One of the highlights of my rentrée was the new BBC mini-series Sherlock, which recently arrived on my doormat on DVD. I devoured all three 90 minute episodes.
Sherlock Holmes has enjoyed a revival recently, partly thanks to the movie starring Robert Downey Jr. But the BBC's interpretation is vastly superior. Holmes is normally fated to live in Victorian London, full of gas lamps and swirling fog. But screenwriters Steven Moffat and Mark Gatiss had an idea of simple genius: they brought Sherlock into the 21st century. He still lodges at 221B Baker Street, but now he lives above a sandwich shop and texts Watson on his BlackBerry. And the idea works.
Slipping effortlessly into Sherlock's shoes, young actor Benedict Cumberbatch strides around a wintery London in a long Belstaff overcoat, his hawkish face gleaming with superiority. Admiring yet exasperated Watson (Martin Freeman) shuffles along in his wake. As in the original stories, Watson is an army doctor who was wounded in Afghanistan.
It's tempting to play the same trick with mythical French figures. How about a modern Arsène Lupin, flitting across the rooftops of contemporary Paris? Who is today's Count of Monte Cristo? These characters had a certain elegance that is lacking in today's unshaven heroes. If we have to bring them here via time machine, so be it.
