The Adventure of the Ritchie Photoplay
“I suspect,” said he, “that our purpose here is to have our reactions tested against the author’s intent. Well, let us indulge our host and do so. From what we’ve seen we may deduce a number of things about the author’s attitude toward the two of us and the intended audience. In the first instance this has been made for those with a limited mental faculty. You’ll have noted the recourse to sensation and innuendo of the sexual variety; the woman’s referral to Moriarty’s ‘magnificent package’ and my fictive counterpart’s difficulty with horses; a speech that allowed him to comment on his genitalia using a crude metaphor.
Further, the trickery that you took to so wholeheartedly, signals that our author is a man with limited confidence in his ability to make ideas cohere. He is, I suggest, illiterate, the recipient of a limited education, who therefore eschews the complicated plotting and overlay of ideas of a well read man, in favour of base pleasures – the destruction of the German Forest, the explosion on the train, and so forth. He may also be a practicing homosexual, such is his fascination with the two protagonists’ admiration for one another and the scene in which poor Mycroft was given to walking around naked! It seemed to me, a nonsense.”
“I must say,” I interjected, “your drag act was of some concern.”
“Indeed” said he. “The attempt at turning me into a ridiculant tells me that the author is intimidated by both my intellect and manhood. I refer you to my previous comments for your explanation.”
We had returned to the hansom when the driver emerged from the shadows.
“Good Sirs,” said he. “What you’ve just seen is the future. This is how you’ll be known to an entire generation, a public that will never seek out Doctor Watson’s writings. The organisation I represent would be grateful if you’d warn the public with an account of what you’ve just seen, to protect your legacy in perpetuity.”
“The good Doctor will be happy to do as you ask!” said Holmes. “This will not stand.” With that, we were returned to Baker Street.
In the days that followed the experience took a toll on my friend, Sherlock Holmes. Seemingly passive upon first viewing, his disposition grew downcast as the weeks advanced. His opiate sessions threw up wild and blood curdling manifestations, his visions colluding with images from the photoplay, all of which unsettled the delicate balance of his mind.
I thought it was fine.Pages: 1 2 3 4