Few actors can successfully straddle two well-loved action hero franchise movies within a relatively short period of each film’s release. Even fewer come up with performances that leave both critics and general public raving. Robert Downey, Jr. might as well be the guy to take such chances given a career that has lived through asymmetrical haircuts, goatees and flannel. (We’ll leave the more nefarious details for other writers to pick on.) In fact, any concerns about the dangers of typecasting should be thwarted by the prolific actor’s Golden Globe for Best Performance by an Actor in a Motion Picture - Comedy or Musical just last month for his portrayal of the manic depressant yet brilliant Sherlock Holmes in, well, Sherlock Holmes. But if a statuette from a bunch of stuffy journalists won’t convince you, an examination of the movie from an average movie buff’s perspective may help.
Victorian era London is brooding and reminds one of either Dickensian stories or Whitechapel. On the flipside, there was something fascinating about the propriety of its citizens that made them worth watching. This film, directed by Guy Ritchie (Lock, Stock and Two Smoking Barrels), does not discount that vital element. Jude Law’s Dr. John Watson, Holmes’s sidekick, is spiffy and yet won’t allow his friend to go digging in the dirt all alone. It’s refreshing to see Watson portrayed as interesting and just as riveting in a non-slapstick kind of way. But, still, a British actor playing second fiddle to a Yankee playing a Limey? I forget that this isn’t Chris Columbus’s Harry Potter. But I digress…
There is, however, enough necessary bruising and chasing in Sherlock Holmes to qualify for the action-adventure genre it touts itself as. One thing that initially did not sit well with me is how Holmes would narrate the physiological damage he was about to inflict on his opponent. Downey Jr. does a believable English accent but at times he sounded like The Count on Sesame Street. (One! One little sheep! Jumping the fence! Two!) It was distracting, as one reviewer said, but forgivable given its purpose. Who knows? It may catch on with kids the way Fight Club never did. “Fist to patella, elbow to rib, metacarpals to iris.”
The discourse between Holmes and Watson strikes as endearingly familiar and a testament to earlier reports of how the two lead actors have fallen in-love with each other even before filming began. Why wouldn’t they? Downey is the manic depressant and Law is the token British guy. Admittedly, those are unfair generalizations—it does not attempt to even be rational—but given how the partnership translates well on-screen, you could see that these actors are masters of their game.
As for the story, the tightly woven script does not concern itself with purists but presents a narrative designed for an afternoon at the movies. It’s not too absorbed in logic and deduction to put off the curious onlooker but, conversely, recognizes the importance of providing a solid plot line to support itself against the hardiest scoffers.
What does lack in Sherlock Holmes is a place for Rachel McAdams’s Irene Adler to stand her ground. Each time she appears on screen, she is bouncing off either with hero or villain. The audience doesn’t get the chance to discover who she is. Maybe they should have decided to put off Watson’s romantic interest angle for the sequel? Yes, they’re in talks for it now. We hope it materializes soon. Maybe even before Iron Man 2 because Sherlock Holmes is where Robert Downey, Jr.’s trademark nonchalance is needed.
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