Cult Holmes
Jan. 24th, 2005 03:52 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
prof_pangaeaMuhahaha. This is where I blather on about the new Cult Holmes series from the BBC and say, Yay for the BBC! There are five stories, all of which are "alternative" in some way or another. Four of them are read by Andrew Sachs, who played Watson in the Further Adventures series by Bert Coules (and who is better known as Manuel from Fawlty Towers. Amusingly, John Cleese has also played Holmes in the past). The other story, since it is narrated by Mrs. Hudson, is read by Hannah Gordon, and she is also wonderful. Sachs gets to play with a lot of range in the stories, which was very fun to listen to. You can also read the stories if you want, but then you'd miss out on the fine performances -- but you should check out the words, since each story is accompanies by several illustrations.
The Spy's Retirement
So much good Watson, so little time!!
There are advantages in my world to being seen as a cold blooded killer, and to admit to saving as many as I had killed. Such admissions can do harm. Although the truth is far stranger, because I have killed fewer people than most believe and saved many more than I am prepared to admit.
Close examination of human blood has taught me three things. It is as thick as paint, it is surprisingly nutritious and, finally, like excreta, we do not find that our own excites a reflex of disgust.
The Lady Downstairs
Mrs. Hudson, we love you so much. I wish more people would give you your due. Including Holmes.
I shouldn't complain, for a landlady's life is rarely interesting, and the comings and goings are a small price to pay for housing such a famous London figure. There are annoyances, of course; the infernal scratching of that violin, the muffled explosions from unstable compounds in the laboratory he has rigged up in my back room (without my permission), the immovable stains that appear on the carpets, the ghastly burning-cat smells that waft down from the landing, invariably at tea-time when I am about to tuck into a kipper, the unsocial hours kept by a man who finds sleep a stranger. Yet I am fond of him because his enthusiasm leaves him so unprotected. He knows the doctor is concerned for his well-being. But he never notices me.
And, dare I say it, Mr Holmes is so convinced of his abilities he sometimes takes the long route to solve a simple puzzle. The disguises, for instance. I have seen him enter this house as a tramp, a blind man, a war veteran, on sticks, with a funny walk, first hopping, then dragging, in hats, in beards, in rags and on one occasion with a wooden leg, and frankly I have seen better impersonations at the Alhambra. I wonder that his suspects are not put off by laughing too hard. What is wrong with simply keeping out of sight?
The Deer Stalker
It tries very hard. Starts out very interestingly, but the disparate elements never quite come together. Still, interesting.
Once more, I leapt back from a sight. "Holmes, this must be a misdirection, a mirage designed to throw off your aim. It makes me think of –"
"Myself also, Watson, but he is dead. And even he could not alter the world to his whim. That date is real." He walked back to the sideboard, and began to stuff his pipe.
"Watson is intelligent."
"Sure, sometimes that's fashionable. Then it's gone again. Sometimes you'll be queer, because being a bachelor is kind of odd."
Holmes' face was a picture.
A Shambles in Belgravia
Seriously, this is hilarious. Moriarty, Moran, a certain opera singer. Need I saw more?
To Professor Moriarty, she is always that bitch.
Even Moriarty was impressed, and he could keep up a lecture on the grades of paper used in the forgery of high-denomination Venezualan bank-notes while walking down the secret corridor with the row of one-way mirror windows into the private rooms where Mrs H's girls conducted spectacularly indecent business day and night.
The Lost World
What can I say to a story that combines Sherlock Holmes and dinosaurs? Except, perhaps, AWESOME. I laughed quite a bit, and I wish that I could quote you just about every line. Also, the plot is priceless.
"Though I had thought you might have remarked on my trombone."
I remarked on his trombone. "Good lord, Holmes! You have a trombone. Are you mad?"
December 1, 1916. The egg is ovoid - as is only to be expected - about the size of a large coconut, porous skinned, and a bright saffron yellow in colour. I have been incubating it by stealing into the cargo hold and covering it with rotting kitchen waste, and in addition, whenever possible, sit on the egg personally. When questioned why I was sitting in rotting kitchen waste in the cargo hold by the ship's purser, I simply replied that I was incubating an egg which, when it hatched out, would develop into a twenty foot long maneating lizard, whereupon he simply grinned, tapped his cap in a friendly way, and left me to my own devices.
Holmes: "Here I am! I am a trombone-crested hadrosaur, and other trombone-crested hadrosaurs may profitably choose to mate with me."
Interested?
http://www.bbc.co.uk/cult/sherlock/
The Spy's Retirement
So much good Watson, so little time!!
There are advantages in my world to being seen as a cold blooded killer, and to admit to saving as many as I had killed. Such admissions can do harm. Although the truth is far stranger, because I have killed fewer people than most believe and saved many more than I am prepared to admit.
Close examination of human blood has taught me three things. It is as thick as paint, it is surprisingly nutritious and, finally, like excreta, we do not find that our own excites a reflex of disgust.
The Lady Downstairs
Mrs. Hudson, we love you so much. I wish more people would give you your due. Including Holmes.
I shouldn't complain, for a landlady's life is rarely interesting, and the comings and goings are a small price to pay for housing such a famous London figure. There are annoyances, of course; the infernal scratching of that violin, the muffled explosions from unstable compounds in the laboratory he has rigged up in my back room (without my permission), the immovable stains that appear on the carpets, the ghastly burning-cat smells that waft down from the landing, invariably at tea-time when I am about to tuck into a kipper, the unsocial hours kept by a man who finds sleep a stranger. Yet I am fond of him because his enthusiasm leaves him so unprotected. He knows the doctor is concerned for his well-being. But he never notices me.
And, dare I say it, Mr Holmes is so convinced of his abilities he sometimes takes the long route to solve a simple puzzle. The disguises, for instance. I have seen him enter this house as a tramp, a blind man, a war veteran, on sticks, with a funny walk, first hopping, then dragging, in hats, in beards, in rags and on one occasion with a wooden leg, and frankly I have seen better impersonations at the Alhambra. I wonder that his suspects are not put off by laughing too hard. What is wrong with simply keeping out of sight?
The Deer Stalker
It tries very hard. Starts out very interestingly, but the disparate elements never quite come together. Still, interesting.
Once more, I leapt back from a sight. "Holmes, this must be a misdirection, a mirage designed to throw off your aim. It makes me think of –"
"Myself also, Watson, but he is dead. And even he could not alter the world to his whim. That date is real." He walked back to the sideboard, and began to stuff his pipe.
"Watson is intelligent."
"Sure, sometimes that's fashionable. Then it's gone again. Sometimes you'll be queer, because being a bachelor is kind of odd."
Holmes' face was a picture.
A Shambles in Belgravia
Seriously, this is hilarious. Moriarty, Moran, a certain opera singer. Need I saw more?
To Professor Moriarty, she is always that bitch.
Even Moriarty was impressed, and he could keep up a lecture on the grades of paper used in the forgery of high-denomination Venezualan bank-notes while walking down the secret corridor with the row of one-way mirror windows into the private rooms where Mrs H's girls conducted spectacularly indecent business day and night.
The Lost World
What can I say to a story that combines Sherlock Holmes and dinosaurs? Except, perhaps, AWESOME. I laughed quite a bit, and I wish that I could quote you just about every line. Also, the plot is priceless.
"Though I had thought you might have remarked on my trombone."
I remarked on his trombone. "Good lord, Holmes! You have a trombone. Are you mad?"
December 1, 1916. The egg is ovoid - as is only to be expected - about the size of a large coconut, porous skinned, and a bright saffron yellow in colour. I have been incubating it by stealing into the cargo hold and covering it with rotting kitchen waste, and in addition, whenever possible, sit on the egg personally. When questioned why I was sitting in rotting kitchen waste in the cargo hold by the ship's purser, I simply replied that I was incubating an egg which, when it hatched out, would develop into a twenty foot long maneating lizard, whereupon he simply grinned, tapped his cap in a friendly way, and left me to my own devices.
Holmes: "Here I am! I am a trombone-crested hadrosaur, and other trombone-crested hadrosaurs may profitably choose to mate with me."
Interested?
http://www.bbc.co.uk/cult/sherlock/
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no subject
Date: 2005-01-25 12:46 am (UTC)While the above quote amused me, it was the "Lost World" quotes which truly made me laugh out loud, and really piqued my interest.
(It's true that Holmes never recognized Mrs Hudson in the Canon, but I do like how Laurie R. King has Mary recognize her, at least.)
no subject
Date: 2005-01-25 01:01 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2005-01-25 01:50 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2005-01-25 01:52 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2005-02-17 04:07 pm (UTC)Holmes: "Here I am! I am a trombone-crested hadrosaur, and other trombone-crested hadrosaurs may profitably choose to mate with me."
Oh god, I *have* to look at that now...
Did you know that there actually is a dinosaur named for Prof. Challenger? Irritator challengeri (http://www.dinodata.net/Dd/Namelist/TABI/I033.htm)
no subject
Date: 2005-02-17 04:16 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2005-02-17 04:34 pm (UTC)That annoyed the scientists who first studied it, and so they named the species Irritator. Unfortunately, it's one of the hazards of dealing with commercially collected specimens, instead of ones collected under academic auspices.
no subject
Date: 2012-12-29 06:47 pm (UTC)