Arthur Conan Doyle’s most famous story hardly needs introduction. In 1959 it was told with a Hammer Horror twist. With its demonic dog, fog covered moor and blood-laden backstory surely no Sherlock Holmes story could be better suited to the studio. The film is fairly faithful to the basic outline of the original, although with added tarantulas and (more controversially) a new villain.
But it all works pretty much a treat, largely due to the performances
of Cushing and Morell as Holmes and Watson. Cushing’s Holmes is sharp,
analytical, has bursts of energy mixed with impatient distraction. Cushing went
back to the stories and threw in many small details – from lines from Doyle to
physical moments such as securing notes to the mantelpiece with a knife. His
Holmes also uses rudeness in a Doylesque way he rarely does in film. Cushing
has the intelligence and dynamism of the Detective – he’s one of the more
overlooked actors to play the role – and had been determined to be faithful in
his interpretation (sadly sequels were not forthcoming, although Cushing played
the role several more times on the BBC).
Morell also returned to the novels to present a Dr Watson who was
smooth, professional, assured and competent if uninspired. It’s was a far cry
from the blundering buffoon which – thanks to Nigel Bruce – the public expected
from Holmes’ faithful Boswell. Morell’s more patrician style made him a fine
contrast with Cushing’s bohemian tinged Holmes. The two actors also spark
beautifully off each other and create a feeling of a genuine friendship,
underpinned by affection and loyalty, frequently showing genuine concern for
each other’s safety.
Aside from these two excellent performances in the leads, the film
is a solid if not spectacular adaptation, competently filmed. Terence Fisher’s
direction sometimes struggles to cover the cheapness of the enterprise and some
sets convince more than others. For a film that is quite short, the pace
sometimes slackens (the Baskerville legend in particular gets far too much
screen time, probably connected in part to the presence of the buxom servant
girl Sir Hugo is planning to bed). Moments such as an attempt to assassinate
Sir Henry via tarantula in London (which makes no sense at all) provides decent
moments of tension but are basically filler.
The film does manage to address some of the problems of the novel
by introducing a greater sense of mystery, in particular by providing
motivations for several characters. Saying that, just as in the novel (where the
mystery is solved by Holmes travelling to Scotland and reading some records – not
good drama), here much of the mystery is resolved by Holmes carrying out an
off-stage conversation with convict Seldon. Much as in the book, Holmes
travelling to the area incognito doesn’t really add much to the story other
than providing a late reveal.
Better invention however comes in the introduce of a femme fatale
in Marla Landi’s Cecile Stapleton, here re-imagined as a sexy, wild girl of undefined
(and nonsensical) European origin. She sparks off a neat chemistry with
Christopher Lee’s Sir Henry – here playing for the only time in his career not
the villain but the romantic lead! – and her development late in the film presents
a fresh take on the resolution.
It’s certainly a little more fresh than the eventual scuffle with
the dog – which to be honest doesn’t look either that intimidating or
convincing. The dog itself is rather underwhelming, and more threat is actually
conveyed by the moor itself, a mysterious stretch of land coated in fog
covering treacherous bogs.
What Fisher and Hammer do really well is atmosphere, and the
gothic feel of the piece is pretty much spot on. There is the expected claret
red blood – and a suggestion of something really grotesque which befalls a victim
on the moor – mixed in with sexy ladies. It’s an exploitation twist on Holmes,
but then the novel itself was basically pretty much a B-movie in text. And the
fundamental story is largely unchanged, with both the virtues and vices of the
book captured.
The finest thing about it is the acting. Several scene-stealing
actors chuck in neat cameos. Le Mesurier is perfect as the reserved butler
Barrymore. De Wolff is a sharp and arrogant Mortimer. Malleson steals his
scenes as an absent-minded Frankland (here re-imagined as an eccentric cleric).
Christopher Lee relishes the chance to play against type, making Sir Henry a
pillar of upright, honest decency. But the real delight is Cushing and Morell
as Holmes and Watson, a brilliant combination.
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