No Hit, Sherlock

in last year's terrific-but overlooked-rocknrolla, guy ritchie leapt past quentin tarantino's fanboy cruelty and made the movie he'd long aimed at: a satire of machismo that penetrated the studly poses and vengeful attitudes to reveal the familial and social sources that link crime, business and art in our culture. now, in his studio-financed blockbuster sherlock holmes, ritchie squanders those lessons, falling back into q.t. cuteness, reneging on every storytelling breakthrough that rocknrolla advanced.

ritchie's version of sir arthur conan doyle's archetypal english detective genius (played by robert downey, jr.) provides ritchie with the opportunity to further explore british male mythology in a period setting. sherlock holmes' story contains proverbial class tensions-between law and criminal class, bourgeois holmes and his landlady and holmes' privileged-if indulgent-camaraderie with his assistant dr. watson (played by jude law)-and the familiar english fascination with the occult, exposed as part of the ruling class's own decadence. yet sherlock holmes' historical context doesn't deepen rocknrolla's insight into britishness.

ritchie's focus switches from his customary exhibition of roughhouse masculinity to turning out an oddly nationalistic epic. when holmes uncovers a criminal mastermind's (mark strong) nefarious, convoluted plan to destroy parliament, the film becomes a quasi-jingoistic show rather than an examination of the ethos that constructs cultural notions of manliness. ritchie should have directed tom hardy in bronson(bronson played handsome bob in rocknrolla). instead, ritchie's fascination with laddish behavior-if not his insight into it-gets squandered in the conventions of big-budget nonsense. the huge sets and detailed cgi backdrops become the purpose. holmes' personality and the characters he encounters recede into spectacle as ostentatious and wearisome as will smith's wild wild west.

this ornate turn-of-the-century london conjures a social temperament intended to describe tony blair-era malaise. the mastermind's vow to "take our country back," oppose a "government black and corrupt," and his mention of chemical weapons imply a british version of hollywood's post-iraq war bush-bashing. the movie is literally dark-not impenetrable like an eastwood flick, or jokingly dark like harry potter, but excessively dark as if to express a dismal mood of imminent chaos. (the villain leers at holmes, saying, "we don't expect you to share our beliefs, only our fears.") cinematographer philippe rousselot lights a thames-scape as shadowy as gustav courbet. but this is far less interesting than the modern noir tone of the rollicking rocknrolla. it gave ritchie's nature-or-nurture quandary about masculine aggression dickensian breadth and clarity and promised a sequel-the real rocknrolla-that every true movie lover i know is waiting to see.

sherlock holmes, however, is so grim and unappealing it sours the movie-watching experience. starting with the reversion to q.t. violence, ritchie's facetiousness corroborates holmes' drug-addled self-indulgence. an amateur street brawler, holmes likes to analyze his attacks and ritchie breaks down the pugilism and martial arts gestures, timed to holmes' inner thoughts ("discombobulate, fracture, crack ribs"). ritchie's montage pauses the action and deconstructs (in slo-mo) the line between masochism and sadism. it misuses the editing refinements of transporter 3. if tarantino was a kinetic filmmaker, he'd do something this repellant.

and repellant is the word for downey's holmes. he's the most dour hero since, well, ironman. nearly as gloomy as mark strong's nemesis, who threatens, "you and i are bound together on a journey that will twist the very fabric of nature." downey's holmes looks sodden, debauched. the ingenuous humor of two girls and a guy and heart and souls are gone. his accent isn't good enough to sway the obvious fact that he and jude law have the wrong roles. plus, he's got no rapport with rachel mcadams as his charmless lover/adversary. sherlock holmes hits bottom when downey, law and mcadams are hanging in an abattoir, headed toward a buzz saw. dreadful suspense subtracts hope, wonder, cleverness and satisfaction from what should be heroic derring-do. after finding artistic maturity with rocknrolla, guy ritchie has regressed.

-- sherlock holmes directed by guy ritchie runtime: 128 min.