Sherlock Holmes 101

In my studies of Sherlock Holmes I've become acquainted with many film and television adaptations of Sir Arthur Conan Doyle's work. It is therefore my duty, dear reader, to recommend to you the following essential Sherlocks: Benedict Cumberbatch, Jeremy Brett, and (of course) Robert Downey Jr..

Each will be given their own blog post in order to spread the love and not tax your patience.

Let's start with Jeremy Brett.

This glorious beast portrayed Sherlock Holmes for 10 years in multiple British television shows and films starting in 1984 until 1994, just a year before his premature death.

He remains a fan favorite because his outstanding portrayal of Holmes is very true to the books. It's known that he would work closely with the show's writers in order to be sure the scripts were as accurate as possible, driven simply by his love for the character.

And, as you can see, Brett fit Holme's physical description to a T.

Holmes is often described as tall and thin with lanky limbs and sharp angular facial features. His hair is dark and his eyes are sharp and piercing. His fingers in particular are long and nimble, perfect for handling the most temperamental evidence or playing the violin.

Brett's Holmes is known for being explosive because he would often burst into laughter or shout in moments of excitement. It's for this reason that the show captures the humor originally penned by Conan Doyle so perfectly. Brett's comic relief was always perfectly timed and never irreverent.

And when Brett would don one of his many disguises, unlike Downey Jr's Holmes, it wasn't meant to be comic relief. Instead, it was highly impressive. Not only was the makeup convincing, but Brett disguised his voice and mannerisms so well that I had trouble recognizing him on more than one occasion.

Also among the many delightful aspects of Brett's Holmes was his relationship with the Baker Street irregulars (pick pockets). I think this picture says it all.

The episodes and films themselves are enjoyable and well-executed. In fact, they're so close to the original material that it's like watching what you just read, only with a few added details to keep things interesting.

The show had two different Watsons, both of which did the role justice. But I've always preferred David Burke's (pictured above) over Edward Hardwicke's simply because he was the proper age and he met the character's description just as well as Brett met his. It's for this reason I have a hard time envisioning anyone else when I read the books.

And speaking of Watsons, a 20-year-old Jude Law once made an appearance in the 5th season as a pivotal character.

(As most of us know, he would later mature into a Watson alongside Downey Jr's Holmes in the Guy Ritchie film adaptations.)

The relationship between Holmes and Watson was, as you may have guessed, very accurate in the Brett version. It was the first time someone had truly nailed it, because up until then poor Watson had been stereotyped as an elderly chubby bumbling blindly-loyal sidekick.

The stories are narrated by Waton himself, so we only get a few glimpses of his physical appearance. But from what I've gathered, he is supposed to be a well built middle-aged man of average stature with a thick strong neck and a small mustache. His athleticism is often referred to as well, despite his war-earned limp. Watson was, as Downey Jr's Holmes puts it, "Born to be a man of action."

But, more importantly, it's vital to communicate Watson's personality and intelligence. Both Burke and Hardwicke's Watson did just that, and it meshed perfectly with Brett's Holmes. I found a little cartoon that conveniently sums up their relationship versus the stereotyped version:

And then, of course, there's the Downey Jr version:

But more about that later.

A Late Night Heart-to-Heart

*Warning, mild but tasteful profanity*



Last night I was roused from a pleasant slumber by my stomach making a fuss. Our conversation went a little something like this:

Me: *Groan* Whaaaaat?

Tummy: Well good morning Sleeping Freaking Beauty! I've been shouting at your lazy ass for the past half hour!

Me: What do you want?

Tummy: Code red, baby, we're evacuating!

Me: What? Why?

Tummy: Because of that Indian crap you stuffed me with earlier, that's why!

Me: You're not gettin' along?

Tummy: Look, I'm not racist. I hate everyone equally.

Me: Then what's the problem?

Tummy: It's stinkin' up the joint and has bad taste in music!

Me: That sounds racist to me.

Tummy: Tolerance is moot at this point! Now get to that toilet, pronto!

Me: I got a better idea, how 'bout I just go back to sleep and the two of you duke it out?

Tummy: I've given you a fair warning, don't make me do something you'll regret later.

Me: You wouldn't.

Tummy: Oh, would I?

Me: *Sigh* Fine, gimme a minute.

Tummy: Nu-uh, you got a second!

Me: I will literally shut my mouth and swallow it so you have to deal with it all over again if you do anything rash! Now give me a damned minute!

Tummy: Fine! Make it a quick one.

Me: Why couldn't you deal with this earlier? It's 4am.

Tummy: I was busy!

Me: Doing what?

Tummy: Trying to figure out what the hell I was dealing with, you've never given me something like this before!

Me: So it took you 8 hours to figure out you couldn't digest it? Weak.

Tummy: Imagine someone shoved about 50 smelly foreigners who didn't speak a word of English into your bedroom and said, "Hope ya get along, have a good night!" What would you do, eh, anthropologist?

Me: I'd...embrace them and their culture. Then in all likelihood try to throw myself out the window.

Tummy: And since I can't exactly leap outta your torso this is the next best thing, so hustle!

Me: Alright, alright. I'm going.......Oh look, my roommates fallen asleep on the couch again. With the lights on.

Tummy: What a schmuck.

Me: A crude, but accurate description.

Tummy: I try.


And that is the story of how I lost three hours of sleep last night. And why last night was the first and last time I'll ever eat Indian food. The nausea just isn't worth it.

A Sherlockian Rant

Besides the fact that "A Game of Shadows" just came out, I've really been into Sherlock Holmes for a few months now (which you may have deduced from my blog's background). I bought the complete collection from Borders when it was having its 'going out of business' sale and have been steadily reading the adventures of Holmes and Watson since.

But it wasn't until yesterday when I discovered a mysterious note on my truck's windshield that I realized the impact those stories were having on me. I immediately began to scrutinize the note from every possible angle, I noted that it was written in pencil, I noted the quality and size of the paper, I gave it a whiff, then I moved on to the actual message. It read:

"I offer my apologies for parking in your spot Ms. Haskins. I was under the impression that the Summerlyn tenants don't generally park in their assigned sections. I hope my ignorance has not caused you any grave inconvenience, and I assure you that my actions shall not be repeated."

What. The. Hell?

I determined the writer was a male, because even though the writing was very neat the script was capitalized. And the neatness may be explained through the author's careful choice of words. It's very well worded, so if he took the extra time to compose such a message he must have written it slowly and deliberately, thus resulting in very neat script.

Further, he spells 'Summerlynn' incorrectly. A tenant of the actual complex would not have made such an error, especially considering the slow and deliberate pace in which this note was written. Besides, all Summerlynn tenants are female.

In addition, he placed this note 'pon my windshield whilst I was parked in a spot marked 301. I live in apartment 202.

Once I made these deductions I patted myself on the back and turned my mind to who may have written such a bizarre note.

The overall nature of the note seems to imply that I've become upset with someone for parking in my space. That's not so. For one, I don't have a parking space. None of the residents of Summerlynn do. The spaces may be marked but no one pays attention to them since the parking garage is not monitored and there are always plenty of spots. Secondly, I never left a note on anyone's windshield indicating I was upset with their parking in a certain spot. Nor have I ever expressed such a sentiment aloud.

Whoever it is, they know who I am and the vehicle I drive. This disturbs me because not even my neighbors know which car is mine. In fact, I hardly know which cars are my roommates'. In my stalker's defense, my truck is very unique from the hoard of Corollas and Civics that crowd the parking garage. So if he observed me driving once, I wouldn't be difficult to commit my truck to memory.

That doesn't make it any less creepy, though.

My guess would be that the note belongs to a certain young man whom I chatted with during a ward social this past Saturday. We somehow got on the subject of parking, and I revealed to him that our parking garage is always abundant with vacancies and is not monitored.

If he had taken this to heart and utilized our parking garage, it's very possible he spotted my truck and decided to leave me a note. My roommates think this is his way of telling me he likes me. Well, he's going about it the wroooong way. The only things I wanna find on my windshield are flowers or mix tapes.

Honestly, I hope it was him. Because if it was anyone else the facts wouldn't align and I would find myself in a conundrum. As it is, I think it's very bizarre and only goes to show how much Holmes has effected me.

At least I know this weirdo thinks I live in apartment 301.

Silence is Golden

By nature I'm not a very loud person. My voice is low and I often have to repeat myself due to its deep register and my California slur. Or, more often, I'm simply ignored because no one heard me. The only moments I find myself making a ruckus is when I'm laughing, which I dearly love to do.

But it wasn't until I went to college and began observing the raucous behavior of roommates and fellow students that I realized my own quiet nature.

The most frequent occurrences of raucousness involved people being inconsiderate. Take, for example, the Liberty Square parking lot instance.

It was a warm Summer's evening of 2009 and Brooke McEwen and I were fast asleep in our shared room at Liberty Square. I was dreaming of life aboard the Enterprise when the peaceful evening was shattered by a sudden booming and obnoxious song being blasted just below our window. The music (if you want to call it that) was being accompanied by multiple voices raised in hilarity and utter disregard for the sleeping occupants in the apartments around them.

Brooke rolled over and peered out the window that shouldered her bed. "Some people are playing music from their car." She reported sleepily.

I glanced at my clock. It was 2am.

Hell no.

"Would you mind if I leaned across you to shout at 'em?"
Brooke paused. "Yes."

Alright, fine. The alternative would probably be more effective anyhow.

I slid out of bed and stomped down the stairs to our front door that led to the parking lot. I threw the door open without hesitation and oh Allah, I can only imagine what those people thought as a frumpy wild-haired fiery-eyed girl in skimpy pajamas snarled, "HEY! Would you turn that SHIT down?!"

I slammed the door for effect and marched back up the stairs to my room. The music stopped abruptly just as I slid back into bed. "You're welcome," I muttered to Brooke, who was probably mortified.


Speaking of doors slamming.

My past and current roommates are awfully fond of it. Whether it be the front door, their bedroom door, the microwave door, or even the lid on the toilet; If it can be opened and shut, it must needs be slammed. My door-slamming roommates also tend to crank the volume on the television, speak in a loud voice, and exhibit obnoxious behavior in general.

And, so far, they all have one thing in common; they come from large families.

I'm not saying there's anything wrong with large families, but the behavior children are forced to exhibit in order to get attention often lead to selfish and inconsiderate adulthood traits.

I myself come from an average-sized family; two parents, three kids. My parents may disagree but I think we were a fairly quiet family. Unfortunately, growing up in a household that was so quiet at night has lead to me being a light sleeper. My roommates, on the other hand, can sleep through anything. So I think this explains their tendency to stomp around the apartment, slam doors, and blast the television. That doesn't excuse their actions though. Just because someone can't be empathetic doesn't mean they shouldn't be sympathetic.

So it goes without saying that solitude and privacy are the two things I covet the most. I've wanted to live alone for some time now. In fact, I was seriously considering moving into an apartment of my own beginning Fall semester '11 but was financially unfit. Even as I'm typing this, listening to my roommate's awful country music wailing from her bedroom, I'm longing for a place of my own.

I can certainly identify with Eugene's dream from Tangled:

"I have dreams like you, no really!
Just much less touchy-feely
They mainly happen somewhere warm and sunny
On an island that I own
Tanned and rested and alone
Surrounded by enormous piles of moneeeeey!"

My sister is the most adamant about me not living alone. For some reason she seems to think it's a 100% guarantee of getting raped. I honestly feel sorry for the dude that tries to break into my abode. I may not have a gun, but I've got plenty of stuff to improvise with and I know how to improvise.

And I know I'm gonna get married someday but with my luck he'll be deaf and have to blast music so he can feel the vibrations through the speakers. Bless him. I guess that's what I'll get for being a crotchety old hag.

Sherlock Holmes: A Shadowy Review

I just returned from seeing a sequel I've been waiting two years for: Sherlock Holmes- A Game of Shadows. I have my complaints, but I really enjoyed it. It therefore goes without saying that this post shall list the aforementioned complaints. During my analysis I won't spare any details, so if you haven't seen this film, stop reading and go see the damn movie.


First off, I would like to state that I haven't completely read the 'Sherlock Holmes' series. But I know enough to justify the following grumblings.

Complaint #1:

I was very upset with how they handled Irene Adler. Is she dead? Alive? If so, where the heck is she? In a hospital somewhere? And why isn't Sherlock doing anything? Closure? CLOSURE?!


Complaint #2:

Stephen Fry as Mycroft? Really? Don't get me wrong, I love Stephen Fry. But who the heck thought to themselves,

"We need to cast someone as Robert Downey Jr.'s brother...

hmm...

someone who looks like him...

someone who reminds us of him...

hmmmmmmm.......

AH! Stephen Fry! They're practically twins!"


I think the casting directors need to get their eyes checked. In their defense, Fry fits the character's physical description perfectly. But Downey Jr. doesn't fit his own character at all.


Complaint #3:

The slow-motion high-detailed action sequences were present in abundance. Not that I would normally complain about a well-placed ass-kicking, but it was a little much. I often found myself thinking, "Yes, yes, we know the gunpowder has to ignite before the bullet can hurtle down the barrel and zoom closely past Jude Law's ribs. We get it."

It was cool, but it got old pretty quick. One should never have too much of a good thing.

Complaint #4:

As soon as I saw the waterfall outside Castle Dracula, I knew Moriarty and Holmes were gonna go plummeting over it. So during the entire last sequence I kept thinking,

"They can't do it. They're not gonna do it. Right? Nah, they can't do it...dammit, they're gonna do it."

Sure enough, Holmes and Moriarty took a slow-mo plunge as a horrified Watson looked on.

It was appropriately epic and left the series wide open for another sequel, but the writers really should have chosen a different conclusion. Moriarty is the Joker to Holmes' Batman. They're perfectly matched, and by the time we realize this, Holmes and Moriarty take the waterfall plunge and the novel concludes.

Sherlock survives the fall, just like he does in the film, but for them to use such an epically poetic conclusion this early in the film series makes me wonder how they're going to top it in the future. They should have kept Moriarty around for at least 3 films, he's a fantastic villain.


Complaint #5:

There. Was. No. Sleuthing.

Think about it. In the first film, Holmes has to piece together an intricate puzzle that ultimately leads to the discovery of Blackwood's not-so-supernatural scheme to kill the lords of parliament. In the sequel, all Sherlock does is go around trying to stop Moriarty from blowing up his next target.

We know exactly what's going on, there's no guesswork for the audience aside from wondering when Holmes and Watson are nearly going to be killed again. Of course, there is the mystery of Renee, Simza's brother. But he just didn't seem that important. If there was any mystery it should have lied in Moriarty and his plot to start a war.

Now, time for praises!

I loved the gypsy girl, Madame Simza. My favorite thing about her character was the fact that she didn't become anyone's romantic interest.

Yet the care she displayed for Watson and Sherlock was appropriately poignant. I particularly liked the scene where she held Sherlock's head in her lap and hummed a lullaby as he lay dying.

Speaking of Sherlock dying.

I liked the fact that Sherlock passed away at that point. Some may say it only created pointless drama but I appreciated the acknowledgement that a human being cannot endure the sort of beating Sherlock received and survive. And the way he died was just as realistic. There was no gasping or heartfelt sentiments or dramatic last-breath-then-go-limp shenanigans. Sherlock is simply lying quietly in Simza's lap, watching Watson, and his eyes slip shut. I honestly thought he had fallen asleep. It wasn't until the gypsy girl held her hand beneath his nose and said "He's not breathing!" that I realized what had happened.

I liked Mary's role in this film, I feel like she got to do a lot more this time. I particularly liked her participation in exposing Moriarty. Firstly, it shows how capable she is, and secondly, it shows how much Sherlock has come to respect and trust her.


I also liked how they expounded upon Holmes and Watson's bromance in this film. There was more than one moment where they stopped and made oogley eyes at each other and I couldn't help but go, "Aww." Jude Law and Robert Downey Jr.'s chemistry alone makes this worth watching.


One of my favorite aspects of these films is the humor. There were plenty of laughs in this sequel, most of which lied in the dialogue.

"I'm getting married tomorrow."
"Oh! Embrace me."

Robert Downey Jr. is a natural comic, making one of my favorite moments the adrenaline shot. Unfortunately, I can't quote it. But just take a moment to remember the way he leapt to his feet and charged at the wall, shouting something like, "Satanic pony!"

And lastly, Jared Harris' portrayal of Moriarty was fantastic. I like how the casting directors chose a very average-looking Joe to play a morally insane super villain.

I think this throws the audience because they're expecting someone with an evil brow or glint in his eye, like Mark Strong's Lord Blackwood.


Then again, Jared Harris is a ginger.

One of my favorite scenes was when Moriarty and Holmes are going through their final physical confrontation in their minds, step by step, both coming to the conclusion that neither could win, thus resulting in the waterfall plunge. Another moment that was pretty harsh but extremely well done would be the hook torture scene.


(For those of you reading this without having seen the movie, that hook is in his freaking shoulder. Yeah.)

First of all, it lets you know that Moriarty means business. He knows so limits. Second of all, it lets you know that Moriarty is completely bonkers. I mean, who does that?

So, overall, I really enjoyed this film and I plan on seeing it at least one more time on the big screen. But between it and the first film, I prefer the first. It was perfectly balanced with just the right amount of humor, action and mystery. The sequel, on the other hand, was overloaded with action that left hardly any room for mystery or a compelling story.

I must therefore diagnose this film with the dreaded disease known as 'Sequel Syndrome'. It's bigger, it's louder, but it's not better.

Go see it anyway.

The Beginning of the End

I would just like to say, in writing, officially, that I have completed the most intense ulcer-inducing sanity-stretching semester I've ever experienced. And while I still have to grade a grandiose stack of papers before Christmas, this is the first time in months that I have virtually nothing to think or worry about school-related.

It's an odd phenomenon.

I've yet to experience the euphoria that supposedly comes with the finish of a semester (the girls upstairs blasting the Party Rock Anthem certainly seem to be engrossed in it). Perhaps it'll hit me once I land safely in Long Beach tomorrow. I'll let you know.

But for now I still feel like Frodo at the end of 'Return of the King'. Everyone is doing this:


But I'm still like this:


Maybe if Aragorn came along and told me, "You bow to no one!" I would feel better.

For those of you who care enough, take note: This is the one and only time I'll ever compare myself to a femmie hobbit.

A Brief Notifying Notice

Greetings, thou good and faithful readers.

I would like to apologize for my lack of bloggage. I'm currently working on one that psychoanalyzes villains but it's going to need a lot more time, of which I have very little. This is mainly due to an absurd amount of schoolwork and grading.

In the mean time, please enjoy this pointless video and enjoy my blog's Christmas makeover.