My name is John Noonan and I’m the creator of Ms Holmes novellas, a series of stories about Manchester’s greatest consulting detective. Yep, it’s a pastiche of Sherlock Holmes, and I have lots of lovely reviews about it from people on Amazon.
I also write for the likes of Horrornews.net, FilmInk and The Reel Word. I also write a bunch of stuff on my blog! A lot of this done for exposure rather than financial support, but it certainly floats my boat.
I love doing all of this and am currently writing my third, much longer, story, Ms Holmes: Baskerville. I think you can see where that one’s going. Anyway, I’m going to keep doing what I’m doing regardless of the monetary worth. However, if you feel like throwing a dollar my way then good on ya.
If you’d like to get involved and get me to review something you may have not seen elsewhere, check out the link at https://www.patreon.com/noonanj.
Inside No 9 is back for a fourth series, and it’s amazing to see how much the show has grown over the years since Reece Shearsmith and Steve Pemberton’s first episode, Sardines, aired back in 2014. Their first collaborative effort after League of Gentlemen went on sabbatical, Psychoville, carried over a lot from their early days on the BBC: crude characters and the bleakest of bleak humour. It may have all been wrapped in a House of Hammer plot that blossomed into Tales of the Unexpected in its second series, but it too often felt like a satellite office to The League of Gentlemen rather than its own thing. To the cynical eye, Inside No 9 look like a humble pretender to the crown of glory past. After all, taken at face value, each one is nothing more than a mini-play, often set within one room, which will have no effect on the episode that comes after.
That is, of course, an extremely cynical view.
Taken as a whole, Inside No 9 is a universe which fully encompasses the full spectrum of human interaction. Yes, there are episodes that focus of the bleak side of life, but stare at them for too long and you miss the likes of the heart-breaking The 12 Days of Christine, the slapstick silent tomfoolery of A Quiet Night In and the surprisingly romantic Empty Orchestra. No, Inside No 9 escapes the League comparisons of Psychoville and becomes something much more.
The point that this rather long-winded introduction is getting to is that Zanzibar, which kicks of this new series, bodes well for what’s to come and shouts that Inside No 9 is showing no signs of running out of creative steam.
Written entirely in iambic pentameter, Zanzibar sees a disparate group of people interacting with each over, in real time, within the confines of a hotel corridor. Whilst set during the modern day, there’s a Shakespearean feel to the proceedings that isn’t limited to the dialogue. Fred the bellhop (Jaygann Ayeh) takes on the duties of Puck, introducing the audience to the tale that includes allusions to Midsummer Night’s Dream, Macbeth and Twelfth Night. There are confusions involving twins (played by Rory Kinnear), poisoned chalices – well, glasses – of red wine, monologues to the audience and prostitutes with skills in ‘water sports’. Admittedly, that last part might be unfamiliar to Shakespeare canon, but those who crack a wry smile whenever they hear the title of the Bard’s play, Much Ado About Nothing, will likely accept that if Will could have gotten away with it, he would have.
As has been happening with the last two series, Shearsmith and Pemberton more or less take a backseat in this story, playing minor, but important, parts in the overall narrative. Pemberton plays an overprotective son trying to cure his mother’s dementia, whilst Shearsmith is a leering, sinister bodyguard with machinations to murder his boss and make himself out to be a hero. Despite their limited screen time, they aren’t missed. And I mean that in a good way. The ensemble in their place, which also includes Helen Monk, Tanya Franks and Kevin Eldon, bring out the best in the duo’s words.
If each episode of Inside No 9 is considered a mini-drama, then episodes like Zanzibar prove the durability of their work. Their playful usage of the English language not only shows a love of the theatrical, but also of the culture from which scripts like this extend from. Sexual escapades aside, there really is no reason why something like this couldn’t be taught in schools to show that Shakespeare’s legacy extends beyond a handful of plays that are drilled into us from age 11 onward. A sparkling start to the series, we can only hope that Inside No 9 continues down this inventive path.
Directed by Henri-Georges Clouzot, Les Diaboliques is the morbid story of two teachers at a private in France who share a common bond: the school’s tyrannical headmaster. Married to one and making a mistress of the other, he abuses the poor women until they finally decide to be rid of him. Having killed the man and disposed of his body, it’s understandable the women become somewhat unnerved to hear that he’s been seen walking around town. With a private detective hot on their tail, the duo’s fragile allegiance begins to crack.
Les Diaboliques is as near perfect a movie as you will ever get. Clouzot’s direction is taut and he piles on the tension till it becomes unbearable. The performances by Vera Clouzot and Simone Signoret are impeccable. The finale is one of cinema’s all-time greatest and lingers long in the memory. It will also give you an irrational fear of your bathroom for weeks. Buy it, treasure it, and never let it leave your side.
See No Evil (2006)
A group of ne’er do well twenty-something teenage delinquents are roped in to help renovate a run hotel. Unbeknown to them, its en-suite rooms are stalked by a giant of a serial killer, played by WWE’s Kane, with a penchant for poking out eyeballs. See No Evil is not subtle, nor very original. In terms of today’s social media, it is the BuzzFeed list of horror tropes. Things happen, followed by more things. Some of these things involve screaming. Then, thankfully, it ends.
Black Roses (1988)
Small town America is about to get its ass kicked by Black Roses, a heavy metal band ready to tear it a new one. Well, all the band members are actually demons in disguise, so it’s the least you can ask of them really. Directed by John Fasano (Rock n’ Roll Nightmare), this is B-movie 101. Kids are becoming corrupted, the mayor refuses to believe there’s a problem and only a teacher and his fabulous knitwear can stop them.
It’s loud, brash and, at one point, a wayward boy’s father is eaten alive by a speaker. Death by stereo indeed. With plot holes you can drive a tour bus through, Black Roses is an incredible amount of fun. Poorly written fun, but fun nonetheless.
What with Elementary, Sherlock and Guy Ritchie’s Sherlock Holmesmovies to name but a few, it’s quite apparent we’re spoilt for interpretations of Sir Arthur Conan Doyle’s famous sleuth. Sherlock: Case of Evil arose a few years before any of the aforementioned were even a glimmer in Tumblr’s eye, and it could, if one was feeling fair, be said that it paved the way them. Well, it could be, if you chose to believe that Case of Evil was actually any good.
Acting as a sort of Holmes Begins, we meet the young detective (James D’Arcy) dining out on the fame brought to him by killing the nefarious Professor Moriarty (Vincent D’Onofrio). Holmes here is young and dashing, and not immune to a few sins. Namely, alcohol and threesomes with rosy cheeked wenches. Yes, indeedy, this is the sexy Holmes you always wanted, a Holmes full of hope. When he skips into the mortuary of Dr John Watson (Roger Morlidge), the two become wrapped up in a mystery that suggests that Moriarty is still alive being a cad and a shit.
As Case of Evil judders forward, it becomes apparent that the film is less concerned with Holmes tracking down Moriarity and more with providing a revisionist’s idea of how Holmes became the man we know him to be. Think of it like Chris Columbus’ Young Sherlock Holmes, but with more blood and breasts. It’s, at best, a lightweight romp across the cobbles with numerous hideous Holmes references crowbarred in.
Oh yes, the references and in-jokes. It crams them in like battery hens, as if there was a checklist of things they wanted to include in order to meet a quota.
Drug addiction – this is how it happened.
Mistrust of women – this is how it happened.
By the time Holmes is unceremoniously given his pipe and deerstalker, the game of interest is no longer afoot, but well and truly over. There’s something rather insulting about the film trying to convince its audience that one single adventure could provide all the intricacies one human can have.Trying to do its own things whilst adhering to the canon of Doyle is probably where it really lets itself down. In for a penny, in for a pound should have been their war cry. After all, it didn’t really hurt the Asylum’s Sherlock Holmes which turned out to be lots of fun.
There’s also an embarrassing number of jokes in Case of Evil that I now refer to as ‘Hindsight Jokes’. You know the kind; someone in Mad Men will make a comment about one day being able to take your phone everywhere, everyone looks at them like he is indeed a man man, and we are all supposed to stroke our chins and laugh, ‘Ha! He’s predicted mobile phones! Hahaha! I’ve forgotten about my parents’ divorce.’ Well, Case of Evil is chock full of them, really bad ones. Ones that make you wish your head was made of glass simply so you could smash it. ‘Step into the 19th century!’ sneers Moriarty when presented with a Sherlock Holmes ready to swordfight. Sigh.
Bombastic to a fault, I’m not sure if the world has been crying out for a gritty, sexy version of Sherlock Holmes. If it is, then this is not it. Move along, nothing to see.
John Noonan 