed to find Mycroft in the original stories as we do Steve Dixie. Our own works might be a different story.

Something to think about, as we move ahead in this post-Christmas-special world.