A really bad Sherlock Holmes game

I always admire those better angels of the internet who strive to remain positive and not just spend their on-line time complaining about every little thing. And as a Sherlockian (or a Watsonian), one also wants to help spread the influence of Sherlock Holmes and John Watson by encouraging others to take part in anything revolving around our favorite detection team. So what does one say when one encounters a truly failed effort to create a Sherlock Holmes product, sold by a major retailer, that one would like to warn folks about?

"Truly failed," of course, is my opinion, and one might expect that there will be others who disagree upon that point for a work like a book, a movie, etc. But what about a game?

A game must be playable, must be enjoyable, must . . . like any mechanical device, because games do have mechanics . . . function. And I guess this one does function. The way it's packaged into a little square box is very nicely done, and it was fun to open and anticipate playing. It's $12.95 price tag is affordable and makes it an easy buy. But when you start to play it?

The cases that Sherlock is presenting John with, and that we are supposed to solve, seem to break down into a few categories: math problems, a classic riddle sort of trick, and insanely complicated tales that you are supposed to psychically predict with no evidence to get you there. 

The good Carter and I have a couple of puzzle games that we enjoy, which present you with problems to solve that can be horrendously hard, but are at least fair play puzzles. But when this game brought us the mystery of a woman whose brother disappeared after returning to his hotel room for the night, like he or his hotel room never even existed, and we were to somehow intuit that during the night the entire hotel staff found he had typhoid and arranged his disappearance so as not to hurt the tourism trade . . . well, that was the point we realized it would take us a marathon playing session to finish this supposed 30 minute game.

And since we were playing with our favorite FBI agent, who worked her way up the ladder from forensics, I don't think it was a lack of investigatory abilities that prompted our frustration with the game. (Sorry if that was a bit of a humble brag, but one has to be proud of family. Especially when they excel. But back to this game which didn't do so well.)

But, like I said, $12.95 during the Christmas season, Barnes & Noble, you might just see it as a Christmas gift. Just don't get your hopes up about playing this one. Track down "Moriarty's Web" instead. Oh, and since I'm trying not to be too negative, nor have the game's designer see this and get their feelings hurt by not mentioning its name, here's a mug shot of the culprit:

How good is the movie "Holmes and Watson?" (November 2019 edition!)

At some point this afternoon, I was pondering how I was going to drag myself to the end of an overlong, over-dull workday. Things were just not looking good. Only trivial tasks left, feeling unmotivated, too much leftover Halloween candy sitting nearby . . . a horrible combo. And then something wonderful happened.

This week's episode of The Final Podblem showed up on my iPhone. And, as promised, the boys were varying from their steady diet of Doylean Canon for the very first time to do an episode on a movie. And what movie, you ask? Well, only the best Sherlock Holmes movie in the mental multiiverse we call Sherlock Peoria. You know the one:

Holmes and Watson. The best Sherlock Holmes movie in theaters in 2019.

A great podcast covering a great movie? My day was turning around. Better still, they were actually doing a 97 minute podcast about a movie that is only 90 minutes long! Nothing left on the movie review floor! What could go wrong?

SPOILER ALERT! NOTHING!

While I love their takes on Canon, getting Nick and Casey to go on about Holmes and Watson, the movie I saw six times while it was in theaters, and multiple times after that? This was the best!

And here's the best part: They thought it was a bad movie!

Yes, from square one they agree with so many folks that Holmes and Watson was a bad movie. And yet, they appreciate so many moments of the movie, so many components of the movie, so many aspects of the movie, performances by John C. Reilly and Lauren Lapkus (who gets the "Huxtable" award for this episode for her portrayal of the feral Millie), and the sheer visual beauty of it, that they aren't even hating on it for not making them laugh as much as they thought it should.

They celebrate its left field humor, come up with at different end to the donkey-kiss scene that would have worked ("mass child fight scene"), and actually tie Watson's taking out Brawn Strohman with a chair to his attempt to hit Charles Augustus Milverton with a chair in Canon. They definitely paid attention.

And here's the thing of it: They might say they're glad there won't be a sequel and that they don't think anyone should watch this, but I still came away from the podcast feeling like they kind of liked it. I kind of think they didn't. They imply time and again, that maybe they didn't. But like the best podcasts, they're very thoughtful in walking through the movie and are more positive than negative, even on a movie they might not like. But I am the sort of Holmes and Watson fanatic that will believe you really liked it even if you show the slightest positive reaction.

But The Final Podblem has a good time with Holmes and Watson, which is a key to podcasting, as so many of the larger fish in the podcast pond demonstrate all the time, be it How Did This Get Made?, My Favorite Murder, or a host of others. There's always a touch of comedy, but it's the feeling that the people behind the microphones are actually enjoying what they're doing that is the true charm. And I think Nick and Casey pulled it off with this one.

Good episode, at a good moment for some podcast fun. Looking forward to them taking on other Holmes movies in the future, and no longer quite as concerned that they're going to give up Holmes completely after sixty episodes. There is just so much of him out there.

And just because I have to say it: Holmes and Watson, the movie that's so good, even a podcast by two guys who might not have liked it comes up roses! (Hmm, I know Christmas Day is full of stuff already, but I might have to celebrate the one year anniversary of the movie's release.)

P.S. Hope I didn't just negate a positive review by demonstrating that I might be mad as a hatter. But regular readers of this blog are used to that.

Just write

It's November 3rd.

National Novel Writing Month has been upon us for three days, and I've already hit my fifth plan of what to do with that high holy month of many a scribe. I finally signed into the NaNoWriMo site and familiarized myself with the current toolset, which I didn't think I really needed this year, but then again . . .

But here's the thing I really struggled with this year: Why should I write anything at all? Or, to put it more specifically, why should I write anything more than this ongoing bloggarhea that I can't seem to help but do, with that somewhat narcissistic purpose of keeping a public Sherlockian diary? And a novel? Don't we have enough of those, especially by aged white male heterosexuals who aren't really the folks that the average reader seems to want to read these days?

Let me sink fully into the despair part of this little diatribe before we begin its rising motion. Do you know what makes me never want to write again whenever I pass through its doors? Barnes and Noble. There are just so many books in the average Barnes and Noble that I totally lose interest in producing yet another one. We seem to have more books than any of us can read. What hasn't been written about? What story hasn't been told?

Well, plenty of them, actually. But . . . Sherlock Holmes. Sherlock frackin' Holmes. I am but an asteroid in the belt of fannish orbit around that celestial body, and I'm happy there. I like writing about Sherlock Holmes and John Watson. But when they were originally written about by the greatest of those who write about them, and then written about by many other great talents since, well, again, a real motivation killer. And the market for . . . .

Yeeks, that word "market." The word "market" is something for business, not writing. True, like any other good or service, someone hoping to be in the business of exchanging words for money must take that into consideration. The National Bureau of Labor Statistics tells me that there were less than 2,000 people employed as writers in Illinois in 2018, and they almost all seem to be in the Chicago or St. Louis area. Those folks can be concerned about markets.

As I roll into my seventh decade of life (That's the sixties, y'all. Seventies aren't here quite yet.), I really don't have any hopes and dreams of great writing success,  like those youthful hopes of getting someone to notice that you the different duck in the herd, deserving a larger platform. The illusions have all been washed away by the years, and yet, and yet, I still write. I still write. And write.

I actually had to force myself to quit writing today, long enough to write this. (Does that even make sense?) I had to force myself to quit writing so I could write some podcast, as well. I seem to have the opposite of writer's block this year, and I'll tell you why.

The project that finally clicked into place for NaNoWriMo this year was a Sherlock Holmes related novel that I absolutely and positively do not give a fuck about. Well . . . other than that it gets completed. I don't care what it winds up being about, I don't care if anyone ever finishes reading it, though I imagine someone will surely start. So far it seems to be a Netflix series that's streaming out of my head and I'm doing a full binge. Crazy? You betcha. Once that becomes a part of your brand, you might as well embrace it.

So here is my one bit of writerly advice for those of you out there wanting to get writing on some future challenge like National Novel Writing Month: Play around until you find that thing that you just can't stop writing about. Don't force yourself on a death march for some drab idea you think someone else will approve of, unless there's ready cash in it. Somebody else can take care of those.

Writing, at its best, is just plain fun. Have you some. (And try the Comic Sans thing -- it's hard to take yourself too seriously when writing in Comic Sans, and that offers freedom you don't get when your words look like they're already in a printed book.)

Sherlockian saints

Happy All Saints Day, the day that all saints are honored!

Unlike more organized religions, Sherlockiana does not keep official records of its saints, nor have a nomination process for same, miracle requirements, etc. But we have saints nonetheless, whether it is our virtuous late members of the fandom or the kind and patient living folk that make all our lives so much more pleasant.

Sometimes it's the simple things, like a couple of fellows who regularly contribute to a podcast week-in and week-out, or sometimes it's the lasting memory of a Sherlockian known for a lifetime of generosity and encouragement. The tireless efforts of those who toil in the Sherlockian fields for our relatively small audience, for decades, are definitely up in that rank . . . even if they have a bad moment and get nasty for a minute or two and we're still pissed off at them about . . . oh, excuse me. Got a little off my happy thought for a moment.

Yes, Sherlockian saints, those lovely people who put on the events that let us get away from our workaday lives for a weekend to exist in, as Doyle used in a title "The Country of the Saints." (And, fortunately, we never have to spend those weekends discussing that part of our Canon.)

Outside of A Study in Scarlet, "saints" is mentioned one other place in said Canon, The Hound of the Baskervilles, where the ancient manuscript reads:

" . . . he was a most wild, profance, and godless man. This, in truth, his neighbors might have pardoned, seeing that saints never flourished in those parts, but there was in him a certain wanton and cruel humour which made his name a byword throughout the West."

Saints do flourish in these parts we call Sherlockiana, at least the level of saint that I know best. So today's a good day to let one's mind wander along and mentally visit those we have known over the years, passed and present. And maybe even offer a word of thanks, speaking of which . . .

Thanks for reading these little essays, this diary of a Sherlockian who can't seem to stop writing. Were you not here, my particular Sherlockian malady might make me continue to do this, but it's comforting to know that a few folks get some value out of it as well. You're saints in that ephemeral place I call Sherlock Peoria, even if you don't get a statue in a cathedral for it.

How Sherlock and John became (in some universes) friends

Over the last decade, Johnlock writers have pretty much explored every possible way that Sherlock Holmes and John H. Watson could become lovers. I know, "every possible way' might seem a bit hyperbolic, but it's darned close to the truth. Compare that to, in the previous hundred years, how little Sherlockians explored how the two men just became friends, and one realizes how little we think about that basic, yet important, relationship we call "friendship."

Some of us love to look at Sherlock Holmes and explore the similarities we find between the legend and ourselves, but this morning, as I was considering the co-workers I've become close to over the years, I suddenly found myself looking back at Sherlock Holmes and John H. Watson.

(Here is the point in the blog where two things usually happen, and they are going to here: a.) I have to stop and go to work, and b.) I wonder for a moment why I don't save this and write it up for a journal or something. Off I go. Back soon, because I don't have the patience to wait for journal acceptance and publication -- an ironic flaw, given that I'm now editing a journal.)

One of the most common trails to friendship is shared interests. Sherlockiana is a grand grease on the wheels of interpersonal relationships, but how do we get there when there are no shared common interests? How do we get to be friends with someone whom our normal screening processes would judge "not friend material" and cross those lines of "Trekkie versus NFL fan" or "Fundy versus Free Spirit?" We're facing that question a lot of late, as we see ourselves more and more categorized and labelled, fenced off in our little paddocks.

When you look at Sherlock Holmes and John H. Watson, what did they really have in common? They both had a bit of medical training, but beyond that? The military man and the "making up my profession" artist? The "women of three continents" dude and the seeming asexual with a touch of misogyny? Sure, we can shave off some edges, and shift our viewpoints, but these were not two guys who were going to naturally decide to be friends and just start going to Norman-Neruda concerts together after a chance meeting. Nobody talks about "friendship at first sight" all that much. What friendships get based on most quickly is shared experience.

And it doesn't even have to be an intense, life-or-death shared experience. When you shove two people into a box for an extended period of time, be it an apartment, a shared office, prison cell, what-have-you, if they're not working as hard as possible to ignore each other, they can't help but start to learn about each other, start to understand a bit about each other, relate to each other . . . and if neither one is just entirely awful . . . become friends.

Maybe not best buddies. Maybe not life-long pals. But just friends.

In those universes where Sherlock Holmes and John H. Watson are just friends, their shared adventures may have deepened their friendship, but it was not what sowed the seeds. That came from just existing in the same space for a goodly amount of time, forced to see what the other was about, develop trust, and accept each other into their lives. Because John H. Watson was forced to share rooms with Sherlock Holmes, he came to know what an amazing person Sherlock was . . . a strange guy he wouldn't have dwelled too long upon without that time in each other's space.

Sometimes, with some of us, that's just what it takes to open our eyes to the grand qualities that a person so different from us has to offer. Like Sherlock Holmes and John Watson, we're not always social butterflies making friends wherever we go. Sometimes, the universe just puts us in a virtual 221B Baker Street with some stranger that we then get to be surprised and delighted by.

And, as with Holmes and Watson, that can be a very good thing, even if we don't become a legendary mystery-solving team. Getting a friend you might not otherwise have had is reward enough.

Sherlock Holmes's greatest quality

"What is it that we love about Sherlock Holmes?" the classic fandom question goes, and our answers are many. The mysteries to solve, the Baker Street base, the wit, the friendship . . . so many answers. And yet, at his core, Sherlock Holmes has one quality that is what makes us love him best: Sherlock Holmes is who we imagine him to be.

Conan Doyle laid the tracks for our mental train of thought to run Sherlock Holmes along, this is true. But adaptations, favorite ships, actor portayals, the never-ending supply of new Sherlock Holmes stories -- all of these tell us a different story. While Conan Doyle laid the tracks, we're all running entirely different trains down those tracks.

Some of us may agree on similarities between our mental Sherlock-trains enough to think they're the same at times, but are any two mental Holmeses exactly alike? Not at all.

Sherlock Holmes is who we imagine him to be, each and every one of us. And that's why we love him best.

Lovers can turn out not to be who we imagined. Presidents can turn out not to be who people imagine they are. Even our fellow Sherlockians, or a Sherlockian institution like the Baker Street Irregulars, can turn out to be not what we imagined they were. That's reality. That's real people.

Sherlock Holmes, however, never proves to be anything different from what we imagine him to be.

Even if your Sherlock Holmes came to you somewhere other than Conan Doyles literary railway tracks and you never go near those lines, Sherlock Holmes will remain a happy constant, unless you decide to let him be otherwise. No one can force that choice upon you, either. No cult brainwashing or attitude adjustment camps for Sherlockian re-education exist, other than the little bumps of cultural influence.

However we came to Sherlock Holmes, the detective stays faithful to who we thought he was. Always.

When you come right down to it, I think that is what we really love best about Sherlock Holmes. He's there for us, being who we need when we need it. Inspiration, entertainment, and . . . just . . . well, Sherlock freakin' Holmes.

Long may he run.

Letting the Sherlockian spring breeze in

In the past week, two of the Sherlockian activities I've enjoyed tremendously were our local library discussion group and the Final Podblem podcast. It's easy not to stop and ponder why such regular events give us joy beyond "Sherlock Holmes!" but a tweet from the 221B Con Homeless Network put those bits in perspective this morning.

While their message was plainly about gatekeeping, it was also about folks who don't recognize the greatest source of Sherlockian joy when they see it. 

When I say "I've been an active Sherlockian for forty years" that might seem a brag, a citing of some supposed position in the fandom, or other puffery, but there's also an aspect of that forty years that is, to state it plainly, a curse. All of the first time joys are long past. The once-fresh eyes now gloss over things they might have once caught. Some names bring back decades-old prejudices that can spoil what might have been a good moment. And, worst of all, you can never go back. The magic spells of the past don't always fire in the present.

However, as I said at the start, I have found joy of late in what Sherlockians who are so much newer to the fandom have to say. They have fresh eyes. They don't get a thing or two right at times, but that's okay -- even mistakes can lead to fresh perspectives when considering how a new Sherlockian might see that old familiar thing you know too well.

New Sherlockians often have a bit of an identity crisis when they look at the filled bookshelf of Sherlock books of an elder Sherlockian, sometimes thinking they don't measure up. But what they don't realize is the journey that elder Sherlockian took to get all those books, starting from where the new Sherlockian is now. And how almost all of us would take that journey again, given the chance.

But after forty years in the hobby, one can't take that journey again, as much as one would like. The best we can do is watch someone else enjoy that ride, and you can't do that if you're constantly critiquing it for not being the exact same ride you took, decades ago. I get tired of hearing myself say "It's a whole new world!" but it so much is. And there is so much coolness going on in this world, so many Sherlockian joys that we didn't have forty years ago, so many new paths to explore . . . and guess what? Sometimes the guides for those paths are Sherlockians whose mental backpacks are still lightweight and not filled with crap to slow them down. Sometimes, the old bones have to follow the young energies. (And I'm not even talking about actual age here -- an Sherlockian who is new to the field and is older in age than I can lead an exploration as well.)

Don't ever close the doors and shutter the windows when the breezes of fresh Sherlock start to blow. Or at least open them up in the spring, which, curiously enough, is when 221B Con happens each year. 

And with winter coming on, I'm very much looking forward to that breeze already.