For a book series that came out in the very late 1800s, Sherlock Holmes has not yet failed to capture the minds of the public. Something about that wise-cracking, pipe-smoking, genius detective can’t help but keep his audience on the edges of their seats. And yet, much like Shakespeare, Sherlock runs the very real risk of being done to death. The character has been adapted, and adapted again, and again, and again, well over twenty-five thousand times. So what makes the Pavilion Players production of Sherlock unique? One simple, and yet deceptively elusive reason for the average Sherlock production. It’s funny.
The name of the game for director Paul Sztelma was stylistic cohesion. The script, in its rawest form, doesn’t offer a whole lot in terms of emotional growth or nuanced performance – and if the performances and production value weren’t presented in a very specific way, the audience would’ve eventually noticed. In a less competent team, this would’ve been an all too easy pitfall to trip into. But Sztelma fundamentally understands what he can and cannot do with the script, and so, does not ask his cast and crew to move his audience emotionally. Instead, Sherlock Holmes and the Adventure of the Elusive Ear, presents us with a kitschy, high-camp production more similar to Noel Coward’s Present Laughter than BBC’s dark and gritty Sherlock. By heartily embracing the style of the play, the production evades both the boredom of its audience, and my usual questions as a critic: “What’s the point of the show?” Does it matter? “What was the journey of the characters?” Who cares? The point, put simply, is that it’s good fun to watch.
The other defining choice that this production makes, once again setting it apart from its peers in private detective-ing, is that this production is… hot. It’s not unusual for Sherlock adaptations to make the character borderline asexual, so obsessed with cracking cases that he never really has the time to be human, nor debase himself with such pitiful things as impulses. But Sztelma’s production, and subsequently his entire cast, remind us sharply that these are all smart, obsessive and attractive people locked into an apartment for months at a time, often drunk or high. Which can only mean one thing. By allowing for the sensuality of the characters, Sztelma also allows the cast to explore their relationships on stage beyond the superficial. Although the show is built for fast-paced comedy, when scrutinized closer, it was clear that the characters did have legitimate history with one another, and we could see it behind every one of their interactions.
These two things combined into more than the class act performances on stage. Upon curtains opening, we were presented with the maximalist wonderland set-building of Abby Bishop and Sztelma. Dark burgundy red walls littered with trinkets and easter-egg props worked as a collective to transport us into the style and world of the piece. It also did much of the work in grounding the production, giving us a tether to reality that the cast could not do lest they break that delicate stylistic framework. Production continued to impress, with James Winter’s lighting design supporting the work happening on stage without committing the sin of being distracting, and Chris Harriot and Sztelma’s (the guy did everything) sound design nailing both being light, crisp accents and rock and roll needle drops when required. Costumes by Annette Snars and Jennifer Hurst elevated the piece once more, whilst joining the set in grounding the piece in reality.
Thinking back on this show, and specifically its performances, my mind is drawn much to the 1985 movie Clue, in its shared performance principle of unabashed commitment to character. Standouts of the night in this regard were Brendon Stone’s John Watson, who was both a brilliant physical comedian and retained the dry humour and littered emotional outbursts necessary for an English comedy, and Ben Pobjie’s Oscar Wilde, who gave us a fabulously homoerotic, Tim Curry-esque, pretentious, sensuous performance that stole many a scene for the better. Ben Wheeler’s Sherlock Holmes was delightfully foolish, which made his glimmering moments of intelligence all the more enjoyable, but I was looking for him to relax into the style of the show here and there. Nicole Hardwood’s Irene Adler was a sharp wit undercutting the fat of the egos of the men around her, an impressive badass from start to finish, although I would’ve been interested in seeing her work through each thought slightly more. Oscar Baird’s Vincent Van Gogh was wonderfully neurotic, and his commitment to flinging his body across the stage was something that both impressed and terrified me slightly – I only wished for moments of vocal dynamic shifts, to explore the different ways he could explore that neuroticism. Holky Bramble as Marie Chartier presented an entertaining and seductive antagonist, and was a lovely folly to Irene Adler, though would’ve benefitted from a more intimidating edge, especially as the daughter to one of the most famous villains in written history. As a cast, all six were virtuosos of comedic timing and playing to the benefit of the text, without needing to overperform the comedy – a rare skill set. The fight choreography was fast-paced and fun, not necessarily adrenaline-inducing but I don’t believe it had to be. Across the board, all actors were also fantastic at keeping themselves busy on stage, and never was my eye drawn to someone who was standing on stage zoning out. On a script level, Adler and Chartier’s moments of feminist uprising were a little benign, especially as Adler did almost all the domestic work in the text, and yet I can’t fault the production for that – for this I must point fingers at the original writer David MacGregor. Although, perhaps seeing some more moments of admiration or solidarity between the two women would’ve eased this marginally.
As an entity, Sherlock Holmes and the Adventure of the Elusive Ear proves the importance of stylistic commitment, and in some ways makes the argument that if you understand the limitations of your script, you can almost entirely negate them. Earning its place in other camp theatrical comedies like Clue and The Play That Goes Wrong, this production thrives as a masterclass of comedy and what leaning into the dirty and foolish can do for a production. Sztelma has met the challenge of Sherlock’s time in the sun, and although has not broken open the character in some earth-shattering way, in many ways he’s done something harder – he’s allowed him to continue being enjoyable.
To book tickets to Sherlock Holmes And The Adventure Of The Elusive Ear, please visit https://paviliontheatre.org.au/holmes-and-the-elusive-ear/.
