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SCREEN OF THE CRIME, by Lenny Picker

Man of Thought, Man of Action, or How A Study In Terror Got the Balance Right (Unlike a Certain Other Film)

A substantial portion of the by-no-means-universal adverse reaction to the 2009 movie Sherlock Holmes—both from Sherlockians as well as from lay viewers and reviewers—stems from its focus on portraying the detective as an action hero who in many respects resembles Batman, who also used his fists as well as his brain to combat crime. As an example, one of the opening scenes in the film, in which Robert Downey, Jr.’s Holmes analyzes the specific impact of his martial arts moves before immobilizing an opponent is, if not a conscious homage to, then a close parallel to a scene in a Frank Miller comic book, in which Gotham’s protector does almost exactly the same thing. Even The New York Times editorial board, in opining on whether Holmes should be fully in the public domain, noted that “the master of the cerebral has been turned into an action hero” in the movie.

While I found the movie neither as bad nor as good as it could have been, I anticipate that fans of it who then turn to the Canon for more of the same will find Doyle’s brilliant tales of scientific investigation disappointingly sedate. Despite thoughtful analyses by those such as Robert Davis (“Film Friday: Comparing Ritchie’s Sherlock Holmes to Conan Doyle’s Stories”), there’s a difference between scattered references in the originals to Holmes mastering the Japanese art of baritsu, to his being a gifted amateur boxer, and to being a singlestick expert, and the long fight sequences in Guy Ritchie and Lionel Wigram’s vision.

But as the Master himself quoted from Ecclesiastes, in A Study in Scarlet, “there is nothing new under the sun,” (with the possible exception of a naked Holmes handcuffed to a bed by Irene Adler for no particularly good narrative reason). Almost half a century ago, another filmmaker sought to depict the sleuth as more of a man of action than had been the case in previous screen incarnations, and the publicity campaign for the movie even tried to appeal to the fans of the campy Adam West Batman TV series by using the slogan “Here comes the original caped crusader!” But in spite of the sensational and misleading tagline and a cheesy poster replete with sound effects rendered into words—“Biff!”, “Crunch!”, etc., straight from the television show, (presumably selected under the theory that salting the ads with “Observe”, “Contemplate”, and “Deduce” wouldn’t pack the seats), the forces behind 1965’s A Study In Terror convincingly integrated action and combat into a storyline true to the spirit of the detective Conan Doyle created, by making such scenes secondary to actual deduction. By doing so, they made one of the best-regarded, if least-known Holmes films of all time.

A Study In Terror broke ground on a number of fronts, most notably for pitting Holmes against Jack the Ripper on film for the very first time. While that concept may seem unremarkable today, given the 1979 movie Murder By Decree, and numerous pastiches (most significantly, Lyndsay Faye’s 2009’s standout Dust and Shadow: An Account of the Ripper Killings by Dr. John H. Watson), it was novel in 1965. And as Holmes was at the peak of his career during the 1888 Autumn of Terror during which the Whitechapel murderer operated, setting him on the serial killer’s trail made perfect sense, as I argued in a 1981 article for the Baker Street Miscellanea (“A Few Words On Behalf of Jack the Ripper”). The panicked frenzy the Ripper created would not have allowed Holmes to sit idly by, even if the savagery of the crimes differed from his usual case (a conclusion that rests on the good doctor’s admitted exercise of discretion in determining which investigations conducted by his friend were fit for publication).

Its recent addition to Turner Classic Movies’ roster (it debuted during the Christmas 2009 marathon) should give American audiences more opportunities to view it, despite its continued unavailability on DVD over here, notwithstanding reports that Sony was to release it in the fall of 2009. In my view, any serious admirer of the characters should seek it out, and Messrs. Ritchie and Wigram would be well-advised to widen their gaze to include it before beginning their already-green-lighted sequel that is expected to bring Professor Moriarty front and center, a storyline that cries out for a carefully-crafted battle of wits between intellectual equals, rather than focusing on fisticuffs. While A Study In Terror does have its flaws, they are relatively few, and more than outweighed by a stellar cast, superb pacing, and an intelligent script that seamlessly integrates quotes from the Canon, with clues as to the identity of the Ripper placed fairly before the viewer, while offering multiple suspects for consideration.

After three prostitutes are savagely slaughtered on the streets of Whitechapel, Holmes (John Neville) is sent an anonymous package addressed in “a female hand,” containing a set of surgical instruments with the post-mortem knife removed, which nicely sets up the absence of something, rather than its presence, as a clue, in the spirit of the classic “the curious incident of the dog in the night-time,” from “Silver Blaze.” The case containing them provides a splendid opportunity for Holmes to demonstrate his deductive method. Holmes’s careful examination of the object leads him to conclude that “[t]hese instruments belonged to a medical man who has descended to hard times,” explaining to Watson (Donald Houston), portrayed here as a solid, dependable and intelligent companion, rather than Nigel Bruce’s Boobus Britannicus, the logical basis behind his conclusion: that “the instruments of one’s trade are always the last things to be pawned,” and that the presence of a “fleck of white, silver polish,” on one of the instruments shows that “they have been treated like common cutlery by someone concerned only with their appearance.” The presence of a three-digit pawn ticket number in chalk on the outside of the case confirms his deduction.

Houston’s Watson does not react with dumb-founded amazement; instead, he’s comfortable challenging the conclusion, suggesting that the case could have been “stolen from a doctor and then pawned,” a perfectly logical hypothesis that establishes from the outset that he will serve as an asset, rather than a liability to the inquiry to come.

Holmes responds by explaining why the doctor’s theory is wrong. (“If the pawnbroker had thought they were stolen, he would never have displayed them in a window.”)

But the hyper-intelligent Holmes is just getting started, astonishing Watson, and the viewer by declaring, with supreme self-confidence, “The shop faces south in a narrow street. And business is bad. I should also add that the pawnbroker is a foreigner.”

When Watson starts to protest that he cannot see how Holmes reached these conclusions, Holmes impatiently cuts him off, “You see everything, but observe nothing,” a combining of the lines from “A Scandal in Bohemia”, “You see, but you do not observe,” and, from “The Blue Carbuncle”, “You can see everything. You fail, however, to reason from what you see.” The master reasoner elucidates:

Observe how the material has faded here. The sun has touched the inside of the case only when at its height, and able to shine over the roofs of the buildings opposite. Hence, the shop is in a narrow street, facing south. And business had to be bad for the case to remain undisturbed for so long.

He further points out that “the seven in the pledge number is crossed in the Continental manner,” thus establishing that the pawnbroker was not British.

This initial depiction of Holmes is fully in the spirit of the Canon, echoing similar scenes of demonstrated brilliance in “The Blue Carbuncle,” “The Norwood Builder,” and The Hound of the Baskervilles. It portrays the character foremost as a man of intellect. In contrast, Downey’s Holmes is first seen calculating the blows he will land on an adversary. Unfortunately, this sort of opening is a rarity. (The only parallel that springs immediately to mind from the big screen is Rathbone’s Holmes accurately identifying personal details about Dr. Mortimer based on a study of the latter’s forgotten walking-stick.) But perhaps this failing, is not, on reflection, surprising, given the thought needed to simulate the brilliant staccato deductions Doyle managed with apparent ease.

Holmes’s further examination of the medical case finds that it bears the coat of arms of the Osbourne family, and the pair’s visit to the family home yields the revelation that it had been given as a gift by Edward Osbourne, Lord Carfax to his older brother, Michael, who had been studying to become a doctor, over the objections of the Duke of Shires, his father, who considered the pursuit beneath the dignity of the family. The search for the missing eldest son and heir, and the connection between his property and the Whitechapel murders drives the rest of the plot, culminating in a taut and dramatic confrontation between detective and killer.

By seeking to attract the viewer to Holmes based on his amazing brain, rather than some other characteristic, the screenwriters, Donald and Derek Ford, ground the violence of their story firmly in tradition, insuring that it is not the tail wagging the hound. The movie’s subject matter naturally lends itself to the inclusion of action scenes, but they are integral to the plot. After questioning a suspect, Holmes and Watson are set upon by thugs he dispatched out of a concern that they had learned too much about his illegal operations, a scene reminiscent of one in the Downey movie. As the death toll mounts, the pair take to the streets in an effort to find, as Holmes puts it, “the detail that matters,” but are too late to prevent the murder of Mary Jane Kelly. But their proximity to the crime (in the movie’s most serious departure from the historical record—the time between the murder and the Ripper’s flight from Kelly’s room is much too short to allow for the obscene surgery the killer conducted) allows Holmes to almost catch his man in a frantic and gripping sequence. There is also a fight sequence at the movie’s end when he eventually traps his quarry.

Making a mystery more visually engaging on the screen by including such sequences is typical; for example, the Granada adaptation of “Charles Augustus Milverton,” The Master Blackmailer expands on the Canon to include a fistfight between a disguised Holmes and his jealous rival. Rathbone’s Holmes’s first encounter with Moriarty in 1939’s The Adventures of Sherlock Holmes ended in a wrestling match, obviously paralleling Doyle’s own portrayal of their encounter at the Reichenbach Falls. And there’s nothing inherently wrong with scenes of violent action—stories of armchair deduction such as “The Gloria Scott,” or “The Veiled Lodger,” are not the Canonical norm.

A Study In Terror also stands out with its superior ensemble cast, rivaled only by that of Murder By Decree, with whom it shares two members. Neville, best-known to modern audiences as The Well-Manicured Man of The X-Files, is one of my favorite Holmes—incisive, resourceful, and a sophisticated observer of human nature. His Holmes is capable of outrage and strong emotion, but he is more in control of himself than in Christopher Plummer’s portrayal. He knows how to use his reputation to his benefit; his name alone is enough to intimidate witnesses. Unfortunately, he only played the part again as one of the successors to John Wood in the 1970s revival of the William Gillette play, and in an obscure CBC radio play, The Incredible Murder of Cardinal Tosca, whose script did not match his acting talent. We can only wonder what might have been had Neville not declined to succeed Douglas Wilmer in the 1960s BBC series that was eventually filmed with Peter Cushing in the part.

As noted, Houston continued in the footsteps of Andre Morrell as a serious Watson, foreshadowing similar approaches to the role by Robert Duvall, James Mason, David Burke and Edward Hardwicke. Inspector Lestrade, who in the Rathbone films managed the improbable feat of making Bruce’s Watson look smart in comparison, finally got his due, thanks to Frank Finlay, who reprised the role in Murder By Decree. The movie also featured Dame Judi Dench in one of her first roles, as a young idealist running a mission in the East End, along with her uncle, portrayed by Anthony Quayle. And the movie’s grimness, inherent in its subject-matter—the Ripper’s gory assaults are not for the squeamish, even if the horrific mutilations are only alluded to—and its frank portrayal of mortuaries and the plight of the London underclass, is lightened intermittently by Robert Morley, whose delightful and charming portrayal of Mycroft Holmes was the first in an English-language talking picture.

My regard for the movie is not a blinkered one. The Ripper’s reason for killing is not fully-developed. In contrast to Murder By Decree, Watson is, illogically, relegated to the sidelines for the unmasking of the killer, and the writers place Holmes in a deathtrap that they are not able to write their way out of. The soundtrack, perhaps the first ever released on record from a Holmes film, is uneven and sometimes jarring, and the real victims of the Ripper were not as healthy and well-nourished as portrayed in the movie, which does not concern itself overmuch with historical accuracy. But these are quibbles, at best. Neville and Houston deserved more outings in their roles, and forty-five years later, their performances, both individually and jointly, rank among the best in the history of Holmes on the screen. And the Fords and director Herman Cohen (also responsible for the giant gorilla movie, Konga) proved that an in-period Holmes movie not derived from the Canon could be done well.

By keeping Holmes the man of action in proper proportion to the thinker who could sit for hours, if not days, on end, developing and testing theories, Ritchie and Wigram could go a long way, in their next film, to allaying the qualms of many of their critics. A Study In Terror shows how to do just that.

A closing warning: A Study In Terror was subsequently novelized by Ellery Queen and Paul Fairman; its conceit was having Queen being sent Watson’s manuscript and applying his own detecting gifts to ascertaining whether Holmes correctly identified the Ripper. The sections from Watson’s journal have their moments, but I’d strongly recommend that the novel, which has been periodically reprinted in Ripper anthologies, be read only after seeing the movie.

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Lenny Picker, whose experience of things Sherlockian extends over four decades and three continents, stayed up until 4:00 a.m. while a teenager to catch A Study In Terror on The Late Late Show, in the days before VCRs and DVRs.

He can be reached at <chthompson@jtsa.edu>.