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| Watson (Scott Leggett) and Moriarty (Henry Dittman) in Watson, The Last Great Tale of the Legendary Sherlock Holmes. |
By Ed Rampell
Who is the West’s most famous Afghan War veteran? Some may think it’s Pat Tillman, the late pro-footballer-turned-Army Ranger, subject of a recent documentary. But in my opinion, the answer is elementary, my dear reader: The best known Western veteran of the Afghanistan war, albeit back in the 19th century, is John Watson, the Brit better known as Sherlock Holmes’ sidekick, Dr. Watson.
He, rather than Arthur Conan Doyle’s scientific sleuth, is the lead character in the Sacred Fools' Watson, The Last Great Tale of the Legendary Sherlock Holmes, which is an extremely imaginative, clever spoof that had the audience howling with delight and applauding throughout the premiere of the almost two-and-a-half-hour production.
Since circa 1900 there have been more than 222 Holmes productions, and director-playwright Jaime Robledo robs numerous sources to create a send-up that is, in the end, his own unique work of art, as well as a humorous homage to literary icons. Robledo merrily loots Doyle (in particular his 1893 The Final Problem, which was intended to be Holmes’ last adventure, recounted by the faithful Watson), Nicholas Meyer’s superb The Seven-Per-Cent Solution and more.
In tone, Watson, The Last Great Tale of the Legendary Sherlock Holmes also comically cribs from the stage adaptation of Alfred Hitchcock’s, The 39 Steps, with its small cast frenetically and funnily playing multiple roles. In theme, Watson explores Sherlock’s sexuality (or lack there or, perhaps, his homoeroticism), and the cocaine use of a character primarily known for his logic, just as Billy Wilder and I.A.L. Diamond did in the 1970 film, The Private Life of Sherlock Holmes. Although Meyer, Wilder and Diamond made much of Holmes’ penchant for things going better with coke, it should be noted that 1939’s The Hound of the Baskervilles, the very first movie with Basil Rathbone as Holmes, ends with Sherlock exclaiming: “Oh, Watson - the needle!”
Robledo’s partners in crime include a Baker Street’s dozen or so of highly skilled thespians trodding the boards -- sometimes at breakneck speed. The cast is amiably led by Scott Leggett as a rather corpulent Dr. Watson. The slim Joe Fria, who has previously won an LA Weekly Best Comedic Performance award, portrays the consulting (or in this case, insulting) detective with great comic panache. Onstage, the two look more like Laurel and Hardy than Watson and Holmes, and they deserve to win more prizes for their waggish performances.
As should French Stewart (Third Rock From the Sun), who does a Peter Sellers-esque turn in a dual cross-dressing role, with his side-splitting, bawdy Queen Victoria worthy of Sellers’ droll depiction of the Duchess of Grand Fenwick in the classic 1959 satire, The Mouse That Roared. (BTW, the playwright errs here by having Queen Victoria referred to as “Her Highness” -- that is for mere princesses, while the correct appellation, “Her Majesty,” is reserved for monarchs. Veddy English and elementary, my dear Robledo!) Stewart’s uproarious Freud is decidedly less sympathetic than Arkin’s compassionate shrink in The Seven-Per-Cent Solution.
If Vanessa Redgrave played Sherlock’s love interest in that film, the curvaceous Rebecca Larsen lustily portrays Irene Adler -- the only woman to have ever outwitted Holmes -- with sly wit in Watson. Henry Dittman is ditzy as a mustache twirling Professor Moriarty, the “Napoleon of Crime.” There are too many other members of this ensemble cast to single out, but Lisa Anne Nicolai typifies the thespians, as a background player moving about scenery and the like onstage, such as chests that are supposed to be the moving cars of a careening train in one death defying scene, or the white cliffs of Dover in another. As all hell breaks loose onstage, in that Buster Keaton “Great Stone Face” tradition, she somehow never manages to so much as crack a smile. In the face of such hilarity, even Stanislavski would be impressed by Nicolai’s stoic restraint.
Robledo deftly directs his madcap players, and is ably abetted by a creative collective: Scenic designer Erin Anne Brewster, scenic painter Nicole Agredano, costume designer Jessica Olson, lighting designer Matt Richter, composer Ryan Johnson (what would a Holesian saga be without violins?) and assistant director Monica Greene. Watson, The Last Great Tale of the Legendary Sherlock Holmesis a virtuoso case study not in scarlet but in how small, low budget theater can, with imagination, innovation and verve creatively craft special effects to conjure up far-flung locales, sumptuous sets, and the like. Puppetry, shadows, curtains (effectively doubling as, of all things, fog) and more set the scenes. We travel from London to Constantinople (or is it Istanbul?) and beyond on a diminutive stage in a 66 or so seat theater. It’s obvious that these Fools have a Sacred esprit de corps. Bravo!
One of the big bugaboos of Holmesians is the portrayal and interpretation of Dr. Watson, whom many feel has been slighted onscreen as buffoonish and boorish, such as the often blundering Nigel Bruce opposite Rathbone in about 14 Universal films from 1939-1946. Strict keepers of the Sherlockiana flame may cry, “Is nothing sacred, fools?!” at the liberties Robledo and his acting accomplices take with Doyle’s characters, just as strict Freudians may resist his analysis of the founder of psychoanalysis. But I feel that Robledo’s robbery is more tribute than plagiarism, and true to Watson and Sherlock’s spirit, unlike Guy Ritchie’s 2009 rip-off of the brand Doyle artistically built up.
In addition, by upturning the usual emphasis on Holmes at Watson’s expense, and telling this tale from the good doctor’s viewpoint, Robledo sheds new light on the characters and stories. Along Watson’s way, we come to realize that it was the writer Watson, who chronicled Sherlock’s cases in Doyle’s adventures, who was really the great observer, not Holmes, with his much-vaunted deductive reasoning process.
After Doyle tried to kill his beloved literary creation at Reichenbachfall, Switzerland (not at Dover as in Watson, The Last Great Tale of the Legendary Sherlock Holmes!) in 1893’s The Final Problem outraged fans forced Doyle to bring his character back to life in 1903’s The Adventure of the Empty House. And here we are, 107 years after Professor Moriarty and Holmes’ tumble down that 393-foot Swiss waterfall, still enjoying new works based on Doyle’s immortal characters. (PBS is also airing a modern day, British-made version of the Holmes sagas.) What Robledo’s Watson, The Last Great Tale of the Legendary Sherlock Holmes proves is that the only thing that could kill Sherlock is dying from laughter. That is a risk theatergoers must happily take in order to enjoy this Baker Street irregular which I predict has a long life ahead of it beyond the Sacred Fools.
Watson, The Last Great Tale of the Legendary Sherlock Holmes runs through Dec. 11 at the Sacred Fools Theater, 660 N. Heliotrope Dr., L.A., CA 90004. For more info: 310/281-8337; www.sacredfools.org
