I thoroughly enjoy Elementary, but I would love to have been in the room when it was pitched. CBS, not typically known for their innovation, had a meeting that (I imagine) went something like this:
Head of Development: OK people! We need a new show for the fall. Ideas?
People afraid of losing their job: …
Head of Development: C’mon! There are no bad ideas! Think outside the box!
Faceless suit #1: How about innovative and/or original programming?
Head of Development: You’re fired. This is CBS. Baby boomers want to watch the solving of brutal crimes.
Faceless suit #2: Here is a safe option: Sherlock Holmes is a successful character, the recent movies were successful, and BBC is successful with Sherlock. Let’s do that but with a hot chick as Watson.
Head of Development: Solid. Gold.
NBC’s Community has two characters, Troy and Abed, who are fans of a science-fiction show called Inspector Spacetime, a British show that is a thinly veiled Doctor Who parody. In one episode, they go to an Inspector Spacetime convention, and focus group hijinks lead to an abominable American version of a quality British show being created. The Office avoided this pitfall, and thankfully so does Elementary.
Of course, Sir Arthur Conan Doyle’s famous detective is so well-known, with so many cultural incarnations, that Sherlock Holmes has a bit more appeal than a relatively obscure, low-budget show about a time-traveling alien. In fact, in light of the incredible abundance of crime shows on television right now, purists might argue that Sherlock Holmes is the original idiosyncratic-crime-solver-uses-quirks-to-catch-baddies hero.
Before moving on, I do have one complaint about the show. Holmes’ self-proclaimed use of deductive logic is actually inductive. Deductive logic moves from general to specific: 1) All animals with hair are mammals, so 2) I deduce that the furry animal I see is a mammal. Inductive logic, what Holmes does, works the other way, from specific to general: 1) Every mammal I have ever seen is hairy, so 2) I induce that all mammals have hair. Of course, “induce” conjures up images of a woman in labor, and “deduce” sounds cooler. This would not bother me so much were it not such a regular occurrence on the show. Holmes is touted as “the great deductionist”. In one episode (fittingly, “The Deductionist”) he disparages a criminal profiler, and Watson responds with, “Isn’t profiling a part of what you do?” Holmes’ reaction is swift: “I deduce! ENORMOUS difference!” Anyway, if you really want to nerd out on scientific jargon, go here.
So, if Elementary is a formulaic show about a character we already know, what is the draw? (Aside from a wonderfully metaphorical opening credits sequence – I’m a sucker for those.) Well, for starters, it is really well-acted. Johnny Lee Miller plays a wonderfully nuanced, cocky-yet-vulnerable Sherlock Holmes. Lucy Liu is a great Watson, although she is a bit under-utilized for the first half of the season. The two other main characters (Captain Gregson and Detective Bell) are good enough when given real scenes, but typically they serve only as narrative catalysts for Holmes. It is the chemistry between Holmes and Watson – a non-sexual chemistry, if you can believe it – that really carries the show. They play like a bit like a marriage – each partner contributes something unique to the relationship as a whole while genuinely challenging and improving the other as an individual.
Another strength lies in the quality of its villains. On top of the interwoven thread of Holmes’ arch-nemesis Moriarty, there are genuinely creepy/scary performances by the weekly bad guy. It can’t be easy (but I bet it’s fun) to consistently write characters that provide a challenge for Holmes. I particularly enjoyed Vinnie Jones’ turn as one of Moriarty’s hit men. That episode (“M”) also brought out something particularly dangerous in Holmes where he was verging on Dexter territory.
The decision to give Elementary’s rendition of Sherlock Holmes a substance abuse back-story is an interesting one. One the one hand, it seems simple: every hero needs a flaw, and drug addiction works just as well as anger issues or fear of heights.
It also contributes to Holmes’ aesthetic: his appearance is a thrift store version of GQ; he is blunt while being loquacious. Sherlock has himself experienced great sorrow (murder of his beloved), pain (quelling the incessant intellect with powerful narcotics), and shame (the grueling road to recovery), so we as the audience do not hold it against him when he is, shall we say, less than cordial to others.
After telling Watson the man they pursue might possess “prodigious girth” (“Dead Man’s Switch”), she replies, “So Zelner might be heavyset?” Holmes replies, “Orsen Wells was heavyset. Abraham Zelner could pull small moons out of orbit.” The English accent softens his words while sharpening the jabs.
On the other hand, Holmes’ past makes for variegated plot complications. The addictive history humanizes what would otherwise be a superhero character. If there were no fear of relapse he would be unstoppable. This is part of the reason why it is so hard to write a compelling storyline for Superman (though I am hopeful for Snyder’s upcoming version). If you have a hero who is essentially invincible things quickly get boring. So to keep us engaged, the show alternates villain-of-the-week baddies with ones connected to Sherlock’s past.
Oddly enough, when Sherlock is at his best, he represents us at our worst. When he is “in the zone” and solving riddles left and right, he becomes manic, adopting unhealthy and unsustainable practices: sleepless nights, days without food, discouraging those around him. The more amped up his brain gets, the more brash and destructive Holmes becomes. He fancies himself an impervious eagle soaring high above everyone else, when in fact he is a turkey – granted, a smart turkey – on the ground like the rest of us.
And so the only thing ground him is his past. Holmes remains tormented by it. At one point, nearing his yearlong sobriety milestone, his sponsor Alfredo encourages him to go to the meeting and receive his sobriety chip. Holmes says he will not, because while others may cherish it as a sign of victory, it only reminds him of his failure: “I get why others celebrate this moment, but I will not.” Alfredo’s response is poignant: “Know what I WISH you got? Milestones like this one, they’re yours, but they ain’t about you. They’re bout all the people who haven’t gotten there yet. They see you do it and they think, why cant I? I know it’s hard, but one of these days, you gotta get over yourself.”
The narcissist in all of us would like to believe that we are occasionally immune to the problems that plague everyone else. Particularly when things are going our way, we are quick to assume any success is the result of our own efforts and talent. The truth of the matter is we need other people, and we are never above stressful minutiae. Sin/temptation is most dangerous where we think it doesn’t exist.
Joan Watson might be the real hero of the show. She is a much more accessible character – skilled but humble, caring but honest. She has not just once, but twice started a new career from scratch. Part of her character’s function is to be the straight man for Holmes’ quirkiness: “You keep bees as pets??” “Why are you taking a nap on the table?” “How do you know so much about Moroccan teas?” etc.
But the thing about Watson I really appreciate is her vulnerability amidst autonomy. Despite being fiercely independent she has put herself in a position to learn from people with wisdom and experience. She is constantly being corrected by Holmes but doesn’t shy away from voicing an opinion. We all should aspire to this level of self-awareness that is rooted in an inner confidence. Only for Christians, the confidence is not in ourselves, but Him who sustains us. Unless you are Sherlock Holmes’ creator, Sir Arthur Conan Doyle, in which case your confidence is in the existence of fairies and ghosts.