Tag Archives: Martin Freeman

The Sign of Three

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.

The Sign of Three

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.

So how did he not die, then?

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.

Sherlock - The Empty Hearse

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.)

Old years, new year

First Dodo and Son (hmm, good company name…) spent hours watching the extra features on Harry Potter, while making witty comments. Then they ruined my childhood. We ate the usual Indian food. Once the forgotten Daughter had been collected from her nerds’ party, we went to bed and then we woke up and ‘went’ to the New Year’s concert in Vienna. Dispatched Dodo and Son, ate again and watched Sherlock.

Spiced rice

Uppama

Scrambled eggs with tomato sauce

Chickpea salad

I never cease to marvel over the fact that the next generation willingly opt to spend New Year’s Eve with us doddery types, eating the Resident IT Consultant’s Indian cooking. It was good this year. Recently we have had time issues, but he diligently slaved over a hot stove for days (with me trailing behind, wiping, and filling the dishwasher), so we had plenty to eat.

Son had missed the last Harry Potter, so bought a copy of the DVD for Christmas. After which, the extras were enjoyed by all. It’s his childhood, when all is said and done. Also the childhoods of Daniel Radcliffe, Rupert Grint and Emma Watson.

That’s what got me started on mine. I was seven when I went to see Five on a Treasure Island in the cinema. I’ve never forgotten it. It started my reading career, and subsequently lead to everything else I’ve done, including coming to England first on holiday, and then to live here. And they had the nerve to laugh at the film!!!

Even the Resident IT Consultant who hardly ever laughs, was bent over in an uncontrolled fashion, red in the face, tears spurting. It wasn’t that funny! Not even the navy vessel The Gay Viking was all that funny. As I said, that was my childhood memories ruined. I could still feel the magic of that beautiful coastline and the lovely English house and the old ruins. Not to mention the ingots (otherwise known as gold bars).

Anyway, I enjoyed it. And as a punishment the amused chef was sent to pick up Daughter, missing the end…

Famous Five on Treasure Island, 1957

We slept and we woke and we breakfasted. Lounged with the Wiener Philharmoniker and Mariss Jansons. Have you noticed how conductors often look very conductor-like? I feel there is a special conductor look. Mariss must have worked slow, since we missed all the lovely credits at the end.

Then Daughter packed her bags, and – illogically – Son and Dodo were driven away by the amused chef. We settled down on the sofa with the leftovers and Sherlock, which was as good as ever. I even remembered how the last episode ended. Most unusual. Very good script by Steven Moffat, and let’s hope the howler highlighted by that darling Sam Wollaston in the Guardian wasn’t his doing.

An exciting weekend was had by all.

Sherlock

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.