CELEBRATORY, MY DEAR WATSON
I had come from the magnificent Old Vic Christmas Carol, where once again with mince pies, bells and lanterns and Dickensian cheer and a message about how poor Scrooge was maltreated by his father long ago. Still worth it, a cracking family show. So it felt like fun to travel three miles north north across Dickens’ city, beyond 221b Baker St to the new Marylebone Theatre for Mark Shanahan’s A Sherlock Carol, which did rather well in New York and cheekily opens with the Dickens echo – “Moriarty was dead..”.
It’s a mash-up, a tribute, potentially a great deal of fun. And historically a good jokes: for now it is 40 years on from the time of A Christmas Carol, and Holmes is terribly depressed and purposeless after defeating Moriarty the master-criminal at the Reichenbach Falls. He is visited by the middle-aged Dr Cratchit: Tiny Tim! He has grown up and is earnestly curing other children in a hospital once funded by Scrooge’s benefactions but now a bit short of money.
Moreover, Scrooge has been murdered. And there’s a shenanigan about a lost will and the precious Blue Carbuncle, which could save the hospital but is gone. It may or may not have been stolen by a descendant of Scrooge’s old employer Fezziwig. Who, in a completely pointless sub-plot, is in love with a descendant, of I think, Scrooge’s old girlfriend Fan. It’s a brilliant and cheeky idea, and Shanahan echoes lines from both books. For instance, when Holmes who famously doesn’t believe in spirits is visited on Christmas Eve by Scrooge’s ghost, the ghost mockingly quotes him – “if you eliminate the impossible, whatever remains ,however improbable, must be the truth”.
I wanted to adore it. I really did. And it’s only two hours, but the first half is fussy with sub-plots and awful comedy accents your kids may love but I didn’t. You could trim down the longer first half very smartly and run it as 90-minutes-no interval, though that would cut down on the mulled wine which was rather good in the bar. Kammy Darweish is a gorgeous Scrooge, and the crinolined ensemble telling the story are fun, but there’s a problem with Ben Caplan’s Sherlock. I know it’s hard to act as if you’re disillusioned and depressed – you need Hamlet-style poetry for that – but the whole of the first half saw him irritatingly mopey and low-key, not a Sherlock we can love. Maybe he will dial it up as the Christmas spirit rises. I hope so, because it’s a hell of a good idea. God bless us, every one!
marylebonetheatre.co to 7 Jan
rating three
theatreCat 