Maya J. Sekhar, age 14
I’ve scrutinized the novellas, screened the spinoffs, and although the beloved and brilliant Sherlock Holmes has stood the test of time, I will have to agree with co-director Stephen Moffat in saying, “[He] hasn’t grown old — his times [have].”
Classic canons, the works of Sir Arthur Conan Doyle have become a commodity in the movie industry — replicable mysteries, they are a dime-a-dozen. Would Cumberbatch be the inordinately tame John Barrymore? Or would the series turn into a 48-frame-per-second, Guy Ritchie piece? Naturally, I was dubious upon entering the series.
Oh, how wrong I was. Taking place in modern-day London, a young Holmes (Benedict Cumberbatch) shares a flat with John Watson (Martin Freeman) at 221b Baker Street. Watson runs a blog and Sherlock a website. A smartphone is glued to Holmes’ side for rapid referral, and forensic science is utilized to deduce. Goodbye, telegraphs. Welcome to the 21st century, Sherlock.
However, when an incognito bomber strikes Baker Street, the blasé Sherlock is roused from a state of intellectual-boredom, and engaged in an intense, phrenic match, as well as a race to save or sacrifice a multitudinous number of lives. Subsequently, a safe was found, revealing a phone and letter that would explain the madness. Moriarty, an old nemesis, was also consumed by ennui. “I’m bored,” he cackled, “we were made for each other, Sherlock!”
Their game of cat-and-mouse went accordingly…. First, a Londoner would be held hostage by the criminal-mastermind, strapped to a bomb. An image, indicating a clue pertaining to a proposed case, would be sent to Holmes’ mobile. An esoteric message is conveyed from the bomber, through the victim. If the conundrum can be cracked within the allotted time, a person is spared. If not, he or she is blown to smithereens. BLAM!
In nine hours…
Death by botulism is divulged.
In eight hours…
An insurance fraud is exposed.
In seconds…
An art heist is unveiled.
Suspense aside, the complexity and relatability of the characters, was intriguing enough to keep me hooked. Tall versus small, social versus sociopath — the contrast and chemistry of Watson and Sherlock is worth every moment. The superiority of this adaptation is found in Masterpiece’s construction of Holmes.
He tells an officer, “I’m not a psychopath, I’m a high-functioning sociopath. Do your research.”
Cumberbatch is a strikingly rash, yet vulnerable Sherlock — causing viewers to question Holmes’ motivations and mental-soundness, tugging heartstrings along the way. “Listen, what I said before John, I meant it,” he would mutter, “I don’t have friends; I’ve just got one.”
One 90-minute-mystery is never enough. This cerebral-thriller will have young and old on the couch for the weekend, unable to pull away, hankering for more.