This is a quirky, oddly affecting comedy about a judge, gone psychotic after the death of his wife, who believes that he is Sherlock Holmes. His brother wants him committed to an asylum, not for reasons of concern, but so that he can become executor of the would be Holmes's considerable estate.
A female psychiatrist is asked to interview him for the formality of the commitment but becomes fascinated by the "Holmes" she meets because of his truly extraordinary deductive reasoning. It's apparent that, delusional or not, he may be a genius of some kind, and far more fascinating than most ordinary mortals.
The psychiatrist, whose name just happens to be Watson, joins this Sherlock Holmes in his quest to search the streets of New York City for his nemesis, Professor Moriarty. On the way they meet various other people, also largely spurned by society, but, somehow, kindred souls in an otherwise pretty cold world.
This strange but intelligent, utterly charming film died a quick death at the 1971 box office, but has found a cult following of sorts over the years. George C. Scott, with briar pipe and deerstalker hat, is virtual perfection in the role of the man who believes he is Holmes, while Joanne Woodward, devoid of her usual glamour, playing the socially awkward psychiatrist who starts to gradually believe in his cause, brings a warmth and touching vulnerability to her role.
The film has a few wonderful scenes with lovely little touches. Holmes takes his Watson to a little movie theatre, almost empty but for a few street people, and a makeout couple in the top balcony. Yet the street people there all know him, greeting him with smiles as "Mr. Holmes" at this theatre where he likes to come for comfort and watch westerns.
At another unexpected moment a police officer suddenly comes around the corner, spots "Holmes" and a large smile spreads across his face as he says, "Why, Mr. Rathbone, it's an honor, sir," as he reaches over to shake his hand.
And, towards the film's beginning, there is a marvelous scene in which Scott, dressed as Holmes, arrives at a seedy asylum where an inmate is being abused by an orderly. There's a low angle camera shot of a towering Scott/Holmes as he struts through the hallway unruffled, dispassionately disarming orderlies who try to grab him, then proceeds to analyze the mind of the abused patient in a manner that has the patient's doctor (Watson in her first encounter of him) in almost open mouthed admiration.
The film's final scene will undoubtedly baffle many viewers because of its ambiguity. It's a moment that is clearly open to interpretation. But I think that scene, and this film, are about the soaring human spirit, and a belief in one's self even though logic and all around you may tell you that you are wrong.
A female psychiatrist is asked to interview him for the formality of the commitment but becomes fascinated by the "Holmes" she meets because of his truly extraordinary deductive reasoning. It's apparent that, delusional or not, he may be a genius of some kind, and far more fascinating than most ordinary mortals.
The psychiatrist, whose name just happens to be Watson, joins this Sherlock Holmes in his quest to search the streets of New York City for his nemesis, Professor Moriarty. On the way they meet various other people, also largely spurned by society, but, somehow, kindred souls in an otherwise pretty cold world.
This strange but intelligent, utterly charming film died a quick death at the 1971 box office, but has found a cult following of sorts over the years. George C. Scott, with briar pipe and deerstalker hat, is virtual perfection in the role of the man who believes he is Holmes, while Joanne Woodward, devoid of her usual glamour, playing the socially awkward psychiatrist who starts to gradually believe in his cause, brings a warmth and touching vulnerability to her role.
The film has a few wonderful scenes with lovely little touches. Holmes takes his Watson to a little movie theatre, almost empty but for a few street people, and a makeout couple in the top balcony. Yet the street people there all know him, greeting him with smiles as "Mr. Holmes" at this theatre where he likes to come for comfort and watch westerns.
At another unexpected moment a police officer suddenly comes around the corner, spots "Holmes" and a large smile spreads across his face as he says, "Why, Mr. Rathbone, it's an honor, sir," as he reaches over to shake his hand.
And, towards the film's beginning, there is a marvelous scene in which Scott, dressed as Holmes, arrives at a seedy asylum where an inmate is being abused by an orderly. There's a low angle camera shot of a towering Scott/Holmes as he struts through the hallway unruffled, dispassionately disarming orderlies who try to grab him, then proceeds to analyze the mind of the abused patient in a manner that has the patient's doctor (Watson in her first encounter of him) in almost open mouthed admiration.
The film's final scene will undoubtedly baffle many viewers because of its ambiguity. It's a moment that is clearly open to interpretation. But I think that scene, and this film, are about the soaring human spirit, and a belief in one's self even though logic and all around you may tell you that you are wrong.