A foppish shake-up of an imperious literary hero or a raucous pantomime designed to play for the masses not the mind? I mean, what do you expect with an American playing Sherlock Holmes?
If the former, it comes as little surprise that they turned to Robert Downey Jr. for this new incarnation of the legendary Baker Street sleuth. He’s already played the playboy prince Tony Stark. An actor playing an actor who just happens to be a genius inventor and ironclad superhero.
Here the great metalwork being constructed is Tower Bridge, rising up from the Thames beneath skies tinged by the coal smoke from this industrial age. Its shadows hide the murderous machinations of our villain Lord Blackwood (Mark Strong battling admirably with an underwritten role), eluding first capture at the hands of Holmes and Watson, and then the hangman’s noose. Now he is free to commit a final wicked act that could threaten all of England.
It’s a satisfyingly theatrical premise and Downey’s Holmes is no less the performer. He poses, he pouts, he reasons as if delivering soliloquies before dashing off this vast city-stage to solve another elaborate mystery, in as flamboyant a manner as possible. 
It’s not a huge leap for him. A harsher critic might even consider it coasting. While he’s clearly having fun it’s a performance that edges perilously close to parody, lacking the intensity of the definitive Holmes, the wonderfully vampiric, Jeremy Brett. And yet it still retains the essence of the character. His giddy highs when being challenged, his medicated stupor when not. His delight in puncturing the pomposity of those minds he sees as inferior, whether of the lower or upper classes.
What’s most impressive isn’t that Hollywood has left the canon relatively unscathed (emphasis on Hollywood’s idea of ‘unscathed’), but that it’s shed new light on it. Jude Law is very good as a Watson with a gentlemanly charm, military brawn and a mind of his own. Finally. He even has a beautiful fiancée (Kelly Reilly doing well with a tiny part), a fact that sends his partner into jealous convulsions. In fact it’s Holmes that is slightly off-balance here, hunted by the police and almost bested by the formidable Irene Adler (a vivacious Rachel McAdams), a woman who is ostensibly his female counterpart.
At its heart the film is essentially one of the greatest literary relationships boiled down to a mix of banter and bickering and potential break-up, which adds a dash of ‘Withnail and I’s’ strange melancholy to an already ‘Odd Couple’ scenario. It’s a surprisingly winning combination. 
As good as the two leads are, though, the real surprise is director Ritchie. None of his usual jitter-edit prepares us for this. His previous works brash tributes to the kinds of people who prey on the likes of Holmes rather than swap quips with him. Here, however, he takes his established affinity with actors and evolves, putting style to work on the story rather than against.
This is what Alan Moore’s ‘The League of Extraordinary Gentlemen’ could have been. On one hand subtle CGI is used to turn London into an immersive world of dazzling invention (the lightning rod, the remote trigger). On the other, injections of action illuminate the mind of the famous Detective, seen to dazzling effect in a bare-knuckle bout played first in slo-mo, showcasing the whip-smart mind of Holmes, then at normal speed for us to enjoy in a blaze of bone-crunching.
It’s a flashy visual conceit that’s repeated, with slight variations, throughout the film. More something you applaud than get swept up by as part of a larger intrigue. And in this regard the film suffers slightly due to its breathless pace and slightly uneven tone. But considering everything it does right, it’s a fair compromise. Suspend your disbelief, remove that deerstalker, and you’re in for a treat.
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