Elementary, my dear Ritchie!

I saw Sherlock Holmes the other night, and it was just ok. Maybe I was surly because I was up past my bedtime. Or perhaps I'm unprepared for such a physical version of Holmes. I know that several of his stories mention Holmes' proficiency in boxing, martial arts, and other fighting skills, but only small amounts of text are devoted to actual combat. I mean, Holmes also habitually used cocaine and occasionally used morphine, but the new interpretation doesn’t feature Holmes in a cocaine-fueled stupor.

Guy Ritchie is a heavy-handed presence in some parts of the movie. For instance, the scenes wherein Holmes mentally rehearses his fight moves before executing them in rapid-fire motion are highly reminiscent of Ritchie’s earlier works, such as Lock, Stock, and Two Smoking Barrels. This way of visually representing Holmes’ thought processes is effective the first time, but it becomes stale and contrived after about the third or fourth repetition.

Certain elements of the movie worked for me. The witty dialogue was still there, and the dynamic between Holmes and Jude Law's Watson was particularly endearing. At times, they ventured into old-married-couple land and at other times, they seemed like two hormone-drenched adolescents trying to aggravate each other. They may bicker, but they can’t imagine a world without the other.

The upshot is that because I don’t see movies in the theater very often, I expect sheer awesomeness when I do plunk down my hard-earned dollars. For some people, SH would’ve provided that, but for me, the steady stream of fighting, ships crashing into the Thames, and orchestrated explosions eclipsed the substance of the tale.