Sherlock Holmes on Screen: “The Adventures of Sherlock Holmes” (1939)

Professor Moriarty: “My whole success depends upon a peculiarity of Holmes’s brain, its perpetual restlessness, its constant struggle to escape boredom.

Bassick: “Holmes again?”

Professor Moriarty: “Always Holmes until the end.”

The man is a music hall singer – a vaudeville performer in a gaudy jacket, adorned with large stripes in an array of undoubtedly ostentatious colors. A straw boater with a large brim, adorned with a ribbon that coordinates with his jacket, is clutched between his gloved hands, and he uses it in a variety of theatrical flourishes during his performance. He sports a handlebar mustache – complete with extravagantly curled, upturned ends – and slickly-styled hair with a pronounced side-part and subtle fingerwave along the brow. He prances energetically about the stage at a garden party, clicking his heels and leaping at appropriate intervals, as he sings a rather nasally-pitched version of the popular British music hall song, “I Do Like to Be Beside the Seaside.” The singer trills and trumpets, and drums upon his boater when the moment calls for it. As a performer, he is utterly outlandish, wildly outrageous, and completely entertaining. He is also Sherlock Holmes – sporting one of his best disguises in his long career on film.


Photo Credit: www.basilrathbone.net

However, the song itself, “I Do Like to Be Beside the Seaside,” is an anachronism. Opening credits date the plot of the film as opening on May 9, 1894, but the song Sherlock Holmes so energetically performs was not written by John A. Glover-Kind until 1907, and was not popularized by the music hall performer Mark Sheridan until 1909. Likewise the 1939 film, The Adventures of Sherlock Holmes, starring Basil Rathbone as Sherlock Holmes and Nigel Bruce as Dr. John Watson, is filled with moments that, while not necessarily anachronistic, certainly seem out of place or inconsistent. The film opens with Professor Moriarty on trial for the murder of a man named “Lorait,” but he is ultimately acquitted, much to the courtroom’s dismay. Moments later, Sherlock Holmes races into the courtroom, proclaiming that he has found incontrovertible evidence of Moriarty’s guilt. He is trailed closely by a man who never speaks a word, and is never introduced. According to Alan Barnes of Sherlock Holmes on Screen, the man was supposedly chief astronomer Dr. Gates (played by Ivan Simpson), who was meant to provide the evidence about which Holmes was so adamant. However it appears that the explanation, along with many other contextual scenes, was cut from the picture (20). According to Barnes:

“The first of three possible endings has Holmes explaining how the vengeful Mateo believed that Ann’s father had been responsible for the death of his own, and had stolen the mine that had made the Brandons rich; meanwhile, Brandon family lawyer Jerrold’s shifty behaviour had been caused by his desire to shield Ann from the truth about her dead father. None of this crucial background information is conveyed in the finished piece” (21).

There are other contextual anomalies in The Adventures of Sherlock Holmes. Dr. Watson is inexplicably antagonistic toward the young page, Billy (Terry Kilburn – who, for some reason, receives top billing over George Zucco, the actor portraying Professor Moriarty), beginning by mocking the frilly, feminine apron that Mrs. Hudson has forced the boy to wear while doing chores. When Holmes good-naturedly points out the deficiencies in the boy’s housework (that Billy has swept the dust under the rug, rather than into the dustbin), the Doctor gives him an intimidating, unforgiving stare, while Billy stares back defensively. Watson is then positively hostile when Billy is able to provide a bit of opportune insight into a piece of evidence: “I’ve listened to seashells that made better sense.” The hostility isn’t solely confined to the Doctor, however. Sherlock Holmes behaves in an equally unfriendly fashion towards Watson, at one point calling him “an incorrigible bungler.” The Detective frequently interrupts his companion’s sentences, often providing his own piercing expression. At one point, Watson says, “You pushed me out of the room as if I were a child. What am I to make of this, Holmes?” And the audience may find themselves wondering the same thing. What are we to make of this?

 

But that doesn’t mean that the film is without its highlights. For every discordant note in the film, there is a harmonious one. The Adventures of Sherlock Holmes was the second of the fourteen Sherlock Holmes films made by the Rathbone-Bruce team. It was also the first film it which Rathbone and Bruce received top billing. For their first film, The Hound of the Baskervilles (also in 1939), Rathbone and Bruce were given second billing to their co-star, Richard Greene, who portrayed Sir Henry Baskerville. The Adventures of Sherlock Holmes was also the last film in the series made by 20^th Century Fox, as afterwards the franchise would be acquired and produced by Universal Studios. It was also the last “period” film from the franchise; afterwards, a series of three Sherlock Holmes films set in World War II-era Britain, Europe, and the United States, were made, and followed nine contemporary films in non-wartime settings (sometimes embellished with gothic, not but strictly period, elements).

The Adventures of Sherlock Holmes features George Zucco in the role of Professor James Moriarty (the 1942 film, Sherlock Holmes and the Secret Weapon would feature Lionel Atwill in the role). Zucco’s Moriarty is sedately evil, with undercurrents of roiling menace. He is not a villain that chases after his victims; he waits for them to come to him – as they inevitably do. According to Alan Barnes, “The most measured of crazies, [George] Zucco’s Moriarty makes a significant impression, enjoying another standout scene in which he dares the bullied Dawes to let slip a razor while shaving him: ‘You’re a coward, Dawes. If you weren’t a coward you’d have cut my throat long ago…’” (21).

 

The film also contains an iconic scene. Watson arrives at Baker Street to find Sherlock Holmes in the sitting room, playing scales on his violin to a glass of trapped houseflies. He tells Watson that he is “observing the reaction of the common housefly on the chromatic scale,” and that once he is successful, homeowners will only need to play the correct note to rid the house of flies. The scene is replicated in the 2009 film Sherlock Holmes with Robert Downey, Jr., as Sherlock Holmes and Jude Law as Dr. Watson. Of course, Law’s Watson ultimately releases the carefully trapped flies as recompense for all the trouble his flatmate inflicts upon him. In another interesting contrast, George Zucco’s Moriarty is an avid horticulturist – even making murderous threats at his butler for failing to water one of his plants – while Guy Ritchie’s Professor Moriarty’s (played by Jared Harris in the 2011 film, Sherlock Holmes: A Game of Shadows) inattention to his box of flowers is a critical part of Moriarty’s downfall.

 

The Adventures of Sherlock Holmes was supposedly based on the play by William Gillette, although little – if anything – of the original plot was carried over for the film. Instead the audience is treated to a series of notable scenes, often irreverent, but not without purpose. After all, what could be more memorable than Dr. Watson laying in an empty street – playing at a dead body for Sherlock Holmes’s investigation – and snidely calling a well-meaning, if persistently inquiring stranger a “Stupid fellow”? Anachronisms, contextual problems, and incomplete plotlines aside – much of Sherlock Holmes’s film legacy is owed to the Rathbone-Bruce films, and to The Adventures of Sherlock Holmes in particular. The film’s moments are renowned, and transcend whatever small clumsiness may assert itself, leaping easily into the twenty-first century.  

 

oOo

Sources:

• Barnes, Alan. Sherlock Holmes on Screen. (September 2011).

“Better Holmes & Gardens” has its own Facebook page.  Join by “Liking” the page here, and receive all the latest updates, news, and Sherlockian tidbits.

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As part of an ongoing project on my Twitter feed, I'm delivering stories from the Sherlock Holmes canon in tiny installments of 140 characters or less. I recently finished up "The Red-Headed League," in which Sherlock Holmes investigates a seemingly irreverent case, with rather more sinister designs, and in which the Great Detective reminds the reader: “I begin to think, Watson, that I make a mistake in explaining. ‘Omne ignotum pro magnifico,’ you know, and my poor little reputation, such as it is, will suffer shipwreck if I am so candid."

The current story is "The Adventure of the Noble Bachelor," in which Sherlock Holmes professes his affinity for all things American: “It is always a joy to meet an American, Mr. Moulton, for I am one of those who believe that the folly of a monarch and the blundering of a minister in far-gone years will not prevent our children from being some day citizens of the same world-wide country under a flag which shall be a quartering of the Union Jack with the Stars and Stripes.”

Check out my Twitter feed for a daily installment, although I am usually inspired to post more than once a day. And don't forget you can read through the original canon online.

“I should very much like to have a word with Mr. Holmes.” (3GAR): Some Thoughts on the Dichotomy of Sherlock Holmes

"It was 'The Adventures of Sherlock Holmes.' I opened the book with no realization that I stood, or rather sat, on the brink of my fate. I had no inkling, no premonition, that in another minute my life's work, such as it is, would be born... I finished 'The Adventures' that night... As I closed the book, I knew that I had read one of the greatest books ever written. And today I realize with amazement how true and tempered was my twelve-year-old critical sense. For in the mature smugness of my present literary judgment, I still feel unalterably that 'The Adventures' is one of the world's masterworks." (Frederic Dannay)

"The best literary work is that which leaves the reader better for having read it. Now nobody can possibly be the better – in the high sense in which I mean it – for reading Sherlock Holmes, although he may have passed a pleasant hour in doing so. It was not to my mind high work, and no detective work ever can be, apart from the fact that all work dealing with criminal matters is a cheap way of rousing the interest of the reader." (Sir Arthur Conan Doyle)

Sherlock Holmes ruined my life. But he also saved it. Because of Sherlock Holmes, I now know more about the world, the people in it, and myself. Previously a curious and avid student, Sherlock Holmes has made me compulsive about learning to an obsessive degree. I think differently, and more often, but to be fair, I’m usually thinking about a particular subject. And the things I know aren’t always something everyone would find particularly interesting, useful or necessary to everyday life. Some people would call it superfluous knowledge. These aren’t always scholarly or erudite facts, either. But some of them are. Nor has it always been a lofty or cerebral education. But some of it has been. And now as I stand at the precipice of 100 blog posts (well… sit, really, as Frederic Dannay was sitting… I’m sitting at my computer), I’m prepared to admit to the dichotomy. I’m here with hat in hand (not a deerstalker, rather more like a homburg, as we all know) and confess that the Great Detective is both the best and worst thing that ever happened to me.

I’m sure that some of Sherlock Holmes’s canonical clients would say much the same thing. While Holmes might have been able to solve whatever mystery they first approached him with, the explanation may have ultimately exposed something that they would rather the world have not known, something that they would never have willingly revealed to others, or simply something that they would rather have not realized about themselves. In “The ‘Gloria Scott’”, one of Holmes’s very first cases, Victor Trevor undoubtedly felt relief that Holmes was able to explain what happened to his father – the real identity of Hudson and the reason for the shadow he cast over the elder Trevor’s life – and the reason for his father’s fatal reaction to a seemingly innocuous letter. But ultimately Holmes’s explanation revealed uncomfortable facts about his father’s past – things that would be even more unsettling and disturbing now that Victor’s father was no longer alive to discuss them. There may been a solution for Victor Trevor, but there would never be any closure. Likewise Violet de Merville of “The Adventure of the Illustrious Client” probably felt no joy that her fiancé, the villainous Baron Gruner, was unquestionably revealed as an utter blackguard by Sherlock Holmes – but eventually there must have been relief at the disastrous future that she so narrowly avoided.  

And no one was more versed in the disparity of life and human nature than Sherlock Holmes. As he said to Dr. Watson: “I assure you that the most winning woman I ever knew was hanged for poisoning three little children for their insurance-money, and the most repellent man of my acquaintance is a philanthropist who has spent nearly a quarter of a million upon the London poor” (SIGN). But being aware of that disparity doesn’t mean he was always able to correctly assess it. In “The Yellow Face,” the Detective is quite convinced of his own theory: that Mrs. Munro’s first husband is the occupant of the mysterious cottage and he is an unscrupulous blackmailer. The climax of the story reveals both Sherlock Holmes’s failings, and that the occupant of the cottage is Mrs. Munro’s daughter from her first marriage. The Detective had assumed the worst, and Mr. Munro neatly assesses the situation in saying: “I am not a very good man, Effie, but I think that I am a better one than you have given me credit for being.”

The Detective himself is a study in contradictions. Who among Sherlockians doesn’t know that “…although in his methods of thought he was the neatest and most methodical of mankind, and although also he affected a certain quiet primness of dress, he was none the less in his personal habits one of the most untidy men that ever drove a fellow-lodger to distraction” (MUSG)? The actors who have portrayed Sherlock Holmes over the years have usually been rather adept at capturing both sides of the Detective’s personality. Most recently in his turn as the Great Detective, Benedict Cumberbatch sports immaculately tailored suits and coats (and, for some reason, shirts that that appear expensive, if a size too small) – but keeps severed heads and other assorted body parts in the refrigerator. And who can forget the incomparable Jeremy Brett crawling through an ever-growing sea of papers in the Baker Street sitting room – his hair sleeked back into a sharp widow’s peak, his cuffs and collars spotlessly white, his suit somehow inexplicably remaining wrinkle-free despite his exertions?

In addition, Holmes was ever inconsistent when it came to personal relationships. In “A Scandal in Bohemia,” Watson says, “Grit in a sensitive instrument, or a crack in one of his own high-power lenses, would not be more disturbing than a strong emotion in a nature such as his.” And in “The Five Orange Pips,” Holmes pronounces that he has no friends, except for Dr. Watson. All of this proves to be profoundly untrue. During 56 short stories and 4 novels, the reader learns of the Detective’s other friends, such as Victor Trevor (GLOR), a companion from Holmes’s university days. Even more significantly, over the course of the Canon, the Detective’s relationship with Inspector Lestrade evolves and eventually he comes to refer to the Scotland Yard inspector as “Friend Lestrade” (NOBL, CARD, EMPT, NORW, 3GAR). And of course, all readers remember how in “The Adventure of the Three Garridebs,” Watson sees all his “years of humble but single-minded service culminated” in a grand moment of revelation.

As such, I’ve found many Sherlockians to be the same – not inconsistent, but definitely contradictory. I include myself in that lot, of course. We pursue endlessly obscure topics, isolate ourselves during our researches, and hold fast to our theories when we believe ourselves to be right. We wait for our grand moment of revelation, a sign that all of our efforts have not been in vain. But in the end, we seek each other out. And such relationships are unique unto Sherlockiana, and often profound, because as C.S. Lewis said, “Friendship is born at that moment when one person says to another: What! You too? I thought I was the only one.”

I say that Sherlock Holmes is both the best and worst thing that ever happened to me, because he’s revealed the best and worst things about me. Surely my husband, who no longer remembers the color of our carpet, so covered in books it has become, would tell you that the Great Detective has revealed my slightly more compulsive and obsessive tendencies (and for the record, the carpet is grey… no, beige… taupe?). But I have also learned the most spectacular things, met some of the best and wisest people, and my life has been profoundly changed. I’m not the person I was before I met Sherlock Holmes, but I am the person I was meant to be. Such as I am.

oOo

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BOOK REVIEW: “The Hound of the Baskervilles”

Martin Powell, Jamie Chase, Sir Arthur Conan Doyle; Publisher: Dark Horse (February 2013)

"Watson won't allow that I know anything of art, but that is mere jealousy, because our views upon the subject differ. Now, these are a really very fine series of portraits." (HOUN)

I come by my uniquely passionate personality honestly – at least, that’s what I like to tell myself. When I was growing up, my mother was (and still is, actually) an ardent devotee of all things Arthurian. My childhood home was resplendent with reproductions of medieval tapestries and framed prints of dragons. The shelves of my mother’s not insignificant library overflowed with a wide and unique array of literature in her chosen field, including a rather beautifully illustrated children’s edition of Sir Gawain and the Green Knight, which she had to keep on her own shelves because the vivid sketches of the beheaded green knight (complete with bloody stump – trust me, I remember) made my sister and I scream in unholy terror. I myself am now the owner of two of her favorite Arthurian swords, which she had to give up when she moved into a smaller living space (her immense library was also one of the casualties of the move). And while she would never admit it outright, I imagine she must have felt a speck of disappointment that neither of children ever shared her interest.

But what she must have recognized in her children was elements of her own personality – and all of its obsessive, ardent nuances – and she was good at planting seeds. I remember vividly being a teenager – my discovery of Sherlock Holmes and his world still fresh and new – and being excited to learn that the 1959 version of The Hound of the Baskervilles (starring Peter Cushing) was going to be on television that afternoon. “No,” my mother said, taking the remote from my hand. “You can’t watch that one. It’s too scary. It gave me nightmares as a child.” Well, saying something like that to a teenager is essentially like waving red at a bull, and my mother must have known it. She only put up the most cursory of arguments when I protested. I didn’t find the movie even remotely frightening – heaven knows that I had seen infinitely more gruesome things by the time I was a teenager – but watching that film with my mother has always been a very sweet memory.

As such, it was a thrill to open Martin Powell’s and Jamie Chase’s new graphic novel adaptation of The Hound of the Baskervilles and be instantly reminded of that time. There’s more than a little bit of Hammer Horror’s Hugo Baskerville about Chases’s rendition. The iconic blood-red riding jacket and distinctive eighteenth century hairstyle of the famous villain are immediate visual cues. Suddenly, I’m watching David Oxley chase an unfortunate young woman across the moor, with the moon highlighting his silhouette as he lays eyes on the Hound for the very first time. And a few pages on, with the slope of his brow and the curve of his hawk-like nose, it is Peter Cushing ensconced in the Baker Street sitting room, draped in the famous purple dressing gown and wielding his eyebrow like a weapon. However, it’s not just the Hammer Horror version of HOUN that leaps from the pages of this novel. There is also a Dr. Mortimer whose thin mustache and distinctive, round spectacles are more reminiscent of the Mortimer seen in the 1939 film version of HOUN starring Basil Rathbone, Nigel Bruce and Lionel Atwill (as the late Sir Charles’s closet friend). In the strikingly handsome features of Chase’s Sir Henry, there is more than a little of Richard Greene’s face and all his classic, movie star qualities. And in the single panel in which Sherlock Holmes answers Dr. Watson’s question about the existence of the Hound, (saying simply, “It does.”) it is difficult for the reader not to hear Jeremy Brett’s delivery of that iconic line, complete with his sonorous timbre.

Chase’s illustrations are atmospheric and impressive, but not just for the way in which they harken back to some of the most famous cinematic adaptations of Sir Arthur Conan Doyle’s most famous novel. The color palette is striking and mesmerizing. Dominated by a dark, sometimes harsh, selection of hues, the occasional pinpoints of color have just that much more impact: the rosy blush of sunlight coming through a window, the golden glow of a single candle, or – as mentioned previously – the ominously, maliciously red jacket on Sir Hugo. In his illustrations, Chase uses color with a stunningly magnificent expertise, and to the fullest, most profound impact.

For his part, Martin Powell has managed to craft a gorgeous adaptation of Doyle’s original novel. As an adaptation, not a duplication, there are elements of the story that are missing. For instance, readers who tend to skip over Dr. Watson’s lengthy, sometimes tedious, descriptions of landscape and setting will be pleased; there is none of that present – the drawings certainly give voice to those elements on their own. As another reviewer has pointed out, the famous phrenological exchange between Sherlock Holmes and Dr. Mortimer is also missing. The story is streamlined, with much of the exposition and introspection omitted. What remains, however, practically vibrates with intensity. Many of Watson’s reports to Holmes (whom he believes is back at Baker Street) are written across the background of a panel, while the action plays out in the foreground. It’s a powerful and evocative way of showing the complexity of Watson’s role, and the depth and intricacy of the story that Doyle wove together.

Powell wields his chosen dialogue for maximum emotional effect. When Watson speaks to a shadowy figure off-panel, saying simply: “You! I thought you were still in London!” There is a frisson of fear, even if readers already know that they will turn the page to find the Great Detective as the man being addressed. When Holmes tells his friend: “Your reports did it justice, Watson. The house does, indeed, have a menacing personality all its own” – that personality is practically tangible, as the reader sees Sherlock Holmes as a small, isolated figure standing in the grand hall of the Baskerville estate. Martin Powell’s story and Jamie Chase’s artwork are symbiotic, and they likewise do more than justice to a story that is more than a classic – Doyle’s HOUN is as immortal as the Hound itself.

Occasionally I’m asked by someone new to the Canon about where they should start – what short story or novel is a great introduction the Great Detective? Invariably, they wonder if it shouldn’t be The Hound of the Baskervilles – it is the most recognizable, after all, and the one that most people seem to have on their bookshelves, even if they have never read it. I usually shy away from that suggestion – explaining that Sherlock Holmes is actually absent for the majority of the story and that the lengthy and frequent descriptive passages are often tiresome. Powell and Chase’s adaptation of HOUN alleviates both of those issues. With Powell moving Dr. Watson’s activities and the related action into the foreground, Holmes’s absence really seems secondary. And Chase’s artful illustrations mitigate the need for prolonged descriptions and soliloquies on landscape. The resulting work is the version of HOUN that readers visualize when they pick-up the original novel, that they take away with them with they watch one of the many film or television adaptations. It is, in many ways, the best possible version of HOUN and does justice to the story's enduring nature.

oOo

 

The Hound of the Baskervilles, adapted by Martin Powell and Jamie Chase, can be found on Amazon and Barnes & Noble. Martin Powell can be found online at: http://martinpowell221bcom.blogspot.com/.

 

“Better Holmes & Gardens” has its own Facebook page.  Join by “Liking” the page here, and receive all the latest updates, news, and Sherlockian tidbits.

Currently on Twitter...

As part of an ongoing project on my Twitter feed, I'm delivering stories from the Sherlock Holmes canon in tiny installments of 140 characters or less. I recently finished up "The Retired Colourman," in which Sherlock Holmes investigates the disappearance of Mrs. Josiah Amberley, and offers a bleak outlook on human existence: "But is not all life pathetic and futile? Is not his story a microcosm of the whole? We reach. We grasp. And what is left in our hands at the end? A shadow. Or worse than a shadow – misery.”

The current story is "The Red-Headed League," in which Sherlock Holmes investigates a seemingly irreverent case, with rather more sinister designs, and in which the Great Detective reminds the reader: “I begin to think, Watson, that I make a mistake in explaining. ‘Omne ignotum pro magnifico,’ you know, and my poor little reputation, such as it is, will suffer shipwreck if I am so candid."

Check out my Twitter feed for a daily installment, although I am usually inspired to post more than once a day. And don't forget you can read through the original canon online.

“The Meaning of This Extraordinary Performance” (COPP): Granada Television’s “The Six Napoleons”

“Now let me endeavour to show you the different steps in my reasoning. To begin at the beginning.” (“A Study in Scarlet”)

"It has long been an axiom of mine that the little things are infinitely the most important.” (“A Case of Identity”)

There is no better place to begin a discussion of Granada’s adaptation of “The Six Napoleons” than at the beginning. The episode opens on an odd note: a young woman sensually washes herself at an open window while an old man watches lecherously from across the way. The camera pulls back from the depraved onlooker to reveal a young man (Pietro Venucci, played by Vincenzo Nicoli) and a young woman (his sister, Lucrezia, played by Marina Sirtis of “Star Trek: The Next Generation” fame) arguing heatedly in Italian. The argument takes a sudden, violent turn as the man strikes the woman across the face, but their argument carries on without pause. The elderly voyeur finally intercedes, but the young man eventually devolves into hysterical screaming before he runs from the room – the young woman chasing after him, sobbing, her hair falling out of its neat arrangement and blood running from her lip. The first five minutes of Granada Television’s adaptation of SIXN could be quite accurately described as bizarre, with dialogue almost entirely in un-translated Italian and the opening sequence ending with the episode’s main antagonist laughing maniacally while being taken away in a straitjacket. Topped off with a well-filmed fight scene and a strange ritualistic moment involving a photograph and a jewel-encrusted dagger, these opening scenes are indeed odd, but are also punctuated with perfect, memorable moments.

These perfect moments carry over throughout the episode and the first scenes at Baker Street (nearly six minutes into the production, but chronologically a year later) are no exception. The viewer finds Inspector Lestrade (Colin Jeavons) comfortably ensconced in the sitting room of 221B, drinking brandy and smoking cigars with Dr. Watson (Edward Hardwicke) while Sherlock Holmes (Jeremy Brett) peruses a tattered folio. According to Richard Valley, “A man of considerable reticence where companionship is concerned, Sherlock Holmes has no close friends save Dr. John H. Watson, which perhaps explains why it’s so utterly charming and delightful to find, at the start of this episode of THE RETURN OF SHERLOCK HOLMES, that Inspector Lestrade of Scotland Yard is given to dropping by 221B Baker Street every now and then to pass the time.” The casual intimacy between the three men is only reinforced by perfect, punctuating moments, like those already seen in the episode’s prologue. The knowing way in which Holmes lowers the folio to encourage Lestrade to “tell us about it,” understanding intuitively that the man has something of interest to share, but is restraining himself. Or Lestrade’s pleased expression when Holmes rubs his hands together and admits that the Inspector’s story “is certainly very novel.” Or the way in which the Great Detective laughingly tells Watson that the Doctor’s theories “will not do” – dismissively, but without any real venom.

Granada’s adaptation of SIXN is also a demonstration of how well Dr. Watson and Inspector Lestrade know their dear friend, the lengths to which they will go to in order to accommodate him, and how deeply they admire him. While in the morgue, Sherlock Holmes closely inspects the corpse of Pietro Venucci, paying no mind to his proximity to the dead man or the appropriateness of examining him with a magnifying glass. Once the Detective leaves, Lestrade leans down to inspect the corpse himself, his actions a pale imitation of Holmes’s own, before pulling the sheet back over poor Venucci. Later, when Holmes insists that a visit to Chiswick would be timelier than Lestrade’s plan to visit the Italian Quarter, the Inspector actually protests the change in plan very little, and compliantly takes up space upon 221B’s sofa until Holmes tells him that it is time to go. And while waiting in the dark and cold at two o’clock in the morning (we know, because Watson dutifully checks his pocket watch), his only question is “I don’t suppose we can smoke, can we?” Watson offers Lestrade a hard candy so as to ease some of the Inspector’s suffering, only to be told (in another one of those perfectly memorable moments) by Sherlock Holmes: “This is no time for humbugs!” Lestrade’s apparently blind faith in Holmes is soon validated, however, by the appearance of Beppo (the raving lunatic from the opening sequence).

Holmes’s mutual admiration for Watson and Lestrade is also present. When Holmes reveals to Watson how he has baited the journalist Horace Harker into writing a sensational (though inaccurate) article for his newspaper, Watson is visibly pleased with his friend’s cunning and tells him so. The Detective’s reply of thanks is both sincere and enthusiastic (with a mannered tip of his cane to set off his words). Moments later when Holmes and Watson return to Baker Street and approach their sitting room, they find that Lestrade is already present and unaware of their arrival. The Inspector is trying to surreptitiously view the folio that Holmes left on an end table (presumably the same one Holmes was reading at the beginning of the episode). The Detective is more amused by these actions than anything else, and rather than embarrass the Inspector by catching him in the act of prying, he instructs Watson to quietly walk away from the sitting room door – and return a moment later, much more loudly, giving Lestrade a moment to jump out of his seat and away from suspicion.

Inspector Lestrade in close examination of his shoes.

In his role as Sherlock Holmes, Jeremy Brett never wasted a gesture, a facial expression, or a well-timed inflection on a word of import. And so, whether Holmes chokes on his coffee at Watson’s command to be ready in “two minutes,” lowers his head to stare meaningfully but silently at Mr. Horace Harker, or trills slightly over the letter “R” in the word “morgue,” the viewer knows that these are moments of consequence and therefore they take notice. Although some moments may seem hyperbolic to almost the point of overacting – such as when Holmes greets Mr. Sandeford of Reading (and the sixth Napoleon bust) with an exaggerated turn and flourish from his dramatic posture at the fireplace mantel – the actions are not without purpose. For Sherlock Holmes is a theatrical man, with dramatic sensibilities, and the instance lays the framework for the scene just moments later when Holmes takes a cane to the plaster bust of Napoleon – violently and without warning. And instead of being shocked by the sight of the shattered bust, Watson and Lestrade are merely surprised, greeting with delighted astonishment the priceless pearl the Detective finds within – because they know their friend’s nature. They understand what he is made of.

The episode ends, as so many viewers already know, with one more perfectly punctuated moment, with Colin Jeavons delivering Inspector Lestrade’s memorable monologue from SIXN:

“I’ve seen you handle a good many cases, Mr. Holmes, but I don’t know that I ever knew a more workmanlike one than that. We’re not jealous of you at Scotland Yard. No, sir, we are very proud of you, and if you come down to-morrow, there’s not a man, from the oldest inspector to the youngest constable, who wouldn’t be glad to shake you by the hand.”

 

But even more remarkable than the words, delivered exactly as written in Sir Arthur Conan Doyle’s original story, is the way in which Jeremy Brett’s Sherlock Holmes reacts to the words. Something that a reader of the Canon had only supposed, but had never before seen, is the way in which the Detective is moved by the Inspector’s compliment. As Watson says, “[Holmes] was more nearly moved by the softer human emotions than I had ever seen him,” but Granada’s presentation has the visual appeal that the written word sometimes does not. The camera angle is tight on Holmes’s face, rarely breaking away, and the subtly evolving emotions are viewed in full – a slightly more open and softer expression, a dropped lip, and eyes that seem instantly, impossibly brighter. And when Sherlock Holmes thanks the Inspector twice – once with passion and once more as his rational side asserts itself – the scene is perfectly punctuated, the episode perfectly executed.

oOo

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Some Thoughts on Character: Colonel Sebastian Moran

Moran, Sebastian, Colonel. Unemployed. Formerly 1st Bangalore Pioneers. Born London, 1840. Son of Sir Augustus Moran, C. B., once British Minister to Persia. Educated Eton and Oxford. Served in Jowaki Campaign, Afghan Campaign, Charasiab (despatches), Sherpur, and Cabul. Author of Heavy Game of the Western Himalayas (1881); Three Months in the Jungle (1884). Address: Conduit Street. Clubs: The Anglo-Indian, the Tankerville, the Bagatelle Card Club… The second most dangerous man in London. ("The Adventure of the Empty House")

In the 2011 film, Sherlock Holmes: A Game of Shadows, Professor James Moriarty signs copies of The Dynamics of an Asteroid in Paris. His signature is an elegant scrawl from a fountain pen as he speaks in effortless French to those who have come to praise him. A man in an inconspicuous tweed suit slides into the empty seat next the Professor, a pair of opera tickets in his hands. There is a long pause as he waits for Moriarty to address him. Finally, the Professor turns, only slightly, to look at the man at his side: “My ticket?” The man nods, gesturing with the object in question.  “Unfortunately,” the Professor says, “you won’t be needing yours.” The man’s expression is largely unreadable as he looks back down at the tickets in his hands, but his sardonic tone is telling: “It’s a shame, Professor. I was looking forward to Don Giovanni.” The identity of the man in the unprepossessing suit isn’t officially revealed as Colonel Sebastian Moran until a bit later in the film, but there are enough clues in even that brief scene for the viewer to make the logical deduction on his or her own. For is that not how we always picture Colonel Moran – the slightly uncouth man on Moriarty’s right hand?

Paul Anderson as Colonel Sebastian Moran and
Jared Harris as Professor James Moriarty 

Colonel Sebastian Moran was first introduced to readers in “The Adventure of the Empty House,” but like many of the minor characters in the Canon, he has taken on a life of his own, appearing in numerous pastiches and television and film adaptations. In A Game of Shadows, mentioned above, he was played by Paul Anderson, and in the Granada television adaptation of EMPT, Patrick Allen. In the 1946 Basil Rathbone film, Terror by Night, Alan Mowbray took on the role of the Colonel (inexplicably masquerading as Major Duncan Bleek). In a recent episode of the new television series, Elementary (simply entitled, “M.”), actor Vinnie Jones takes a turn as Moran – a slightly more bloodthirsty, more unhinged version. And while the Colonel has not yet appeared in the BBC series, “Sherlock” (although who can say who was on the other end of those sinister red laser sights at the end of “The Great Game”?), don’t tell that to the legions of fans who have already imagined Mark Gatiss and Steven Moffat’s 21st century version of Professor Moriarty’s trusted assassin in full. Several pastiche writers have also imagined their own versions of Colonel Moran. Kim Newman’s Moran of The Hound of the D'Urbervilles is every bit as vulgar, crass, ruthless and merciless as so many have imagined (I fully recommend The Well-Read Sherlockian’s excellent review of the novel available here). In John Gardner’s novel, The Return of Moriarty, Moran’s appearance is pitifully, though logically and necessarily, brief – and raises a host of questions.

Jeremy Brett as Sherlock Holmes and Patrick Allen as Colonel Moran

But what do readers really know about Colonel Sebastian Moran? The above description – found in EMPT and taken from Sherlock Holmes’s own “index of biographies” – is concise and informative enough, providing details of birth and ancestry, education and military career, even his current address and preferred recreational spots, but the apparent glut of explicit knowledge ends there. Prior to EMPT (chronologically speaking), Moran is mentioned alongside Professor Moriarty in their brief cameo in The Valley of Fear: “[Moriarty’s] chief of the staff is Colonel Sebastian Moran, as aloof and guarded and inaccessible to the law as himself.” So readers can add those three remarkable descriptors (aloof, guarded, inaccessible) to what they already know about the man. To put Moran on the same level as Moriarty in terms of demeanor and position is quite a lofty compliment indeed. But it is also contrary to the man that readers know from EMPT. The Colonel found there is a man of barely contained rage, snarling, savage and “wonderfully like a tiger himself.” As Watson recounts, “The fury upon [Moran’s] face was terrible to look at.” This is a man impulsive and hotheaded enough to murder a man because he could expose the Colonel’s unethical card practices, but patient and methodical enough to be really clever about how he did it. There is the “man of iron nerve,” that Sherlock Holmes describes, a man ruthless enough to relentlessly pursue a man-eating tiger, but possessing of the necessary quietness of disposition to be successful.

At the end of EMPT, the Great Detective seems more than confident that the Colonel will no longer be a concern, but Moran doesn’t disappear from the Canon entirely. In “The Illustrious Client,” which according to William Baring-Gould’s chronology takes place in 1902, Holmes comments: “If your man is more dangerous than the late Professor Moriarty, or than the living Colonel Sebastian Moran, then he is indeed worth meeting.” And in “His Last Bow,” which according to the same chronology takes place in 1914: “The old sweet song… How often have I heard it in days gone by! It was a favourite ditty of the late lamented Professor Moriarty. Colonel Sebastian Moran has also been known to warble it.” This means that Moran was most definitely alive as of 1902, and most probably alive as of 1914 (Holmes refers to the Colonel in the present tense, but a life of international espionage is a busy one, so it might be worth arguing that Holmes’s information could be outdated). Surviving an incarceration of twenty years or more certainly shows a certain resilience of character, or perhaps just a mulish intractability.

At the end of A Game of Shadows, Moran covertly executes Professor Moriarty’s undercover assassin (discreetly, with a blowgun) and then walks out of the Swiss chateau, into the shadows, and away from Professor Moriarty, who is currently engaged in a cerebral battle out on the balcony with Sherlock Holmes. Dr. Watson runs towards his friend, while the Colonel just simply walks away, his intended direction unknown. It is a curious divergence, but not entirely unexpected. As Holmes himself points out in EMPT:

"There are some trees, Watson, which grow to a certain height, and then suddenly develop some unsightly eccentricity. You will see it often in humans. I have a theory that the individual represents in his development the whole procession of his ancestors, and that such a sudden turn to good or evil stands for some strong influence which came into the line of his pedigree. The person becomes, as it were, the epitome of the history of his own family... Whatever the cause, Colonel Moran began to go wrong."

The Great Detective refers to Colonel Moran as a shikari, which is a Persian word in two parts: the main “Shikar,” meaning “of hunting” and the suffix “i” denoting possession. And it would seem that Moran too was a character in two parts. He comprises a certain cold reservation that made him equal to sit beside Professor Moriarty, but also a contrary savagery that made him effective in his role. Like so many remarkable characters, it is the dichotomy that makes Moran interesting, makes him memorable. Sherlockians return to Colonel Sebastian Moran not simply because he sits beside Professor Moriarty, but because he stands on his own, and cuts his own path.

oOo

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