strange and random happenstance

The Hounds of Baskerville
Based on the book by Arthur Conan Doyle
Starring: Benedict Cumberbatch, Martin Freeman, Una Stubbs, Russell Tovey, Chipo Chung, Gordon Kennedy, Kevin Trainor, Stephen Wight, Sasha Behar, Will Sharpe, Simon Paisley Day, Amelia Bullmore, Clive Mantle, Rupert Graves, Mark Gatiss, and Andrew Scott
Release Date: January 8th, 2012
Rating: ★★★
To Buy

Sherlock is bored and on edge, he needs a case to distract him from his nicotine withdrawal. It's been hours since he closed his last case with a rather dramatic incident with a harpoon and little Kirstie's luminous pet rabbit who's gone AWOL isn't going to take the edge off. Thankfully for Dr. Watson's sanity a knight in dilapidated armor appears; Henry Knight. Henry has been haunted his entire life by the death of his father who was murdered by a giant hound twenty years earlier. Young Henry was discovered wandering the moors but his father's body was never found. Henry has recently returned to Grimpen in Dartmoor and he wandered to Dewer's Hollow only to be greeted by the hound of his nightmares. Dewer's Hollow's proximity to the government research facility Baskerville means Sherlock is even more likely to dismiss Henry's nightmares. In fact he would have gladly set Henry on his way back to his psychiatrist if it wasn't for his repeated use of the word Hound. But there's the need for a speedy resolution as Henry's grip on reality is quickly failing. So who is to blame? The villagers keen on embracing the legend of the hound in order to lure in the tourists? The military base which is clearly up to nefarious deeds? Or is there really a giant hound with glowing red eyes? And can Holmes trust his own senses when he believes he's seen the beast himself?

The thing about truly loving something is knowing that it isn't perfect. You can see the flaws but still love it. To blindly love say a TV show means you're not a fan, you're an acolyte. Perfection in this world is rare and a TV show achieving that? Well, it's kind of a miracle. So it sometimes even helps to vent these feelings. To come right out and say "I love you but...." That's how it is with me and Sherlock. In fact, that's how it is with me and every show that Steven Moffat does and Sherlock has the least "buts" of all. I love Sherlock, I really do. It's putting a modern twist on the Conan Doyle canon without being overly predictable like Elementary is and Sherlock is top notch. But... the fact is for a show that has only three episode per season having one dud episode each season is a bit problematical. Yes, I have over time come to grudgingly like these middling episodes, but seriously, is there anyone ready to really go all in on "The Blind Banker?" And let's not even talk about some of the absurdities of this season's "The Final Problem."

What I'm getting at is that "The Hounds of the Baskerville" is distinctly in this lesser than category. Perhaps I had hopes that were too high. I sometimes really need to dial my expectations back. The problem was this is one of the classic Holmes stories combined with Russell Tovey and I let things go to my head a little. I think one of the problems might have been Russell... yes he's perfect, but he's also, in my mind, "a name." He's a great actor but there's also a sameness to the roles in his CV, damaged yet lovable could be his descriptor. So I didn't really see Henry Knight, I saw Russell. This was also problematic with Lara Pulver as Irene Adler in the previous episode. You need to have an actor capable of making you forget who they really are. Which is the genius of Benedict and Martin, I actually see them as the characters. Russell... not so much. But repeated viewings of the episode have gotten me over this issue to focus on more specific problems, like that hound! Seriously, it looked like Zuul from Ghostbusters, and the CGI somehow looked WORSE than a film made in 1984!

But this newest viewing brought a new admiration for this episode, Zuul exempted because there is NO fixing that. Having just read The Hound of the Baskervilles I got to see how Mark Gatiss took the source material and reinterpreted it. Sherlock is all about reinventing what is basically a set of stories that have been told hundreds of times and making them new again. The call backs to the book, which are sometimes just an aside, a single line, to more integrated plot twists are kind of dazzling to watch. You're waiting with baited breath to see what Gatiss will pull out of the book next. From Sherlock's perfume analysis, to Lestrade getting the London out of his lungs, to Dr. Mortimer being Henry's psychiatrist in this iteration, to the dangerous Grimpen Mire becoming the even more dangerous Grimpen Mine Field, phosphorescent animals, John's inferior mind being a good sounding board, Sherlock claiming he's too busy for this case, the episode is just peppered throughout with these lines that are seemingly throw aways, but are SO much more. 

Though just incorporating what was into what is isn't nearly as fun as taking what's in the book and reinventing it, like Gatiss did with the Grimpen Mire. He refocuses on different aspects of the story while using other aspects to throw us off the trail. Instead of Henry being based on the new heir to the Baskerville estate his personality is taken more from the previous... the one driven to death by the apparition of a hound. Add to this a little of the breakdown the new heir suffers after the events of the story and you have a central figure who is far more flawed and therefore far more interesting. Yet what I really love is the red herring of Dr. Stapleton. Spoiler alert, despite whatever you think she's just a red herring. An ingenious red herring, because in the original tale the killer is using the name Stapleton! But the things that brought me the greatest joy was the insertion of two very modern ideas into this very Gothic tale but having them still relate to the story. That's the fact that obviously the small town of Grimpen would try to capitalize on the hound to lure in tourists, even if they do it in a ham handed way... the other is that the mysterious lights that Watson sees are a couple in a car having sex while others watch. This, this would be called dogging.

What I think I took most issue with the first time I watched this was when Sherlock uses Watson as a lab rat to test his hallucinogen theory. Yes, it's scary, but it's more uncomfortable that he would use his only friend in such a heinous way. I mean, seriously!?! If someone did this to me, no matter how much of a genius or how close a friend I viewed them, this would have been the end of the line. But thinking of it analytically I think it makes a point about the bigger horrors that Gatiss discusses in the episode, mainly animal experimentation. No matter which way you spin it animal experimentation is a tricky issue. As Dr. Stapleton says, if you can think of it someone is doing it, and she was just making a luminous bunny rabbit! But there are so many people who justify what they are doing to these poor defenseless animals using the name of science. And you can't deny that valuable data has been collected with regard to these studies. Therefore, how does one come out firmly on the side of the animals and not the scientists? By taking a character we love and turning him into the experiment. By turning Watson into that poor bunny Gatiss has made the strongest possible point against animal experimentation, on any form of animal. And that's why I love this show, warts and all. An old story can be spun into something new and illuminating; literally in the case of Kirstie's bunny.

Posted by Miss Eliza at 12:00 AM 0 comments  

Labels: Benedict Cumberbatch, Benediction, Irene Adler, Mark Gatiss, Martin Freeman, Russell Tovey, Sherlock, Sherlock Holmes, Steven Moffat, The Hound of the Baskervilles, The Hounds of the Baskerville

Posted by Miss Eliza at 12:00 AM 0 comments  

Labels: Benedict Cumberbatch, Christmas, Martin Freeman, Miss Eliza, Sherlock, Sherlock Holmes, Sherlocked, Strange and Random Happenstance

Without A Clue
Inspired by the works of Sir Arthur Conan Doyle
Release Date: 1988
Starring:Michael Caine, Ben Kingsley, Jeffrey Jones, Lysette Anthony, Paul Freeman, Pat Keen, Matthew Savage, Nigel Davenport, Tim Killick, Peter Cook, John Warner, Matthew Sim, Fredrick Fox, Harold Innocent, George Sweeney, Murray Ewan, and Jennifer Guy
Rating: ★★★★
To Buy

Watson is fed up with Sherlock Holmes. Mainly because he created him and now this figment of his imagination has taken on a life of his own, literally, because he hired the unemployed actor Reginald Kincaid to BE Holmes. It all seemed like such a good idea at the time. Watson needed to maintain his prestige to get a job at an exclusive hospital where they would have frowned on his "hobby" of crime solving, and this was a way to do both. He didn't get the job but he did get burdened with his own ingenious loophole. The time has come to eliminate this loophole and destroy Holmes and get the louche Reggie out of his life, and 221B Baker Street, for good. Only problem is, Holmes is popular. Really really popular. And Watson's publisher is disinclined to his new suggestion: "The Crime Doctor." And there's the whole fact that no one listens to Watson but only listens to Holmes parroting back what Watson just said. Therefore a final case will be solved and Holmes will retire. Only problem is, what looks like a simple case is really the machinations of Moriarty. And Reggie REALLY doesn't like the lunatic. The Napoleon of crime, or lunatic, depending on where you stand, has taken up forgery with the actual printing plates from the Bank of England! But when Watson meets an untimely end it is up to the hapless actor to actually fill the shoes of his creator. Hopefully he has picked something up from Watson over their years working together... if not the whole world is about to be disillusioned by Sherlock Holmes.

Growing up in my house my parents didn't really censure television or movies. Basically they viewed that if they wanted to watch it my brother and I could watch it with them. During the early to late eighties this meant that I saw quite a lot of British comedies. Peter Sellers was viewed as the Deity that he rightfully is. One of the family favorites was The Wrong Box. What is not to love about this film? Peter Cook, Dudley Moore, John Mills, Ralph Richardson, Michael Caine, and of course, Peter Sellers with a lot of cats. Therefore when a new comedy with Michael Caine set not only during Victorian times, but within Sherlock Holmes mythology came out, well, it was highly anticipated to say the least. I still have my old VHS copy buried somewhere, but needless to say, it's been awhile since I've reconnected with this movie. I'm happy to say that it was actually better than I remembered it. Over time I tend to think that I was overly kind to movies, and therefore my initial opinion was probably wrong. I thought that what drew me to this film as a kid was the more slapstick elements, and while those are still there, there's so much going on that you can't help but be carried away with the movie and lose yourself to the fun. The conceit of the film is what makes it so clever. The idea that through his narratives published in the paper Watson has created the mythology of Sherlock Holmes, when in fact all of Holmes's powers of deduction are actually Watson's. What's more, make Sherlock a failed drunk actor who is belligerent and it's brilliant. Not to mention Watson's hope of "The Crime Doctor" taking off...

At the very beginning of the film when Holmes is giving a speech to the journalists on the doorstep of 221B after Watson foiled a museum heist and then fired Holmes captures exactly the subversive spirit of the film. Holmes gives his famous line of "you see but do not observe." Reginald Kincaid as Holmes spins out what started as pure nonsense until he has all the reporters in the palm of his hand, all the while Watson is fuming in the background. By taking the canon and spinning it upside down and all around, despite the overt comedy, their is a subtlety that is mocking yet paying tribute to the original text simultaneously. Therefore this film plays on multiple levels, but will be most enjoyed by those familiar with Conan Doyle's canon. But this clever conceit wouldn't have worked without the right actors to pull it off, and I dare say you can't get more well respected or accomplished actors than Michael Caine and Ben Kingsley. Michael Caine though is so perfect I couldn't think of anyone else playing the dual role that he takes on. The genius of casting Caine is that he is someone who might logically be cast as Holmes, but here he's an actor playing an actor playing Holmes, and he pulls it off magnificently. The true genius is in his subtle voice work. When Caine is Holmes he has his more refined, later career voice. More polished, but not posh. Whereas when he is playing Reggie, it's more nasal, more reminiscent of his earlier career and The Italian Job. It's just a subtle shift that happens within scenes and it adds another level to the film. I couldn't help thinking of Rob Brydon and Steve Coogan in The Trip where they dissect how Caine's accent has changed over the years. Without a Clue is like a master class for them. You also can't help thinking that in one of Caine's later films, The Prestige, that Hugh Jackman was greatly inspired by this role of Caine's in his doubling of Robert Angier.

Yet just because Caine steals the show, as he is meant to, you can't discount Kingsley. Because, in truth, Kingsley is Holmes, though not in name. What I find interesting about this version of Watson is that he isn't docile. He has this rage within him that drives his work. Of course this is justified by being overlooked for so many years as the true genius, but it actually makes you think more about Watson's purpose. In the original stories Watson is nothing more then a conduit for the readers and Holmes's biographer. Just a boring sounding board. Yet look to the newest interpretation of Watson by Martin Freeman in Sherlock. He doesn't let himself be pigeonholed in this way as the bumbling fool. He is a new Watson for a new generation. He admires Holmes, but he is there for the adventure. Yet beneath the veneer there is rage, a rage for life and adventure and against the world that wounded him in war and even exasperation with Holmes. I was actually shocked by how much Ben Kingsley's portrayal of Watson is like Martin Freeman's. I can see how Freeman would be more drawn to the darker more visceral portrayal of Watson, it is more in line with his own personality. I just find it interesting that in all the Holmes adaptations out there he obviously looked to this one as the defining portrayal of Watson. So think on that will you? A comedy that lovingly mocks Sherlock Holmes gets to the heart of the matter better than some of the most lauded adaptations out there.

Though there are times when the films swerves a little too far off course. It goes for the easy laugh. For how subtle the film can be it's an interesting dichotomy to pair it with such overt humor that is sometimes too broad; falling down holes, falling off roofs, swinging on ropes, your basic slapstick humor. But keep in mind that the Marx Brothers knew how to blend the erudite with the crass and somehow, like with them, this movie just works. One minute you'll be thinking how clever a turn of phrase was and the next you'll be snort laughing to an embarrassing degree. But like everything good in life, a little goes a long way, and sometimes there's just too much of this brand of humor. For everything that is so right there is a false cord stuck every once in awhile, the Baker Street Irregulars are just a little too twee, Jeffery Jones is miscast as Lestrade, Moriarty... well I do have Moriarty issues. My Moriarty issues are basically that he's acting and even dressed like The Master from Doctor Who. While Doctor Who has done it's fair share of Sherlock Holmes homages, especially with the episode "The Talons of Weng-Chiang" it's more then a little odd for Sherlock Holmes to be so Whovian (Steven Moffat and Mark Gatiss disagree). But the truth of it is that somehow, even with these missteps, the film is fun and you just go with it. So what if Moriarty is The Master, it just adds a little more camp and you're totally OK with it because it just works.

And then there now comes the part of the review when I go off on a little tangent. It's interesting to go back to films that you held dear when younger and find something in it that calls to your interests now. Back when I first saw this film I would have had no interest in the printing of the money, aka Moriarty's evil plot. It was just what the bad guy was up to and what needed to be stopped. Now though... well, in the last few years taking my love of Graphic Design and going backwards in time to learn Letterpress, well, let's just say I spent a lot more of the climax of this movie paying attention to the printing press than to the gas main that could blow up and incinerate everyone. My letterpress addiction might be considered severe when I'm point out how air suction was used on the press to those watching the movie with me. But seriously people, printing is fascinating! In fact the print geek in me was all, oh, look, they're using a Heidelberg Windmill, even if they did take off the metal identifying plaque. Which then got me thinking. They are in a subbasement of a deserted theater that runs on gas and the Windmill needs electricity... yes folks, the appearance of the Heidelberg Windmill, while very cool, was an anachronism in this film. If you are weird like me and read all the props, you will notice that this case took place in 1900 thanks to a newspaper. And what year did the Heidelberg Windmill come out? 1912! So the print geek in me was a little miffed. They went for the look of it versus the accuracy... but then again, isn't that's what they did with a lot of stuff? Without a Clue has some really great insights, but at the end, it's about the shiny entertainment you're watching and a difference of twelve years for a printing press probably didn't seem the most dire of things when it seriously looks cool on screen. I mean, seriously, watch that Windmill action!

Posted by Miss Eliza at 12:00 AM 0 comments  

Labels: Arthur Conan Doyle, Ben Kingsley, Letterpress, Martin Freeman, Michael Caine, Rob Brydon, Sherlock, Sherlock Holmes, Sherlocked, Steve Coogan, The Italian Job, The Prestige, The Trip, The Wrong Box, Without a Clue

The Man in the Queue (Inspector Alan Grant Book 1) by Josephine Tey
Published by: Touchstone
Publication Date: 1929
Format: Paperback, 256 Pages
Rating: ★
To Buy

Inspector Alan Grant has been given the infamous Queue case. A man with no identification was stabbed in a busy queue outside the Woffington Theatre as fans waited to see the final hurrah of Ray Marcable in the smash hit Didn't You Know? With just a knife and a handful of witnesses that didn't see anything, Inspector Grant is able to quickly build a case against the mysterious man he nicknames the Levantine, because of his swarthy appearance and the passionate and daring way the crime was committed. Yet what if all this evidence pointing at the unknown Levantine is just circumstantial? What if, while Grant builds a solid case against this one man, the killer walks free? Because even after hunting down the apparent killer through London and the Highlands, Grant still thinks that maybe, just maybe, there is a different interpretation of the evidence that he hasn't quite yet grasped.

Dear lord, Josephine Tey sure loved to avoid paragraph breaks, sheesh. Sometimes there would be pages upon pages of just dense, heavy text that I would slog through. This is easily the most overly written book I have read in recent memory which caused my experience with the book to be a very labored one. The writing style lent nothing to the story, unless a lead weight around your neck is a plus with books. Now, I'm not slamming writers who others might consider as overly written, like Erin Morgenstern and The Night Circus... but there's overwritten and then there's a rich tapestry of words that are evocative and make a world vibrant and alive. This is not Josephine Tey. I have a feeling that to Robert Barnard, the Tey scholar and writer I've never heard of that wrote this book's introduction which has more paragraph breaks then the book's first chapter, that "them be fighting words." Because apparently, to denigrate Tey is outre, but to pile on the harsh criticism to Agatha Christie is perfectly acceptable. Now I've only read one Tey and many Christie... but if this book is a testament to Tey, then we are through.

The aspect of this book that just baffled me is that it was a given that people in a queue would ignore each other and not be able to even slightly identify those around them after several hours in each others company. Is this a British thing that I just don't get despite my desire to be as British as can be while still being in Wisconsin? Because, let's put it this way; I have spent many an hour in a queue. I don't think I could even add it up, nor would I want to, because, let's put it this way, if I did, it would probably depress me to learn how much of my life has been spent waiting. From queues at conventions waiting for entrance and autographs, to queues at book signings, to just lining up for a movie, I have been in every kind of queue you could imagine, and you know what? In every instance I have talked to the people around me. I wasn't in an insular little bubble ignoring everyone and just playing on my phone, oh no. A chance comment from someone near me would spark a conversation, in fact the most recent that I remember clearly was when I went to see The Hobbit. The friend I was with, well, the conversation was lacking, so I took to talking to the picture of Martin Freeman on the movie poster, and I was lambasting him for the crap fest his tv show The Robinsons was, the people behind us spoke up saying how much they agreed on this fact and we got to talking about Martin Freeman and his mostly genius career (The Robinsons excluded).

At first I was thinking that maybe the people in this book's queue just didn't have anything in common... like one does at a convention or book signing, but then I thought, uh, no. These people are Ray Marcable fanatics (yes, I did audibly groan at her name)... of course they have a common link. So unless someone can come out and offer me 100% proof that Britain is not at all like America in it's queues then I'm calling Josephine Tey out as saying the crux of her book plays false. J'accuse! 

Though the superfluous writing combined with an illogical premise isn't what made this book fail me in every way, it's the fact that it was boring. Alan Grant bored me to tears. He just toddles through life looking nothing like a police officer and always being complimented on this. He sits in tubs and at fancy restaurants where he is fawned over while he pushes the case to the back of his mind, because not thinking about it too much helps him solve it. He goes to the race track, he goes fishing, he goes and resigns and we never hear from him again, I wish! As for the rest of the characters... no one is really painted in a bad light. They're all just people going about their lives. Boring dull people with boring dull lives. If you think about it, if there was a murder and you were accused, I'd bet only a handful of us would have an alibi, because, let's face it, our lives are rather dull and unvaried and go along as they always have. Therefore, by extension, in Tey's book, while no one really has an alibi, they are just as dull as we are on the whole. Who wants to read about people like us? A good book is an escape, not a dulled mirror of our day to day lives. Give me something to whet my appetite, make me want to read late into the night, not hope to misplace the book and never find it again.

Posted by Miss Eliza at 12:00 AM 0 comments  

Labels: Agatha Christie, Alan Grant, Erin Morgenstern, Golden Age of Detection, Golden Summer, Josephine Tey, Martin Freeman, The Hobbit, The Man in the Queue, The Night Circus, The Robinsons

For a short while, all too short, Discworld came to Madison, Wisconsin. From July 8th to the 11th I was a traveller in a very familiar land. Everywhere I went I'd run into favorite characters, from Sergeant Angua to a plethora of Twoflowers. I had a little passport that would be stamped whenever I ventured in this hotel cum fantastical land. I think they might have even placed four giant elephants and a space turtle under it, but I can't prove this... But the highlight was the very center of the con, the man in black... Terry Pratchett. The man who must look around and wonder, what have I done.

Because I live in town, I ventured down the night before to get all my registration taken care of, as well as to sign up for the multitude of crafting sessions my friend Jess and I where determined to participate in (they delayed craft registration till the next morning). Our goals? See everything with Terry Pratchett then craft the hell out of Discworld. Do to my early registration the first thing I would be doing on Friday was meeting Terry Pratchett. Now, this was a bit intimidating. I thought I'd have the whole weekend to prepare, but no. I got up bright and early and headed to the con to succeed in my craftacular registration, of which I succeeded fully! Over the next three days we would be making Igors, crafting our own Nac Mac Feegles, designing our own personal crest and making shambles, of which I was very excited. There where tons more I would have loved to have done, but there's only so much time in a day!

So, to the Terry signing I went, where there was almost a riot. The source? They strictly forbade autographs, based on Terry's Alzheimer's, opting for Terry handing out a special bookplate and stamping our passports. What happened next led to hew and outcry. They said Terry would stamp a book if we had it. HEW CRY WAIL! Me, I got on the phone, located someone in my house, told them to located the turquoise book on the top shelf near the window in my library, the limited edition of I Shall Wear Midnight and deliver it to me outside the Concourse... it was done, it was achieved. I now have the one book I love more than any other stamped, sticker and fingerprinted by the man. The fingerprinting surprised me, it's a far more intimate thing that a signature. I will treasure it always.

Sadly, I didn't really get to say anything to the man himself, because the lady in front of me was sweet but didn't really understand signing line etiquette and I ended up getting bitched at by the guy who kept the flow going... sigh. Felt like a little bit of a wasted opportunity, but then again, these things happen. Also, it's not like I wasn't going to be seeing him every chance I could all weekend!

The opening ceremonies where interesting. They kicked off with a song and dance number to the might Om. Here you can see Om singing with the help of one of his disciples. They where quickly eshewed away and the Seamstresses Guild took over. They where the ones who initiated this con back in 2009... but even for founders, I started to get sick of all the double entendres rather quickly.  As a woman, I don't think I'd like to be making aspersions against my character for four days straight.


Terry was then brought forth and the Gods of Discworld paid tribute to him. One of the gods took a bit of a tumble and had to get stitches, but it didn't slow down the ceremony, and the paramedics attended to her backstage. Apparently she was in her 80s! Back to the ceremony. Two amusing things, Terry very much liked Bastet, the cat God, even pulling her tail, and the God with the bubbles was fun two. One thing learned from this. Terry is very bad at remembering to speak into the microphone, no matter how many times people try to fix it. Therefore, I was glad I was used to arriving at events early. For the ceremonies I was in the second or third row... barring one incident, I was in the front row for every other talk he did.

After the opening ceremonies, there was to be a reading. AKA "Reading with Rob." Rob Wilkins is Terry's assistant. So while Terry sat back and relaxed (yes, that does involve removing the ever present hat!) Rob read. Now, I should mention, I'm not the best at listening to people talk for long periods of time. As Patrick Rothfuss has said, he starts to see peoples interest waning after the first 15 minutes. Hence he likes to do small little bits to keep people awake. I agree with Pat. I am horrible after about 5 minutes. I remember I went to a reading of Dante's Inferno at the Cathedral of St. John the Divine in New York for Maundy Thursday... so dull... so long... in fact, the person who signed their section was the most interesting part. Anyway, here I was, front row for an hour long reading. Was I crazy? Well, yes, that's been long since established. But rumors where that he was going to be reading from Snuff, the upcoming Discworld novel. This made me excited. This reading also made me fall a little bit in love with Rob Wilkins.

Rob takes such joy in what he reads, sometimes having to pause the regain his composure. I don't know if I will ever be able to read a Discworld book again without hearing him in my head. I hadn't read much up on Snuff, so imagine my surprise when it's Samuel Vimes going to his wife's estate in the country. It's Discworld does period miniseries. Sam Vimes does Pride and Prejudice. It was so funny and wonderful that I didn't want it to end. Knowing that I'd have to wait till this month, three whole months after hearing Rob read was a harsh blow. I want to know more about the apples that go up versus down. I just need it now!

While listening to Rob I also started to devise a theory, I'm very good at multitasking. Rob seems to combine all the best of British actors I like. I saw a bit of Adrian Lukis, aka that naughty Wickham from Pride and Prejudice. But then Rob smiled and, dear lord, if it wasn't the smile of Richard Armitage I would be struck down. At this point I was kind of a goner in my Rob crush. My friend Jess said that there was a little bit of Martin Freeman she could see peaking through. So here is the Rob Wilkins mathematical formulae:

After the reading I went forth and retrived my Jess from the airport and had some dinner with my Matt and Jess (ironically at a restaurant besieged by Discworld people). After dinner we had a production by The Cromulent Shakespeare Company doing a play of The Wyrd Sisters. It had luckily been long enough since I read it so that it wasn't predictable. Magrat was a little too masculine and hippy dippy for me, but Granny Weatherwax, though being portrayed by a young woman, so had the posture and just all out presence of Granny Weatherwax it was amazingly well done. I was very happy and surprised by how fun and good it was, even if a little embarrassed that when there was this audience participation part and we had to jump in a circle and I found out that Terry Pratchett was standing behind me, seeing me in all my wacko glory. After a quick trip to the Seamstress Guild's party, to bed to bed, for there where to be Igors bright and early in the morning.

Posted by Miss Eliza at 12:00 AM 0 comments  

Labels: Angua, Bastet, Dante's Inferno, I Shall Wear Midnight, Martin Freeman, NADWCon, Om, Pride and Prejudice, Richard Armitage, Rob Wilkins, Snuff, Terry Pratchett, The Wyrd Sisters, Twoflower

As sure as the sun rises and sets there is sure to be another interpretation of Sherlock Holmes. With the recent big screen adaptation out today I thought it might be time for some pontification on that most memorable of detectives. While I thoroughly enjoyed Robert Downey Junior as Holmes with a cast rounded out by some wonderful BBC staples, I could always use another hit... though not the same kind as Holmes himself. I'm eagerly awaiting what, in the terms of geekdom, might be the most anticipated of collaborations. Steven Moffat and Mark Gatiss are joining forces (yes that's me squealing in the background) to bring a new twist to Holmes. Sure they have been more recently tied up with Doctor Who, but that doesn't mean this will be anything like The Doctor... how about Moffat's Jekyll reimagining? Even if it is supposedly set in modern times, with Benedict Cumberbatch, Martin Freeman and Rupert Graves we have a cast that I am certain to love. The three 90 minute films are in production now and I just could only wish for a Tardis to jump on into the future to catch an episode. But the real question is, how does Steven Moffat have the time? With writing the new Tin Tin movie, being the new show-runner for Doctor Who and now this!?! Sheer multitasking genius!

All this talks of the new Holmeses leads me to a very important thought... who really is the definitive Holmes? Basil Rathbone or Jeremy Brett... how do they stack up against each other. And are we to factor in parodies? Because then we have Michael Caine facing Peter Cook! Also what if we factor in Holmes' history and take into account Ian Richardson on Murder Rooms (which if you haven't watched, you really must)? The truth is, each actor brings something unique and different to the role and that one can not be compared to another or even to how we view Holmes in our minds. Of course, this being me, I do have a favorite... from a love of Egyptology and being in love with the star at an impressionable age, Nicholas Rowe as Holmes in The Young Sherlock Holmes will always be my favorite. He does not detract from the original, but adds a new layer of awesomeness. I'm sorry Elizabeth had to die... but I did like you saying my name over and over even if you did cause me to have an unnatural fear of pastries.

The history of Holmes is fascinating in and of itself. Doyle never wrote the Deerstalker, that was an invention of the Illustrator. And when Doyle had Holmes killed off, he was brought back to life by mass consensus. There are societies and spin offs and scholars and every manner of devotion possible, it's no wonder there are so many adaptations!

Posted by Miss Eliza at 12:00 AM 3 comments  

Labels: Arthur Conan Doyle, Doctor Who, Ian Richardson, Jeremy Brett, Mark Gatiss, Martin Freeman, Nicholas Rowe, Robert Downey Junior, Sherlock Holmes, Steven Moffat, The Doctor, The Young Sherlock Holmes