Sir Arthur Conan Doyle's iconic detective has always been astute at cheating death (you'd practically imagine him, upon leaving the room, to call out "Be Reichenbach!"). But how to cheat a movie death, outliving the chipper Basil Rathbone adventure serials of the 40s and more sombre Christopher Lee Hammer Horror films of the 50s/60s? Why, by the 1970s version of one of Hollywood's favourite contemporary go- to tropes: the gritty reboot. Behold: The Private Life of Sherlock Holmes.
Penned by Billy Wilder and I.A.L. Diamond, arguably Classical Hollywood's most famous comic duo after the Screwball era, Private Life is an enjoyable romp, but a touch too confused in terms of what it wants to be to really hit home. Take the 'gritty reboot' qualifier, for one. Wilder seems to be simultaneously striving for an old- fashioned feel (the scratchier, grainier film stock, stagier performances, and more bombastic score), while also embracing the freedom the 1970s have lent him (Holmes can do cocaine here! Nudity! References to homosexuality, and even Holmes' sexuality!), which he does with almost whimsical abandon. This disjuncture can't help but feel a touch gratuitous, like a teen giddily but clumsily experimenting out of parental supervision. Moreover, its ensuing projected uncertainty worms its way into the rest of the film.
As the first third, a cute but overstated prologue set strictly to reflexively tweak and challenge the public's - and audiences' - perceptions of Holmes' legendary mystique winds up, we settle into a British Isles-spanning mystery adventure, which chugs along satisfactorily. The seemingly disparate elements of the plot's mystery inevitably coalesce with a suitable 'big reveal' and intriguing conspiratorial undercurrent. Still, affairs culminate somewhat awkwardly, especially anchored on an unsatisfyingly understated climax - which, spoilers aside, has no business falling so flat, considering it involves international intrigue, explosives, and the Loch Ness Monster(!!). It's also an oddly flat and disinterestedly serious film, considering Wilder and Diamond's satirical pedigree, and the fact that Robert Stephens appears to be bursting to uncork the campy Holmes he seems to be barely keeping in check. A sillier, zanier Billy Wilder touch could have helped liven up the proceedings and sweep plot quibbles under the rug, but profiling the most fiercely observant character in literary history makes such audience scrutiny and nitpicking impossible to avoid.
Ultimately, though, the majority of the film's plot gaps lead to a mishandled characterization of Holmes himself. Taking its cue from the film's reflexive deflating of the legend, Holmes is played as more emotional and far less intuitive and observant than customary, and even prone to the kind of asinine redundant questions he would normally rebuke others for. This uneven portrayal leads to several inconclusive plot points and character beats at the film's conclusion, leaving a conclusion intended as poignantly bittersweet playing as simply vexing instead. Still, the Scotland sequences are fun, if a bit twee - every single castle Holmes and Watson travel to is accompanied by a blare of bagpipes, and the barely feigned accents are something else - while the 'Loch Ness by night' interludes are a welcome dose of The Hound of the Baskervilles- calibre crackling tension. Even if the 'Sherlock Holmes vs. Loch Ness Monster' plot sounds like a Scooby-Doo episode, Wilder and Diamond handle it adeptly enough to keep the fun and stave off the folly.
Robert Stephens' work as Holmes is capably amusing and eloquent, but more fey and extravagantly emotional than one would hope for. Colin Blakely is similarly hammy but more gruffly entertaining Dr. Watson, taking notes from Nigel Bruce, but thankfully nowhere near as bumbling and incompetent (the man is a military doctor, after all, wot wot). Geneviève Page is a bit too flat to much endear herself as a hysterically determined woman with secrets of her own, but the always superb (and former Holmes himself!) Christopher Lee is excellently clipped and debonair as Holmes' enigmatic brother Mycroft.
The regular players of the Holmes pantheon are iconically watchable enough that the characters themselves outperform the actors or story that ensconce them: pleasant but vaguely irksome, and overall mediocre. As such, The Private Life of Sherlock Holmes is neither the witty, revisionist take you'd expect from Billy Wilder, or much of a gritty postmodern exposé. What it is is a perfectly passable trifle. And are trifles overall worth it? Elementary.
-6.5/10
Penned by Billy Wilder and I.A.L. Diamond, arguably Classical Hollywood's most famous comic duo after the Screwball era, Private Life is an enjoyable romp, but a touch too confused in terms of what it wants to be to really hit home. Take the 'gritty reboot' qualifier, for one. Wilder seems to be simultaneously striving for an old- fashioned feel (the scratchier, grainier film stock, stagier performances, and more bombastic score), while also embracing the freedom the 1970s have lent him (Holmes can do cocaine here! Nudity! References to homosexuality, and even Holmes' sexuality!), which he does with almost whimsical abandon. This disjuncture can't help but feel a touch gratuitous, like a teen giddily but clumsily experimenting out of parental supervision. Moreover, its ensuing projected uncertainty worms its way into the rest of the film.
As the first third, a cute but overstated prologue set strictly to reflexively tweak and challenge the public's - and audiences' - perceptions of Holmes' legendary mystique winds up, we settle into a British Isles-spanning mystery adventure, which chugs along satisfactorily. The seemingly disparate elements of the plot's mystery inevitably coalesce with a suitable 'big reveal' and intriguing conspiratorial undercurrent. Still, affairs culminate somewhat awkwardly, especially anchored on an unsatisfyingly understated climax - which, spoilers aside, has no business falling so flat, considering it involves international intrigue, explosives, and the Loch Ness Monster(!!). It's also an oddly flat and disinterestedly serious film, considering Wilder and Diamond's satirical pedigree, and the fact that Robert Stephens appears to be bursting to uncork the campy Holmes he seems to be barely keeping in check. A sillier, zanier Billy Wilder touch could have helped liven up the proceedings and sweep plot quibbles under the rug, but profiling the most fiercely observant character in literary history makes such audience scrutiny and nitpicking impossible to avoid.
Ultimately, though, the majority of the film's plot gaps lead to a mishandled characterization of Holmes himself. Taking its cue from the film's reflexive deflating of the legend, Holmes is played as more emotional and far less intuitive and observant than customary, and even prone to the kind of asinine redundant questions he would normally rebuke others for. This uneven portrayal leads to several inconclusive plot points and character beats at the film's conclusion, leaving a conclusion intended as poignantly bittersweet playing as simply vexing instead. Still, the Scotland sequences are fun, if a bit twee - every single castle Holmes and Watson travel to is accompanied by a blare of bagpipes, and the barely feigned accents are something else - while the 'Loch Ness by night' interludes are a welcome dose of The Hound of the Baskervilles- calibre crackling tension. Even if the 'Sherlock Holmes vs. Loch Ness Monster' plot sounds like a Scooby-Doo episode, Wilder and Diamond handle it adeptly enough to keep the fun and stave off the folly.
Robert Stephens' work as Holmes is capably amusing and eloquent, but more fey and extravagantly emotional than one would hope for. Colin Blakely is similarly hammy but more gruffly entertaining Dr. Watson, taking notes from Nigel Bruce, but thankfully nowhere near as bumbling and incompetent (the man is a military doctor, after all, wot wot). Geneviève Page is a bit too flat to much endear herself as a hysterically determined woman with secrets of her own, but the always superb (and former Holmes himself!) Christopher Lee is excellently clipped and debonair as Holmes' enigmatic brother Mycroft.
The regular players of the Holmes pantheon are iconically watchable enough that the characters themselves outperform the actors or story that ensconce them: pleasant but vaguely irksome, and overall mediocre. As such, The Private Life of Sherlock Holmes is neither the witty, revisionist take you'd expect from Billy Wilder, or much of a gritty postmodern exposé. What it is is a perfectly passable trifle. And are trifles overall worth it? Elementary.
-6.5/10