The greatest Holmes tale, a classic of horror and mystery, has long been popular with movie makers. This production in particular eventually kicked off a long-running series with Basil Rathbone and Nigel Bruce as Holmes and Watson. Rathbone was a brilliant Holmes, all rapier intelligence and moods; Bruce’s Watson didn’t appeal to purists, who disliked his buffoonish comic relief, but he is very likeable. (In this one he’s not as much an idiot as he becomes – he’s quite brave going out on the moors and not that dumb).
Richard Greene was given top billing over Basil Rathbone, a decision treated with much mirth since (like Ida Lupino being billed over Bogart in High Sierra), and even at the time Rathbone was far better known than Greene – but in fairness Rathbone does disappear for the middle third of the film. And during the spooky climax Greene fights off a mad dog for a long period of time, which is genuinely heroic, whereas Holmes and Watson rock up late with guns.
The direction is unremarkable and the writing competent, but you could get away with that in the Golden Age of Hollywood. There are neat sets, and spooky moors, and a really excellent support cast including Lionel Atwill (dodgy doctor), John Carradine (creepy butler), Wendy Barrie (love interest – she seems to be stalking me at the moment, Barrie, I’ve seen her in something like five films in a row). Although I’ve seen this before when watching it again I thought that Atwill would turn out to be a baddie due to sheer typecasting.
The finale is a little bit damp in that we never see the baddy actually shot or captured, he just takes off and Holmes couldn’t be bothered chasing him. But there’s a marvellous final line – “Watson, the needle”.
No comments:
Post a Comment