My opinion, however, is that people who go to see Sherlock Holmes because it is a fantastic action move, or because it is a fantastic period piece, will not be disappointed. In fact, they will probably love it. But if it induces them to delve into the stories, they will be very disappointed. In Doyle's works, Holmes disappears for long stretches of time, leaving his faithful chronicler Dr. Watson back at 221B Baker Street to speculate as the what his genius friend could be up to. Most of the action scenes consist in Holmes sniffing out mundane pieces of evidence while Watson looks on; every once in a blue moon they feel compelled to bring along their revovlers and occasionally even find the need to discharge them. But the stories' strength lie in their clever mental shenanigans, not in any particular excitement of story-telling.
If, on the other hand, you go to the movie expecting your standard austere-genius-smokes-pipe-and-solves-crimes Holmes movie of the Basil Rathbone variety, you will also be disappointed. It's not hard to see why die-hard Conan Doyle fans feel betrayed, really; Robert Downey Jr.'s portrayal of the great detective is far from the impeccable, self-possessed, utterly respectable version of him that one may have come to expect from the stories; nor is Watson the semi-idiotic sidekick there mostly because Holmes needs adulation from the peanut gallery. Holmes is frenetic, socially awkward, wild-eyed, and scruffy. Watson (played by Jude Law) is a trim, sharp, ex-military man with a flair for biting sarcasm. They're friends and equals, and when they get together they can really kick some ass. Literally.
But people who fall into group A (and I've been a Conan Doyle fan since the sixth grade, so I almost counted myself among them) forget that in one story, Watson found Holmes in an opium den, filthy beyond recognition and pretending to be stoned. They forget all the asides both men make regarding Holmes's not inconsiderable mastery of disguises and his myriad talents, including boxing, shooting, and "malingering" (pretending to be sick.) He's arrogant and almost certainly mildly autistic, and just because Doyle is offhand about all this doesn't mean we can't imagine the consequences. What Ritchie has done, essentially, is read between the lines--wildly, yes, but not insupportably. In a few especially brilliant scenes, time slows as Holmes sizes up an opponent, mentally preparing a physical attack with mathematical precision. Suddenly we are catapulted back into real time as he carries out his plan of action. This is one-hundred-percent Conan Doyle Holmes, and while Ritchie certainly takes his fair share of liberties with the canon (most notably the subplot with Irene Adler, presented here as an unattainable romantic interest for Holmes) the spirit of the stories and its characters is always there.
The plot here is basically unimportant. It involves some high-up muckety-mucks and a lot of bona fide weirdness. Not to give it away or anything, but Holmes solves everything in the end. The crux of the movie lies instead in the relationship between Holmes and Watson, who is about to move out the their shared falt and into matrimony with a beautiful governess named Mary (who, incidentally, appears in some of the stories, though to a different extent). Displeased that he's losing his extraordinarily tolerant roommate/partner/friend, Holmes doesn't try to disguise his attempts to keep him around. What he misjudges in the end, however, is Mary herself, who (as in the stories) has no intention of keeping her husband away from the adventures he loves. It's wide open for a sequel. I hope the next one has a score just as good.
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