Going Native
di David Denby The New Yorker
Guy Ritchie’s hyperbolic “Sherlock Holmes” isn’t a movie; it’s a franchise. Or, at least, a would-be franchise. Arthur Conan Doyle’s material has been grabbed by its velvet collar and thrown into twenty-first-century media culture. Such a turn was inevitable. The subdued charm of Conan Doyle’s hansom cabs, enveloping fogs, and courteous manners, in which the façade of gentility is broken up so delightfully by devilish conspiracies, is not of our age. In Ritchie’s version, the façade doesn’t even exist: his London is rubbled and mucky, with beggars underfoot, and fouled by half-finished industrial monstrosities. [...]
di David Denby, articolo completo (4107 caratteri spazi inclusi) su The New Yorker 4 gennaio 2010
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