Robert Downey Jr. and Jude Law play well together as Holmes and Watson in Guy Ritchie’s Sherlock Holmes.

Sherlock Holmes

Guy Ritchie’s telling of “Sherlock Holmes” is a silly and frivolous romp, the likes of which your father’s Sherlock would hardly have bothered to study with care. It entertained me.

This incarnation of Sir Arthur Conan Doyle’s beloved detective won’t have collectors rifling through yellowed volumes for references long-forgotten. It will not evoke the emotion of the recent BBC miniseries that so skillfully modernizes the Holmes tales. This Sherlock – story, man and motivation – are all rather obvious. A mix of mythology and magic channeling through a singular, iconic figure. He could be Batman.

You know the lead-up. Holmes (Robert Downey Jr.) and Watson (Jude Law) share their London flat, minded by Mrs. Hudson (Geraldine James) on 221B Baker St. in musty Victorian England. Here they are attracted to the case of the nefarious-sounding Lord Blackwood (Mark Strong), a sinister fellow with a penchant for grim theatrics. The boys catch him in one such act, haul him off, toss away the key and he is hung. Watson even pronounces him. But Blackwood will not rest. And so it goes.

This is straightforward stuff filmed and performed with flair. Downey relishes every acerbic observation, cutting through rooms with his barbed tongue. Most of the time, he looks like absolute hell. Much like the city he inhabits he is grey and brown, awaiting repair. Downey gives substance to Holmes’ vulnerabilities, suggesting he could fall apart without warning. Yes, his twitchy performance is only degrees removed from his similarly unhinged and egomaniacal Tony Stark. But there are other treats for those who tire of this.

Law is mostly left to play bridesmaid but exhibits an amiable chemistry with Downey and lends the film a welcome bit of mischief. Blackwood is, of course, evil and all that. And Strong is certainly venomous enough but the character is too shallow to require much of him. Blackwood’s scheme offers few true thrills. It’s necessary only to set the plot in motion. Fortunately, Ritchie populates the edges of his picture with a brilliant collection of British character actors. Eddie Marsan as Lestrade, James, underutilized, as Mrs. Hudson and the fragrant Kelly Reilly as Mary, Watson’s bride-to-be. They make the ride more fun.

Only Rachel McAdams, as Irene Adler, Holmes’ historically enigmatic and insatiable siren, seems lost. She features McAdams’ usual pluck but appears too young, too nebbish to mystify and intoxicate Holmes, let alone stand as his equal. She leaves him precious few charms to become drunk on. Their connection feels forced.

So, too, does Ritchie’s taste for pugilism. It’s suited his other films well. But here it is ribald, out-of-place. A bullfight in a library. Rather than playing as pivotal tests, fight scenes here strike us as obligatory and calculated. Indeed, we are even shown several telestrations of Holmes’ attack methods as he considers them, a kind of preview tour through the anatomy of his jabs and kicks, before the editing flips into high gear as he executes. No Sherlock’s ever been afraid to show off. But this crosses into overkill. Like Sherlock on steroids. No doubt of his own creation.

The filmmakers show fine craft turning their London into a grubby, tattered mess. I enjoyed the many potholes, stumbling drunkards and unfinished civic projects. Oscar-winning costume designer Jenny Beavan adds aesthetic panache by keeping her hooligans as nattily-tailored as the effete, antisocial dandies are comfortable. The whole production is slick and impressive. Hans Zimmer adds a rousing score.

“Sherlock Holmes” succeeds mostly in revitalizing his legend – and adding adrenaline.

It’s briskly-paced and features a couple of unexpected and memorable henchmen. The shadow play is appreciated; the cloaks, daggers and single-bullet pistols are refreshing. And the farcical elements end up yielding a lot of fun. How else to regard a case concerning the pursuit of a ginger midget?

Holmes would see through something this transparent in a heartbeat.

It’s elementary, no question. But entertaining indeed.

***

Sherlock Holmes – Robert Downey Jr.
Dr. John Watson – Jude Law
Irene Adler – Rachel McAdams
Blackwood – Mark Strong
Lestrade – Eddie Marsan
Mrs. Hudson – Geraldine James
Mary Morstan – Kelly Reilly

Directed by Guy Ritchie
Written by Michael Robert Johnson, Anthony Peckham and Simon Kinberg
Running Time: 128 Minutes.

Lincoln is a great film. Driven, obviously, by a perfect bit of casting that was the result of a persistent, dogged pursuit.

Daniel Day-Lewis inhabits the soul of Abraham Lincoln. At times, you forget you are watching someone portray one of the greatest figures of American history. So nimble is his touch. So assured his restraint. The great British actor famously replaced Liam Neeson in the part. Without intending slight toward Mr. Neeson, it is hard to imagine a performance equal to this from any other actor.

It is little wonder that Steven Spielberg spent a decade working to bring Day-Lewis into this role. As you well know, once he is committed there is no turning back. One of the small treasures to emerge from Spielberg’s courtship (and months of award season speechwriting) is a letter Day-Lewis sent the director upon passing on the first draft of the script:

    Dear Steven,

    It was a real pleasure just to sit and talk with you. I listened very carefully to what you had to say about this compelling history, and I’ve since read the script and found it in all the detail in which it describes these monumental events and in the compassionate portraits of all the principal characters, both powerful and moving. I can’t account for how at any given moment I feel the need to explore life as opposed to another, but I do know that I can only do this work if I feel almost as if there is no choice; that a subject coincides inexplicably with a very personal need and a very specific moment in time. In this case, as fascinated as I was by Abe, it was the fascination of a grateful spectator who longed to see a story told, rather than that of a participant. That’s how I feel now in spite of myself, and though I can’t be sure that this won’t change, I couldn’t dream of encouraging you to keep it open on a mere possibility. I do hope this makes sense Steven, I’m glad you’re making the film, I wish you the strength for it, and I send both my very best wishes and my sincere gratitude to you for having considered me.

After a time, Spielberg had a new script written. Day-Lewis responded in a similar fashion. Only after “Munich” co-scribe Tony Kushner came aboard and penned an exhaustive, 500-page draft from which the final version was distilled did Day-Lewis ultimately accept. The script is worth the wait. The same must, too, be said of Day-Lewis’ participation.

We all regard his acting in a class of its own. Seeing Day-Lewis’ grace in conversation here, we can further confirm that class of a rare sort runs through the man’s veins.

H&M is collaborating with Brick Lane Bikes to launch a new clothing line tailored to cyclists. Exciting! Watch the video.

               Hirst in front of his painting The Importance of Elsewhere – The Kingdom of Heaven.
                                                              (photo: EPA/Kerim Okten)

Damien Hirst this. Damien Hirst that. Damien Hirst keeps popping up with his ‘art’.
Hennessy Youngman captures how I feel about Damien Hirst. Watch his video.

I thought I was watching a science documentary. And then things spun out of control. Watch the short film from The KurzFilmAgentur Hamburg.

The video runs for two and a half minutes.

Guy goes to a party. Guy drinks a lot. Guy blacks out. Guy wakes up in a hospital.

Guy develops ice cubes that beat to the surrounding music while measuring how much you drink. The ice cubes change colour as you consume more alcohol, eventually turning red when you’ve exceeded your limit. And it sends a text to your close friends if your drinking ‘gets out of control’.

A valiant effort, guy. But glowing ice cubes are a party in my cup. And a text to my friends means the party will soon spill over.

Watch the video.

Fringe is poised to wrap its five-season run tomorrow with a two-hour finale, and it will mostly go unnoticed. When the show debuted in 2008, it came with great hype because it marked J.J. Abrams’ first television product since Lost, even though, as with Lost, he was not a leading creative voice with the series. It also marked the return of episodic, freak-of-the-week science fiction to FOX, the channel that was the home to The X-Files for so many years. It was a buzzed-about show, and for good reason.

But the ratings declined as the show continued to air, and starting in the second season, Fringe became the show that it wanted to be, dropping most of the pretenses of being a series that promoted stand-alone stories above all else. (Most episodes had a stand-alone story of the week, but it was generally in service of a larger plot.) This led to some excellent television, particularly in the back half of the second season and for the entirety of the third season. Fringe dealt with similar themes as Lost — faith, humanity and humility — but with a tighter character focus that has allowed for maximum emotional impact. (Plus: no Kate episodes.) It will be missed.

The show has never embraced its serial side more than in its fifth and final season. The action picks up from last year’s 19th episode, a peak into the dystopian future, after a group of advanced humans called Observers have taken over Earth. The observers have been part of the show since the first season, but their purpose was not revealed until last year. Using their advanced rationality — to make room for a greater ability to predict outcomes, they practically erased emotions from their brains — they travel back in time, take over the planet, with our heroes (the power couple of Anna Torv’s Olivia and Joshua Jackson’s Peter, their child, Etta, and Peter’s father, John Noble’s mad scientist Walter) at the centre of the resistance to take back their planet.

More and more, it looks like we are heading for an ending in which human emotion is the key to winning the war. All season long, Walter has been worried about losing his emotional ties as he becomes more obsessed with his scientific quest, and the natural conclusion would have him sacrificing himself for his makeshift family. That is fine. However, it is the one-dimensional view of The Observers that is a problem.

These are good times for mathematics. Political analysts groused about the New York Times’ Nate Silver’s polling model, and the math whiz wound up predicting each of the 50 states in the presidential election correctly. More and more, advanced statistical analysis is becoming acceptable in sports, particularly in baseball but also in other sports.

Fringe’s math-is-bad view, then, seems of another time. Obviously this gets at a major problem of television designed for a mass audience — there is little room for nuance. But this entire season has been a near-rejection of science, and this is science fiction. When Peter tried to use Observer technology to match wits with his enemies, it was shown as an unquestioned negative. The Observers are obsessed with mathematics and probabilities, and therefore are evil. It is a fine storytelling device, but a bit frustrating given recent events.

I cover basketball, which is becoming more and more open to advanced statistics, for a living, and both sides of the debate are infuriating. Too often, people who rely on math will call coaches out for making one decision or another. Too often, coaches dismiss advanced statistics as a tool that only works in theory. It has become an extremist debate, with anyone in the middle of the continuum being shouted down. In reality, it is like Lester said in The Wire: All of the pieces matter.

The real issue is math being displayed as anti-human by the show. Sure, computers can be programmed to solve some tough equations, but a) it is humans who must program them; and b) math is only used to explain how and why something happens. And isn’t trying to understand something a distinctly human quality?

Again, it is only a television show. Fringe has been entertaining, even this year, and the choices the creators make are probably more influenced by storytelling than worldview. But it is about time for both sides of this debate to accept the fact that they only have a partial view of the whole story. In that sense, as it ends its solid run, Fringe has turned back the clock, and not in a good way.

-Eric Koreen

Raf Simons collaborates with director Pierre Debusschere to preview his Spring/Summer 2013 collection. The six-minute film dances between darkness and light, between narration and silence, between movement and stillness. Enjoy.

Channing Tatum chooses his dance partners wisely, on both sides of the camera, in Magic Mike.

Magic Mike

“Magic Mike” is probably the best male stripper film you’ll ever see. It’s certainly far better than it has to be to satisfy its audience. For all its chiseled bravado, “Magic Mike” turns out to be the sort of film we find all too infrequently; one that delivers everything it promises and surprises us, too.

It is famously based on the real-life story of its star, Channing Tatum, who worked as a stripper in his teens while struggling to break into show business and living on his sister’s couch in Tampa, Florida. The film is directed by Steven Soderbergh, who won the Oscar for “Traffic” and also directed “Erin Brockovich” and the “Ocean’s Eleven” films. His involvement with “Magic Mike” may raise eyebrows and, indeed, the touches he offers this film may go over the heads of some viewers. But look closer and you’ll find the auteur’s lens. His DNA is all over this stage.

“Magic Mike” seems a sure star vehicle for Tatum, who also produces, but promising young Adam (Alex Pettyfer) plays the fresh meat here. Tatum is ten years his senior and, after introducing Adam to the cheap thrills and easy money of the skin game, looks on as a sort of benevolent stripper Svengali to Adam’s teen jailbait.

Mike (Tatum) works construction, dabbles in auto accessory sales and builds creative custom furniture from scraps he finds around central Florida. There’s more to him than meets the eye – a good thing, because we see just about everything else there is to see. Mike’s passion for crafting furniture is genuine. But his bad credit prevents him from getting a loan. So he spends his weekends stripping at Xquisite, the small-time peel joint in his mid-size city, to build up a nest. We learn it takes a lot of ones to fund a start-up.

His boss Dallas (Matthew McConaughey) keeps a hold on Mike through plans for a bigger, better club in Miami where they’ll split equity. Mike trusts him but shares our hesitation. Credit McConaughey for throwing himself into the role of a careful, controlling small business owner who knows his product and understands his clientele. He’s so perfectly cast it feels like he lives in this film. Dallas starts each night educating the patrons (all ladies we notice) what kind of petting he can allow: “Fact is, the law says you cannot touch… but I think I see a lot of lawbreakers in here tonight!”

There are amusing diversions both professional (frat parties pay extra) and personal (enter Olivia Munn and Cody Horn). But mostly this is about the dichotomy between Alex’s hellish descent into excess and Mike’s journey (or is it Tatum’s?) from rudderless hunk to leading man. In Soderbergh’s hands, it also becomes an assured exercise in form.

“Magic Mike” is the director’s 24^th feature. It falls somewhere between his insightful experimental fare and his showy entertainments and works well as a companion piece with his previous film, “Haywire.” Like that movie, “Magic Mike” takes a striking figure with a compelling story, handles it with more care than it requires and then cuts it into an involving melodrama.

Soderbergh washes the film in pale, dated orange. Florida dreaming, this is not. His bleak, fuzzy exteriors are a perfect frame for these characters, shuffling through the motions of day life, all waiting for night to fall. In the club, his cameras quite literally sparkle, illuminating every inch of rippling muscle and glistening skin. The clarity reflects what the strippers feel. Only here can Mike be the star of his own life.

These scenes have an impressive realism informed no doubt by Tatum’s experiences. The choreography is highly physical; the perks of this job come at a price. When it come time for “Magic Mike” to go dark, as it must, Soderbergh navigates its slide with great care. How he balances humour, sex, abuse and ambition against this story’s outrageous backdrop is a quiet bit of genius. I counted two instances where characters obviously flub their lines before recovering in-scene. It works. It’s how real interactions happen.

“Magic Mike” has all the markings of a cult classic. And a vivid performance from McConaughey. Special credit to he and the filmmakers for including one very special laugh few in my theatre caught.

Tatum has come a long way as a leading man. Like Magic Mike, he still has a long way to go. But in a year where he’s chosen Jonah Hill, Rachel McAdams and Soderbergh (twice) as collaborators, it’s clear he’s getting closer all the time. Hats, at the least, off to him for that.

***

Channing Tatum – Mike Lane
Alex Pettyfer – Adam (the Kid)
Matthew McConaughey – Dallas
Cody Horn – Brooke
Olivia Munn – Joanna

Directed by Steven Soderbergh
Written by Reid Carolin
Running Time: 110 minutes.

Chris Evans proves his worth as a leading man in Captain America: The First Avenger.

Captain America: The First Avenger

Captain America may not possess the persistent appeal of Spider-Man, the intriguing inner demons of Wolverine or the unbeatable brand of Batman. Truth be told, I was skeptical about his odds at big screen success. Yes, the Marvel machine’s been on a roll. “Iron Man” was good fun. Hulk has his winning history. Even “Thor” was a pleasant surprise. Modernizing and globalizing Cap just seemed a harder sell. But this revitalized hero shows strength and wit to match his Avenger friends. Enough to make “Captain America: The First Avenger” a charming underdog entertainment – rooted not in our real world but his comic one.

We begin with Steve Rogers, a 90-pound asthmatic from Brooklyn. His father died of mustard gas. His mother was a nurse in a tuberculosis ward until she caught it herself. It is 1942, America is at war and Steve has no reason to stay home. The way Rogers sees it, he’s no different than any other man his age: ready, willing, able. The doctors disagree. He applies five times under five aliases. He gets five rejection stamps.

Dr. Abraham Erskine (Stanley Tucci) takes notices – and reacts in an unexpected way. He’s an outsider, too; a German scientist working for the U.S. government to find a solider with a heart worth super-sizing. He’s created a serum capable of enhancing every quality in the man who receives it. But the successful candidate must demonstrate he is more human than hard-bodied. This boy still itching to fight after five failed attempts holds promise. Erskine is Rogers’ first ally.

The military requires more convincing. Rogers is sent to a boot camp run by Colonel Chester Phillips (Tommy Lee Jones) and his fetching first officer, Peggy Carter (Hayley Atwell), a Brit. On sight, they nearly dismiss Rogers as a novelty. Some new motivational tool for the alpha monkeys in the platoon. We sense he can persuade them to look past his physical limitations.

Erskine fled the Reich after discovering that his serum could also amplify an evil heart’s intentions. In Hitler’s science division, he worked alongside Dr. Hugo Schmidt (Hugo Weaving), a rival scientist more interested in the usual supervillian stuff than Hitler’s march to homogeny. So long as their pursuits run parallel, Schmidt is content to run alongside the Führer. The fight for Berlin, we presume, can wait.

That’s all the plot I dare share here. On the whole, it’s fairly pedestrian stuff. But the film finds magic in small moments along the way. “Captain America” succeeds because notes it hits resonate with us long after the few it doesn’t.

It is features inspired ensemble casting as director Joe Johnston surrounds his young leads with one of the deepest supporting casts you’ll find. Stanley Tucci. Tommy Lee Jones. Hugo Weaving. Dominic Cooper. All play familiar characters. All find new ways to surprise us. Somehow, Toby Jones stands tallest, imbuing the effete ramblings of his mad German scientist with a welcome streak of absurdist humour. One-liners fly, and most of them land, too, but it’s up to these actors to elevate what would otherwise be forgettable roles. They nail it.

As the lone female presence in “Captain America,” Hayley Atwell is an intoxicating new talent. Her Peggy Carter is a resourceful heroine who won’t take a handout even when her life depends on it. Only if someone else’s did. Plucky, smart and madly sexy, Atwell steals scene after scene. That she makes this impression mostly in military issue field gear is all the more impressive. Her Carter doesn’t need Rogers; won’t throw herself at him the way a lesser character might. But she understands his path. They share a mutual respect.

At the centre of it all, Chris Evans. He of “Not Another Teen Movie” and the “Fantastic Four” films. This may be the first role of his career that actually requires Evans to act – and he exceeds expectations. He could fill Cap’s suit on jaw line and rippling muscle alone. But Evans shows depth. He is required to wear a sophisticated motion capture system, allowing the film effects specialist to shrink him by half, through the film’s early scenes. Evans, 6’3″, 180 pounds at the time of filming, is convincing in either form.

Director Johnston hinges the film on his decisions to honour the era Captain America was conceived for (I laughed out loud when one character calls Carter “Queen Victoria”) and to start Rogers small. Tracking his evolution from eager shrimp to superficial sideshow allows the screenwriters to establish the character and endear him to the audience. Johnston’s technical virtuosity doesn’t hurt, either. The director began his career as an effects illustrator 35 years ago and is well-suited to this material. Lavish attention is paid to every costume decision, stage design and light filter.

Of course, there are some glaring imperfections. Subplots fall flat. The action scenes are all preposterous. Hell, there’s even an establishing shot of Schmidt’s laboratory revealing that it’s carved in the side of a mountain like Dr. Evil’s. Ridiculous. But no matter. The picture’s got character. Charisma. And, happily, charm.

Captain America is a man of heightened muscle and strength. But he boasts no true superpower. He’s got gumption. So does this film.

*** 1/2

Chris Evans – Steve Rogers
Hayley Atwell – Peggy Carter
Hugo Weaving – Johann Schmidt
Stanley Tucci – Dr. Abraham Erskine
Tommy Lee Jones – Colonel Chester Phillips
Toby Jones – Dr. Armin Zola
Dominic Cooper – Howard Stark

Directed by Joe Johnston
Written by Christopher Markus, Stephen McFeely and Joss Whedon (uncredited)
Running Time: 124 Minutes.