Hasta La Vista, Woodley

Should I really pick on the editor of The Baker Street Journal this month?

Of all those who toil in the fields of Sherlockian publishing, his load is perhaps the worst, and I really, really hate to go after him. But, as the saying goes, he started it.

In the September issue of The Camden House Journal, Bill Cochran takes issue with Dr. Watson's criteria for preferring "The Adventure of the Solitary Cyclist" over other, unpublished tales. In the beginning of that story, as Bill points out, Watson writes of choosing SOLI for "the ingenuity and dramatic quality of the solution." And what do we find when we get to that solution?

"... an elderly, gray-bearded man, wearing a short surplice over a light tweed suit, had evidently just completed the wedding service, for he pocketed his prayer-book as we appeared, and slapped the sinister bridegroom upon the back in jovial congratulation.

'"They're married?' I gasped."

Bill responds to this finale with:

"What suspense? What drama? What excitement? Either Watson is easily impressed in his declining years, or I have seriously missed something."

Well, folks, guess what?

This may come as a shock to the more literary minds among you, but I think that Watson, wherever he is today, really likes action movies. You know, the kind with Arnold Swarzenegger or Dolph Lundgren where the bullets fly and explosions punctuate the musical score. He probably went to see "Congo" just for the part where the heroine fires up her laser cannon and grimly pronounces, "Put 'em on the endangered species list!" before wading into a horde of killer apes. And he also probably rented "I Come In Peace" just for the part when Dolph Lundgren lines up his blaster pistol on the giant alien drug lord and says, "You go in pieces."

I'm not saying that Watson is a violent man, though he has been known to get off a shot or two. And I'm not saying that he likes watching blood spurting all over the screen. All I'm saying is that Watson has a fine appreciation for a clever last word, punctuated by a pull of the trigger.

Case in point: "The Adventure of the Solitary Cyclist." True, it's a story about a sweet young lady, pedaling up the road and down the road. Sometimes someone else on a bike follows her ... oooh, how scary. And then, of course, comes the scene that Bill pointed out, as Holmes, Watson, and Bob Carruthers run through the bushes and come across ... a wedding! Oh, my stars and garters, can our poor hearts stand the excitement?

Okay, enough sarcasm ... there is actually some excitement to be found here. The bride is gagged and about to pass out. The groom is the sort of big nasty brute no woman would want to be married to. And good old Bob Carruthers is yanking his fake beard off.

Wait, it gets better. Roaring Jack Woodley, the brutish groom, taunts Carruthers about now being married to the girl with the gag, and comes at him with a riding crop.

"You're too late," Woodley claims. "She's my wife."

Bob Carruthers points his revolver at Woodley, takes a breath, and utters a line worthy of Arnold Swarzenegger himself:

"No... she's your widow."

BOOM!

Hasta la vista, Woodley.

Except that Watson, sticking to the facts and not being as bloodthirsty as Hollywood directors, lets the villain live. (Also, being a doctor, Watson probably did not want the story to advertise how he had let a patient die, even if Woodley actually did.)

I've always liked Carruthers's retort, and when reading Bill's paper, the line immediately came to mind. If I were Watson, I would have written up the story for that moment alone, and maybe Watson did. It's a rare moment in the
Canon when Sherlock Holmes doesn't get to be the clever one, and this is one of them.

The Camden House Journal notes that Bill's paper was followed by a lively discussion, though it probably had to do with his theory that Watson preferred stories that took place in April. I hope some portion of it was in defense of SOLI'S dramatic qualities.

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And now a brief apology.

(Those of you who deserved apologies in the past will note that there was space left over after this month's column, and should not feel in any way slighted.)

In my usual over-zealous frenzy of column writing a few months ago (in the July issue, to be exact), I may have implied that Shakespeare was not, to use the tawdry slang expression that I used then, "cool". In actuality, Shakespeare, often quoted by the great Holmes himself, was quite the hip fellow, a veritable Quentin Tarantino of his day.

What I actually meant, viewed through the magic of retrospection, was that Shakespeare was not quite as "cool" as Sherlock Holmes.

For those of you who mistook this publication for Plays & Doggerel, get out of here! No ghosts of Hamlet's father need apply.

This columnist apologizes for any inconvenience he may have caused.