Like Watson, I am already signed on for the ride. I also liked Rupert Graves's Inspector Lestrade, who was less of a pain in the ass here, than in the Conan Doyle tradition (they left that role to his underlings), and more of a resigned collaborator. The first episode, A Study in Pink, was a nice combination of the Brit-procedural we have come to recognize and love, a la Prime Suspect—a tad grittier and more depressing than American detective shows, which only seem able to try, ad nauseum, to get the camera inside a wound—and the long line of Sherlock Holmes mysteries, from the wonderful Basil Rathbone
to the inimitable Jeremy Brett
, and especially, Robert Downey Jr.'s recent portrayal
.In fact, the camera-work and pace seemed to echo a tad the Downey Jr. film, as we and the cameras raced to keep up with Sherlock's brilliant deductions. The film was a little more playful with Sherlock, introducing Irene Adler and giving her a kick-ass attitude as she flirts and subverts the hero at every turn. This television Sherlock
is "married to his work" in the tradition of the books
, but the pilot couldn't help but flirt itself a bit with the Holmes/Watson relationship. A scene in a diner played with the characters—two grown men that have chosen to be flatmates—a situation that might mean something quite different to a modern 2010 audience than one at the turn of the century—and then moved on. It was a skillful sidelining of something that could have been distractingly commented on in an updated version. Their partnership is sealed not with a kiss, but a gunshot, and to paraphrase from Casablanca, "Watson, I think this is the beginning of a beautiful friendship."
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