OK, as wedding speeches go, it was very longwinded. If I’d been there for real, I’d have gone out for some fresh air, or something. But watching The Sign of Three on television was reasonably entertaining.
Many fans seem to have been disappointed. I could be wrong, but comparing Benedict Cumberbatch’s modern Sherlock with the ‘original’ is surely a mistake? It’s not meant to be the same product. And Sherlock Holmes is – nearly – always an insufferable man who thinks too highly of himself.
The stag night was fun. I was impressed that Sherlock even knew he had to organise one, and roughly what it had to be about. I’m simple enough to enjoy lines like ‘he’s clueing for looks’ and I’m quite ready for more.
Last week I harboured some doubts on the tube incident which I didn’t share. Just as well. There are others who do that kind of thing so much better. I was going to say that scriptwriters never seem to get things like it right. But maybe they get it wrong on purpose? Although that would take a lot of specialist knowledge. I was merely surprised the Resident IT Consultant didn’t interrupt the viewing by pointing out how wrong they were.
Surprise! Sherlock didn’t actually die!
It was good to see him again, even for those of us who are not John Watson. But I can’t claim to have grasped too much of what happened in last night’s Sherlock. Partly the plot was somewhat weird, and partly I felt that dear Benedict mumbled an awful lot. It wasn’t the volume; it was lack of clarity. I wanted subtitles.
But it was exciting, and reasonably well written by Mycroft. At first we didn’t take to Mary, but she improved as the evening progressed. It’s an odd in-joke to have Benedict’s mother play Sherlock’s mother, but I suppose someone has to. Dr Watson is about to marry his real life partner. Again, weird, but why not?
Looking forward to seeing what they will do with this. (The Americans will remove eight minutes. I really don’t believe there were any spare minutes to remove.)
Would fish fingers and chips – bunged in the oven – have made a difference, I wonder? I’ve been informed this is how mothers coped with Saturday dinners in the olden days of Doctor Who. Because it’s astonishing quite how many episodes I never watched as the Doctor returned to the home screens eight years ago.
I think I plonked Offspring down in front of the box to watch, because it was what you did. Generations of British children watched the Doctor and the Daleks from behind their sofas. I don’t think I really expected to watch. I had no proper upbringing that led me to want to do it. So I probably watched a couple of episodes to keep people company. And I caught glimpses of the Tardis and stuff as I dashed in and out of the room.
I have long been under the impression that I watched every other episode of season one. Now I know better. I didn’t. Not by a long shot. I ‘met’ Captain Jack Harkness only by hearing him talk soothingly to Rose, as she sailed across the London sky. I have a lot of weird, half-fake memories. Sat through the ‘are you my mummy’ episodes to keep Daughter calm. But they were creepy.
In fact, I didn’t care that Christopher Eccleston stopped Doctoring, because I simply didn’t know the man well enough to miss him. And he was followed by the lovely David Tennant, so was easily forgotten by me.
Luckily the lapses of yesteryear have been rectified. I have just watched every single episode of season one, up to and including the Christmas one where David Tennant mostly slept on the job. They were pretty good, on the whole. And I’m beginning to see why some fans moan these days. They really did write them better before. They just did.
Never mind who was the Doctor. It’s who wrote the script that matters.
As she realised what the end of Sherlock might be, Daughter groaned. This was the episode she had missed in the summer, when Sherlock was first broadcast. Me, I had missed it all, sitting in the beautiful Swedish countryside, reading people’s comments on facebook and feeling annoyed at being out of the loop.
But had it not been for a plea on facebook a few weeks ago, I wouldn’t have known it was on again. Watched the first two, with the Resident IT Consultant perplexed that I hadn’t seen it before. Then set the third to record as I was going out, and came home to find he’d ‘deleted’ the setting. Must have been a curse on number three. Moaned to the recently arrived Son, who said he’d watched it the night before and then deleted it. Gah! So he set about ‘retrieving’ it for me.
I do agree with the facebook friend that the last episode was pretty good. Though the whole thing was so Doctor Who-ish that you’d be forgiven for thinking it’s what Whovian scriptwriters do in their spare time. Benedict Cumberbatch stalked around in modern London as though he’s a Tennant/Smith clone. No actually, he was ruder, so not true.
Martin Freeman made a better Doctor Watson than I’d have expected, and Una Stubbs as Mrs Hudson is so suitably weird that I’m only sorry she didn’t see the refrigerated head. I’m certain she would have coped admirably.
As for that ending; one has to assume they will be back with more. Maybe we can even have a Moriarty finale that will then have to be un-picked again.