Reassessing Jeremy Brett

Being the nerd that I am -- about some things, at least -- I once got into a passionate online debate about who was the better Sherlock Holmes, Basil Rathbone or Jeremy Brett.

Rathbone, you may remember, starred in 14 beloved black-and-white Holmes films from 1939 to 1946. Brett starred in a series of episodes produced by Granada Television that originally aired on Britain's ITV network from 1984 to 1995.

In my mind, Rathbone was the clear winner. His cool, confident style fit the times, the films were by and large a lot of fun, and Holmes just seems ready made for monochrome.

Brett, I felt, was too bizarre, too hypomanic, too eccentric. His Watsons -- David Burke and Edward Hardwicke -- weren't nearly as lovable as Nigel Bruce.

A discussion at work about the revamped "Sherlock" made me think again about Jeremy Brett and the Granada series I hadn't seen in 15 years. And, since the episodes are streaming online via Netflix, I thought it was high time to watch them again and give Brett another chance.

After watching every installment of the Granada "Adventures of Sherlock Holmes" and the first episode of "The Return of Sherlock Holmes," I've come to the conclusion that, by and large, the Granada series is more consistent and more faithful to the Arthur Conan Doyle stories from which the character originates.

Granada must have spent a fortune on the series. It's a beautifully done period piece -- complete with gaslight, cobblestone and London fog -- that stays true, more or less, to the books. And, if you use the original source material as a guide, Holmes is indeed bizarre, eccentric and manic-depressive. Brett had nailed it. And the Watson of the stories was anything but a buffoon. Burke and Hardwicke had done their homework.

The Rathbone/Bruce series has some wonderful moments, and Rathbone remains my favorite, but the installments suffer from inconsistency, an increasingly buffoonish Watson and a decided drop in quality after the switch from Twentieth Century Fox to Universal.

Brett's Granada series also does not live up to its brilliant earlier episodes. He became increasingly and noticeably ill -- some say the character of Holmes was driving him mad -- and the quality of the writing dropped substantially in the later episodes, most of which tend to be downright bizarre.

So, I guess where I've landed is the Rathbone series isn't the Holy Grail I once thought it was and Brett's Granada episodes, especially the first two series, are quite enjoyable.

But, heck, it's Sherlock Holmes. Put me with him and Watson in a hansom as we clip-clop along the foggy streets of Victorian London toward our latest adventure and I'll have a good time no matter who's in the starring role.

The game is afoot -- again!

OK, I'll be honest.

When I heard that the BBC was bringing Sherlock Holmes, the detective for the ages, into the 21st century for a revival TV show, I almost choked on my Calabash pipe.

Coming on the heels of the Robert Downey Jr. debacle last year, I thought enough was enough. Holmes belongs in black and white, wandering the gas-lit streets of Victorian England, trailing a hansom, the clop-clop of horses mixing with the ubiquitous fog. No thanks to all this. Basil Rathbone and Jeremy Brett have done it better. Don't bother.

I could not have been more wrong.

The first of what will sadly only be three episodes (this season) of "Sherlock" aired on PBS Sunday night. And wow. Amazing. Awesome.

The wonderfully named Benedict Cumberbatch is picture perfect as the master sleuth, faithful in so many ways to Conan Doyle's original Holmes. He's smart. He's smarmy.

Martin Freeman (of the UK "The Office" fame) plays a great Dr. Watson, who is again recovering from a bullet wound in an Afghan war and looking for a flat mate. His Watson isn't the lovable bumbler a la Nigel Bruce. Nor is he the more staid Watson in the Grenada tradition. Nope, Freeman's Watson is steady, big-hearted, but ready for action.

The chemistry between the two leads sparkles and shines. The script from episode one was quick, witty, charming.

It's a little jolting at first to see Holmes plugging away on a PDA, but for some magical reason all this works remarkably well. The duo responsible for this return to 221B Baker Street are writers for the popular new incarnation of "Dr. Who." They have done well with two venerable franchises.

If I have one complaint, it's that everybody keeps calling our hero by his first name. Anybody remotely familiar with this universe knows that there's nothing like hearing somebody yell an exasperated "Holmes!" at the top of their lungs.

Major points are due for being faithful to the original source. Brother Mycroft is here in rather amusing fashion. And, yep, signs of Professor Moriarty have already popped up on the horizon.

The two other episodes of the season will air at 9 p.m. (Eastern) the next two Sundays on PBS's "Masterpiece Mystery." Do yourself a favor and don't miss them. This is, by far, the best program I've seen this season.

Although "Friday Night Lights" is back for a final year if you get DirecTV. But that's another blog for another day...

Back to Baker Street

The deerstalker hat. The calabash pipe. The tobacco in the Persian slipper. The foggy streets of London. Sitting by the fire at the rooms on Baker Street, waiting for the client to ascend the stairs and burst in the door...

Longtime blog readers and pals will attest that I am a huge fan of old black and white films from the 1940s and early '50s. (Pal Mike Herman teased me ceaselessly over just such a picture, "Christmas in Connecticut," that I wrote about during the holidays.)

That's OK. I don't mind. Cause these flicks are so much fun.

I love nothing more on a cold winter night than to curl up in the recliner, dim the lights and lose myself in one of those monochrome classics. Such it was last night, and the film was an installment in one of my all-time favorite series, the Basil Rathbone/Nigel Bruce Sherlock Holmes adventures.

A friend of mine -- who likes to be called the Giant Rat of Knoxville -- reminded me recently that I have poor-mouthed the wartime entries in the classic Holmes series. I merely said that I prefer Holmes where he belongs, back in Victorian England.

But I decided that was unfair and happened to catch one of the World War II pictures last night, "Sherlock Holmes in Washington." The plot is forgettable. Let's just say that Holmes and Watson have to travel to America to help retrieve a document that contains vital national secrets. In case you're wondering, everything works out OK in the end.

As with most of these period films, the fun lies in the journey. Rathbone is superb as the Master Sleuth. Jeremy Brett fans can say what they will, but Rathbone is the best Holmes. It isn't even close.

(For the record, I enjoy the early Grenada/Brett installments very much -- but his Holmes is just a bit too bizarre for my taste. The latter episodes are unwatchable.)

I've also always thought that Nigel Bruce was unfairly criticized for his portrayal of Dr. Watson. Yes, he's often assigned the comic relief in these films, and occasionally it's annoying. But his Watson shines with a warmth and puppy dog sincerity that other interpretations sorely lack.

And I must say I enjoyed Holmes' out-of-time adventure much better than I remembered. It isn't foggy London of the turn of the last century, but it's still a lot of fun.

At one time, Holmes held a Guinness world record for being the most portrayed character in TV and film. And it's easy to see why. Whether it's Victorian London, wartime America, or, yes, here in the early 21st century, the great detective, his hat and pipe, and his faithful sidekick Watson possess something that's downright timeless.

Maybe it's just viewer envy. I wish I could just take one look at somebody and tell them everything about themselves...

It was a dark and stormy night...

Last night was perfect for a little mystery.

I felt awful. Some kind of stomach bug, I guess. Light rain was falling outside. The Tigers were losing to Chicago.

So I curled up in the recliner, drinking a Sprite and eating crackers to calm the tummy, and spent an hour and a half creeping down the foggy streets of Victorian London with Sherlock Holmes.

I love old movies. I especially enjoy the 1940s Holmes series with Basil Rathbone as the master sleuth and Nigel Bruce as his faithful sidekick Dr. Watson. They're fun.

Last night, Holmes was fighting his arch nemesis Professor Moriarty (George Zucco) while trying to help the beautiful Ann Brandon (Ida Lupino), who thinks she's about to be murdered.

Don't worry. It all worked out in the end.

Lupino's story is a good one, by the way. In addition to being a talented actor, she became a Hollywood director at a time when that job was dominated by men.

Lupino was working on a picture when the director fell ill. She stepped in to help, found out she had a knack for it and discovered a new career.

Anyway, Holmes and Watson kept me company on a night I didn't feel so good. Oh, and the Tigers ended up coming back to win and my stomach doesn't feel so gross today.

Not bad, huh?