SHERLOCK HOLMES
SIGHTINGS of Sherlock Holmes on our cinema screens have been plentiful down the years. From his very first silver screen outing in Sherlock Holmes Baffled (which ran to a succinct 49 seconds long in 1900) to Guy Ritchie’s comic-book capers of recent years, there have been any number of big-screen manifestations for Arthur Conan Doyle’s most famous literary creation.
All manner of actors, from the brilliantly aloof Basil Rathbone in those cheap and cheerful pulp-friendly tales of the 1930s and 40s to Robert Stephens in director Billy Wilder’s timeless The Private Life Of Sherlock Holmes (1970), have sought to stamp their mark on the much-loved sleuth.
Small-screen excursions into the musty world of 221B Baker Street are, admittedly, less common, although several interpretations from down the decades do stand out as genuinely remarkable.
When looking for the truly greatest TV take on the character it’s hard to see past Jeremy Brett’s all-consuming performance for ITV in the 80s and early 90s and Benedict Cumberbatch’s smugly post-modern vision of the detective in the modern age has proven a massive global hit for the BBC.
Any decent list of television versions of Holmes should also include the name of Douglas Wilmer, though. His BBC series of 1965 has just been released for the first time by the BFI in a sumptuous four-disc set and watching it today it’s easy to see why his reading of Conan Doyle’s complex character remains so highly thought of by Holmes authorities the world over.
Bright, engaging and clearly slightly manic, he is immediately distinctive and even looks perfect, sharing as he does a strong visual similarity to the original Sidney Paget illustrations. With the great Nigel Stock as Dr John Watson and all manner of quality British acting talent, from Peter Wyngarde to Patrick Troughton, bolstering the cast, these are fascinating moments of television history that have lain unseen for far too long.
Sets wobble painfully and the lack of surplus cameras render things a little shaky at times but there’s a high standard of acting, with Wilmer and Stock carrying much of the weight.
Wilmer – a true "actor's actor" – would depart after this series, citing an ever-changing array of directing talent and low BBC production standards as among his many reasons, and leave the role to Peter Cushing who turned in a similarly iconic performance as the series moved to colour in the late 60s.
This package, beautifully delivered as ever by the BFI, offers up all 11 surviving episodes of Wilmer’s tenure and adds a couple of impressive reconstructions for episodes rendered missing by the predictably inept powers that be in the BBC archives.
There are entertaining commentaries that include contributions from Wilmer himself and directors like Peter Sasdy and Peter Creegen and even a Spanish language version of one adventure for the truly hardcore Holmes collector to salivate over.
At the very heart of it, however, is Wilmer’s wonderful performance. Superior and urbane but troubled and unrelentingly rude at the same time, he is a revelation.
