#realizing that each subsequent parallels post i make is becoming more obscure and convoluted to the point that i am only talking to myself

[pasdetrois]

The Red Shoes (1948) dir. Michael Powell and Emeric Pressburger Marina Dyachenko and Sergey Dyachenko, Vita Nostra (tr. Julia Meitov Hersey)

[brilliantorinsane]

The Speckled Band (1931): a.k.a. Sherlock Wilde

Note: For this meta I tagged everyone who reblogged earlier posts in the series. However, as I certainly don’t want to shove my work at anyone who isn’t interested, from this point forward I will only only tag individuals who have shown continued interest by reblogging multiple posts, or who have specifically asked to be tagged. Thank you to anyone who has been or continues to be interested in any part of this series <3

Guys, I did it. I found the Gayest Holmes. Not the best Holmes, nor the best adaptation by any stretch of the imagination; but most definitely the gayest. Well, okay, the most stereotypically gay, and one of the most nearly confirmed as such in the explicit text of the film—a fact which has me reeling given that this film was released in 1931.

This is the third installment of my series on obscure Holmes adaptations and their depiction of our beloved duo both individually and in relation to each other. For the first two installments, see below:

The Adventures of Sherlock Holmes (Stoll Pitures, 1921–1923)

The Speckled Band on Stage: Yep, Still Gay

Production and Reception:

[Spoilers ahead. But unless you want to avoid spoiling the ACD cannon story The Speckled Band or his play of the same name, I wouldn’t worry about it. There’s really nothing worth spoiling in this film]

This adaptation, released the year after Doyle’s death, is derived less from the cannon story of the same name than from a stage adaptation also written by Doyle. The play is wonderful, featuring a genuinely chilling villain, well-realized side characters, laugh-out-loud humor, the best Holmes and Watson, and allllll the gay subtext. You can read the script here, and my discussion of the play is linked above.

Unfortunately, the filmmakers’ 5 step adaptation plan appears to have been the following:

1. Keep the bare bones of the play, including some of the name changes, the emphasis on the Rylott household, etc.

2. Take the play’s uncomfortable undertone of Orientalism and make it the film’s prevailing atmosphere, then add casual pro-slavery rhetoric, just ‘cause.

3. Remove approximately 3/4s of what made Doyle’s script so good, then creatively undermine, dilute, and/or convolute the remaining 1/4.

4. Hire a promising actor to play Holmes, and then give him minimal interesting content.

5. Hire the actor who played Rylott in the stage play, because it can’t hurt to have one good thing.

Yeah … I’m exaggerating, but its not good. Which is disappointing on many levels, because it would have been fascinating to know how a flagrantly gay Holmes would have fared in the early 1930s. But as it is, this adaptation fails on so many levels that it seems impossible to theorize whether homophobia played a significant role in the fact that it made scarcely any impact in its day and has been entirely forgotten now. Sure, homophobia might have aided the process of erasure, but this film didn’t need any help sinking into oblivion.

Nevertheless, although the blaring racism makes it difficult to fully appreciate the filmmaker’s courage in not abandoning the play’s subtext, it is still worth being aware that filmmakers were paying attention to and actively portraying the ACD cannon subtext as early as 1931.

Raymond Massey as Sherlock Holmes

It really is a pity that this film didn’t give Raymond Massey the chance to show what he could have done with Sherlock Holmes. In his book Sherlock Holmes on Screen, Alan Barns argues that Massey might have created a Holmes to rival all his contemporaries, and whenever he appeared I paid close attention, always feeling as if he were about to get interesting. Unfortunately, he never quite did.

Massey’s Holmes spends the majority of the film in a deeply lethargic state. Depressive moods are as much a part of Sherlock’s character as his boundless curiosity, and I would have found it a rather interesting portrayal if he had ever woken up from his stupor. But although he has flashes of intensity, in the end he lounges about the crime scene as listlessly as he does 221B. Further, because we know too little about this Holmes to understand his lethargy, he never quite solidifies into a concrete or compelling individual.

In dearth of anything else, the most interesting thing about this Holmes is that he is definitely, definitively, flagrantly gay. To Massey’s credit, this is instantly apparent—my initial impression that, “wow, this Holmes is kinda a lazy dick,” was paralleled with a rather flabbergasted, “wait … is he playing him as gay???”

If I’d seen Massey’s Holmes without context, I may well have thought I was watching a film about Oscar Wilde—the stereotypical epitome of Victorian homosexuality. Even Barns, who has excellent things to say about Holmes adaptations but seems vaguely allergic to discussing the detective’s sexuality, describes Massey’s Holmes as an “aesthete” and speaks of his “almost Oscar Wilde approach” (266). And all of that registers before Holmes starts examining his fingernails, resting his hand on Watson’s leg a good few inches above his knee, and talking about marriage. But we will return to that last point shortly.

Athole Stewart as John Watson

Stewart as Watson in this film is … fine. Even good, comparatively speaking—Stewart’s Watson is hearty and kind and is not portrayed as an idiot, which really is an anomaly at this stage of Holmes adaptations. This is probably due in large part to his excellent role in Doyle’s stage play. Unfortunately, the film consistently sets up Watson’s strengths only to erase them.

Watson in the film is kind to Helen—that’s the one good quality that doesn’t get undermined. So, yay. But while in the play Watson stands up against Rylott’s tyrannical demands when he is summoned to examine the body of the first murdered sister, the film begins to replicate that scene only to have Watson give in after his initial protest. In both the play and film he initially appears to be a decidedly intelligent man who guesses exactly what is going on in the the Rylott household, but in the film this is undermined by his subsequent conversation with Holmes, in which it appears that he was entirely clueless and took everything at face value after all. The film makes an interesting but half-hearted attempt at introducing modern technology into 221B, and most of this has been installed by Watson; but Holmes finds it essentially useless for his work and relies on different tools entirely. In the play Watson himself kills the snake; in the film he … shines a light so Holmes can attack it.

In short, Stewart’s Watson goes through the motions of being a partner, but he is never quite allowed to do anything useful.

So … What About Johnlock?

Eh. I guess?

By all rights an adaptation with a gay Holmes ought to at least have one-sided unrequited Johnlock. But while its clear that Holmes is gay, it is not clear that he is in love with Watson.

Beyond the character’s aestheticism, mannerisms, and thigh grab, evidence of Holmes’s sexuality is blatantly but clumsily contained in two brief exchanges with Watson regarding Helen’s marriage to her fiancee. The first comes at the end of Holmes’s first scene, when he abruptly asks Watson to inform him when Helen becomes engaged, with an intensity which demonstrates some emotional investment in the event.

My initial (annoyed) assumption was that they were going to make Holmes out to be in love with Helen. But when Helen comes to Holmes for help two years later, it is clear that they have never met. Nor is there anything in Holmes’s treatment of her to imply some creepy at-a-distance infatuation. And yet we are definitely supposed to pay attention to his preoccupation with the wedding, because the final scene consists of Watson announcing Helen’s engagement to Glen Sternum, to which Holmes responds: “I was afraid that might happen.” Then when Watson, taking Holmes’s response for generalized cynicism, leaves the room with the amused assertion that “we all come to it [i.e. marriage],” Holmes waits until he is gone to respond with a melancholy, “not all, my dear Watson. Not all.” And that, apart from a final line about filing away the details of the case, is the end.

So what are we to make of Holmes’s sorrowful preoccupation with Helen’s marriage? Honestly, I’ve been unable to work it out. Is it is meant to refer to a generalized inability to attach a girl? But there’s no hint of that in the plot; and besides, why then would he be so concerned with this particular marriage? No, it makes more sense to suppose that Holmes’s queer-coded mannerisms are fully intentional, and he knows he will never marry because society will not allow him to marry a man. So was he afraid that Watson, a good friend of the family, might marry her? But then why is he still so sorry when she marries someone else? Is he secretly in love with the man she married (who, fun fact, is a slave-owner)??? Weirdly enough, that is my only theory which doesn’t directly contradict any of the facts, although it would make for incredibly vague and sloppy storytelling.

Just to complicate this further, Doyle’s play also contains a subplot about Holmes being sorrowful about a marriage (although the sorrow is a bit more subtextual)—but in the play it is Watson’s marriage. So basically … the filmmakers appear to have gotten the “Holmes is upset about Watson’s marriage because Holmes is in love with him but cannot marry a man because Homophobia” subtext, but—perhaps because showing Holmes being openly sorrowful over Watson’s marriage felt too obvious?—they clumsily redirected Holmes’s sorrow to a different marriage with which he textually has no connection.

As for Watson, there’s not much to say. There is an odd line in which Holmes asks Watson whether the housekeeper was good-looking and Watson answers “no” before pausing and, with an air of surprise, amending, “yes.” This could be seen as indicating that he is uninterested in the attractiveness of women. (This would make him out to be gay and not bi, which I suppose makes sense for the time). But it could just as easily be put down to the film’s sloppy writing, and if Watson is gay his cheery assurance that he and Holmes both will come round to marriage in the end indicates that he is entirely unaware of it, so … *shrugs.*

In conclusion: this film was probably made by people who Knew, at least about Holmes, but instead of creating Johnlock they gave us a Holmes who is almost definitely gay but only maybe in love with Watson; he could just as easily be in love with a slave-owner he never sees during the film or be sad about not being able to marry a man in general. Then they tossed in a narratively irrelevant Watson who might maybe possibly be gay but he definitely doesn’t know it.

It’s a mess.

Conclusion: Should You Watch It?

I mean … you could. A decent-ish recording is available on YouTube here. But while I feel like we ought to be aware of this first (as far I know) stumbling attempt at subtext, I’m not trying to talk anyone into watching it. If you’re interested in Raymond Massey’s portrayal of Holmes I suggest just skipping to his scenes, which add up to slightly over half of the 50min film. In particular I recommend his first scene, from 7.15–12.35, and the final scene, which begins at 47.30. And if you find a more coherent means of interpreting Holmes’s lines about marriage, please do let me know!

Well then. Yep. That is a thing. Which exists. 

The End

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