THE GAME’S AFOOT. EVENTUALLY.
Nick Lane’s adaptation of Conan Doyle’s late, broodingly sophisticated novel has met many huzzahs from Sherlock Holmes followers, beforehand right here, on tour and streaming. So as a Southwark supporter I assumed I ought to eventually take a look now it’s again. Lane’s tackle the 221b family is actually refreshing: each Bobby Bradley’s lanky boastful Sherlock and the tweedily amiable Watson of Joseph Derrington are younger than traditional, and Alice Osmanski’s Mrs Hudson un-Victorian in her laid-back assured impertinence. So far, so trendy. They double – everybody does, usually tripling – and Victoria Spearing’s set, rearranged with choreographic class by the solid, admirably serves a three- sided home.
It has to , for the reason that scene modifications from Baker St to a Kentish homicide scene and repeatedly to 1875 Pennsylvania, on a practice and within the headquarters of a freemasonic gangster set, based mostly apparently on the Molly Maguires and their pursuit by a Pinkerton agent.
But there’s the difficulty, probably not the fault of the adaptor – although he does draw out the Pennsylvania scenes – and definitely not the nimble solid. The Victorian obsession with retro American gansterism can quickly pall on us right now. The first half drags, intricacies getting downright uninteresting generally regardless of spirited performances from Gavin Molloy as a snarling mafioso and – not least – from Osmanski in two of her many quick-change frocks, plus a gun. Blake Kubena in a ponytail is one other villain – or is he? How deeply will we care?
The second half picks up, particularly when Molloy returns, closely Brylcreemed, in a flashback as an Irish-accented Moriarty taunting Sherlock in an artwork gallery (that’s an excellent bit) and triggering a brief breach in his bromance with Watson . So on it winds, with Pennsylvania kicking off with photographs and knives whereas again dwelling Holmes discovers the devilishly crafty answer to the thriller of the lacking dumbell, the bicycle within the moat, the yellow overcoat…
Well, it runs at 2 hours 45 minutes, heavy for this materials, however those that know the Conan Doyle canon will like it for its faithfulness, and certainly its enlargement of the American scenes. And the solid are tremendous, particularly Molloy and Osmanski. Tristan Parkes’ music is ideal, utilizing echoes of outdated America and thriller moments with a uncommon delicate talent. Perhaps it’s simply that less complicated souls like me ruefully desire our Sherlock in his extra strictly UK adventures: hounds, speckled bands, disguises, rascally lascars in opium dens and the occasional scandalous diamond necklace.
Southwarkplayhouse.co.uk. To. 13 April
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