No hounds involved. We’re suppose to get a thrill just be the mention of the Baskerville name, I guess. As the film begins, Watson enters Holmes’ chambers, complains of the excess smoke - Holmes smokes a pipe, cigars and cigarettes in this movie, although not all at once - and Holmes promptly informs Watson that he walked on the left side of the street to get to Baker Street.

“By Jove, Holmes, however did you -”

“Elementary, my dear Watson! I can see by the reddish soil adhering to your left shoe. They’re pulling up the pavement stones by the Post Office on Penistone Road, and one can’t help but tread in the dirt.”

I wish Watson had rolled his eyes and said “Did you know you’re a horrible showoff sometimes, Sherlock? And don’t you think that you should have said the north side of the street instead of the left, the latter being a relative orientation?”

“Ah, my dear fellow, you fail to take into consideration -”

“Oh, shut up. Must you always be so deucedly deductive? It’s a strain on us all. We walk into the room wondering whether you’ll inform us that we had shaved that morning, and you can tell by the slight piece of paper covering a minor nick. Well, of course we shaved this morning. And yes, perhaps we nicked ourselves. You don’t have to bring it up. Half the time you’ve a jot of liquid in your trouser front, but you don’t see me saying ah, Holmes, you had tea this morning, I can tell because your pants betray evidence of recent urination.”

Moriarity has an new HQ, and something tells me this isn’t going to be a period piece:

The plot concerns a stolen racing horse. I tried to get interested in the story, but was constantly distracted by a piece of lint in the gate and an music score that played under half the scenes, as if it was leaking in from another movie next door. It brought to mind watching bad movies on TV as a kid - the mark of a cheap film was the constant soundtrack. It never had anything to do with the action. They bought the music by the yard, and laid it down until they ran out.

This scene has an unexpectedly interesting camera angle, but the weaponry is somehow less than fearsome.


Later found out it was an especially powerful air gun, which comports with another Sherlock story. Not that the general audience would have got that.

This is the last of the Arthur Wontner Holmes, I’m happy to say. But not the last of the Holmes. Next week, Basil Rathbone, in The Mystery of the Chewed-Up Scenery.