My friends had finally brainwashed me into watching the contemporary Sherlock Holmes broadcasted on the BBC. Little did they know that it wasn’t them who brainwashed me. The actor who was playing Sherlock, who I later came to understand as Benedict Cumberbatch, swept me off my feet carrying me into the wind. My friend uttering, “His voice is like harps and leopards intertwined.” Perhaps something equally quimsical.
I was quite humored. Because of Sherlock’s estranged interests and paranormal intuition guided by his perplexing abilities with observation, he remained disinterested in dating. Of course, everyone hoping that Sherlock would someday seek love, assumes that his lack of a female counterpart automatically classifies him as gay. When Dr. John Watson, played by Martin Freeman, comes to Sherlock’s side, everyone treats him as a type of gay partner. The gay jokes persist throughout the entire series.
I guess, in this sense, the show is modestly progressive in that there is an underlying gay theme used as an occasional comic relief before the conflict again arises in climax. Though, I would never suggest them as a gay couple, I surely wouldn’t mind hanging with Benedict Cumberbatch in real life sometime.
And it wouldn’t kill anyone to cast a gay character for another purpose other than comic relief. Put it simply, not all gays are hilarious.
That aside, Sherlock Holmes sees relationships as a trivial distraction from his real work. This quirk goes along with his views of eating and sleeping. They all are monotonous deviations from his real work. His job includes tying together obscure observations in an ambiguously impossible jigsaw puzzle. Ah hah! I think he’s got it.
With short paced camera shots in genius cinematography, Sherlock quickly grabs seemingly miniscule details and comes up with the answers. And on some days, I too feel like Sherlock Holmes.
Being single because lately, I feel a disheartened apathy towards the subject of dating, I could care less about finding Mr. Right. Though, I am not so fortunate as Sherlock because the underlying premise to my demise is that my heart still seeks love. I wish my character could live a life oblivious to such things as feelings. So, when a cute guy walks in, my genius sort of kicks in and I pull in obscure observations connecting them in an ambiguous and often times inaccurate puzzle.
Counter clockwise hair whorls, check. Index finger longer than the ring finger in a correlative study of finger length ratios check. Deep toxic voices, check. Random spurts of femininity, check. Left handedness, check. Use of long articulate sentences of a verbose nature, check. Legs crossed, check. Sits with loads of female friends, check. And last but not least, engages in split second eye contact cuing me into the signs of human courting. Check. And, for the next few days, I forget about eating, and sleeping.
Yes. Ah hah! I think I got it. I am Sherlock Holmes.
