*sighs* I can't believe I watched the whole thing again so I could take notes. Honestly, it's getting frustrating watching Moffat fuck things up. Aaanyway...
There are spoilers under the cut.
Instead of an ordinary "previously on Sherlock", we get a more thorough demonstration of how this show started back in 2010 and has since provided us with 3 whole seasons. You'd expect each season to be better than the one before, given that it takes an eternity to produce 3 episodes per season. But you'd be wrong to expect that, as shown by the show's decrease in quality, in terms of writing specifically. This intro also serves as a reminder that Sherlock was, at some point, capable of being nice to people, even if it was just the people closest to him that he reserved kindness for. And look how far he's come, being a total dick to everyone, no exceptions whatsoever. Fuck people, who cares about them when I'm so clever- is what Sherlock thinks in his spare time, probably.
2012, in Sherlock time, was the year a lesbian found herself cured of her lesbianism because Sherlock was so brilliant. Sherlock, the cure to gay, set Irene "the woman who beat you" Adler straight. I wish she had beaten him. I wish she'd pummeled him into a pulp. That's how much I dislike him now.
2014, the year Sherlock came back from the dead with a new personality upgrade: Dick 2.0. Offering no explanation as to how he faked his own death because why would you need to explain that? Missy never does. Wait, I'm not watching Doctor Who, am I? I'm confused. Different characters, different settings but the similarities are striking. Oh, well. In the Moffatverse, none of this matters. Things just happen, no explanation or justification needed. It's just something you have to get used to.
Here's where we pretty much left things: after a ridiculous goodbye, Sherlock gets on a plane.
Sherlock gets on the plane and 5 minutes later, England needs him so he has to get off the plane. But not before we go back to 188something and witness the brilliance of Moffat, as he introduces a Victorian Sherlock! What an innovative concept. This thing I'm about to perceive with mine own eyes and ears must be the epitome of originality, because no one has done it before, ever. Only Moffat. Only he dares to boldly go where no one has gone before. We also get a brief -thank heaven- retelling of the first season of Sherlock and how he met John, set in Victorian London. Bravo, that's not lazy at all. You could have re-written Sherlock and John into female characters and totally come off as the Stephenie Meyer of the BBC but you didn't. Kudos to you, Moffat. Amazing work.
Blah dee blah, Sherlock notices things most people don't, even with his back turned and due to this, he gets to refer to people as though they are objects he might use to decorate his living room. John "will do". This lamp will do. What about this candlestick? It will do as well. #IamSherlock #observemyexcellence
Later in the story, we are informed John has trouble recognizing his wife's perfume. Even if he hasn't been spending time with his wife lately, he must be able to pluck the distant memory of her perfume from his mind, regardless of any disguise. In any case, I doubt that Mary, the way she was written until now, would resort to such gimmicks in order to spend time with her husband. Of course, Moffat has stated that women are husband hunters, so, according to him, it stands to reason that in case we’re separated from our husbands, we fall to a state of disarray during which our only options are to weep or plot against them. I’m no expert in this field, being a woman and all, but I have yet to see a living example of such a person. Is Moffat the guru of femininity? Am I even a woman? What is going on?
Photoshop skills: Error 404. Not found.
There are spoilers under the cut.
Instead of an ordinary "previously on Sherlock", we get a more thorough demonstration of how this show started back in 2010 and has since provided us with 3 whole seasons. You'd expect each season to be better than the one before, given that it takes an eternity to produce 3 episodes per season. But you'd be wrong to expect that, as shown by the show's decrease in quality, in terms of writing specifically. This intro also serves as a reminder that Sherlock was, at some point, capable of being nice to people, even if it was just the people closest to him that he reserved kindness for. And look how far he's come, being a total dick to everyone, no exceptions whatsoever. Fuck people, who cares about them when I'm so clever- is what Sherlock thinks in his spare time, probably.
2012, in Sherlock time, was the year a lesbian found herself cured of her lesbianism because Sherlock was so brilliant. Sherlock, the cure to gay, set Irene "the woman who beat you" Adler straight. I wish she had beaten him. I wish she'd pummeled him into a pulp. That's how much I dislike him now.
2014, the year Sherlock came back from the dead with a new personality upgrade: Dick 2.0. Offering no explanation as to how he faked his own death because why would you need to explain that? Missy never does. Wait, I'm not watching Doctor Who, am I? I'm confused. Different characters, different settings but the similarities are striking. Oh, well. In the Moffatverse, none of this matters. Things just happen, no explanation or justification needed. It's just something you have to get used to.
Here's where we pretty much left things: after a ridiculous goodbye, Sherlock gets on a plane.
Sherlock gets on the plane and 5 minutes later, England needs him so he has to get off the plane. But not before we go back to 188something and witness the brilliance of Moffat, as he introduces a Victorian Sherlock! What an innovative concept. This thing I'm about to perceive with mine own eyes and ears must be the epitome of originality, because no one has done it before, ever. Only Moffat. Only he dares to boldly go where no one has gone before. We also get a brief -thank heaven- retelling of the first season of Sherlock and how he met John, set in Victorian London. Bravo, that's not lazy at all. You could have re-written Sherlock and John into female characters and totally come off as the Stephenie Meyer of the BBC but you didn't. Kudos to you, Moffat. Amazing work.
Blah dee blah, Sherlock notices things most people don't, even with his back turned and due to this, he gets to refer to people as though they are objects he might use to decorate his living room. John "will do". This lamp will do. What about this candlestick? It will do as well. #IamSherlock #observemyexcellence
Later in the story, we are informed John has trouble recognizing his wife's perfume. Even if he hasn't been spending time with his wife lately, he must be able to pluck the distant memory of her perfume from his mind, regardless of any disguise. In any case, I doubt that Mary, the way she was written until now, would resort to such gimmicks in order to spend time with her husband. Of course, Moffat has stated that women are husband hunters, so, according to him, it stands to reason that in case we’re separated from our husbands, we fall to a state of disarray during which our only options are to weep or plot against them. I’m no expert in this field, being a woman and all, but I have yet to see a living example of such a person. Is Moffat the guru of femininity? Am I even a woman? What is going on?
Terrible sideburns, Lestrade. Think about what you've done while you're having that drink. In fact, go sit in the corner. Just terrible.
Somewhere between Lestrade's sideburns and John's moustache, we are told of Emelia Ricoletti and how she blew her brains out. The setting and direction of the "crime scene" are so meaningless, so unproductive that I found myself fidgeting in my chair. Smoke and mirrors shouldn't be able to fool modern audiences into thinking that a show is good when it isn't. No matter how impressive the technique, I'm not at all impressed with a living room landing in the middle of the street while every movement in said street freezes. Moving on.
"Poetry or truth?"
"Many would say they're the same thing."
"Yes. Idiots. Poetry or truth?"
As a poet, I am offended by this. As a student of poetry, I am still offended. The fact that we use metaphors in order to hint at everyday things, doesn't mean there's any less truth in a poet's words than those of any other person. When Maya Angelou writes that "the caged bird sings of freedom", it's easy to see through the metaphor and understand that she's comparing caged birds to African Americans just fine! It's no less true than if she'd plainly written "African Americans are suffering and they want to be free". "Mouth like an open wound" means it was red, you jackass.
Lestrade tells the story of the woman who came back from the dead so she could kill a bunch of men. Lestrade finishes his story and the men head out, leaving Mary behind to prepare something for them to eat, like the huge dickwads that they are. Shortly after they've gone, Mary receives a note sent from a mysterious M person. And this is bullshit. I could tell right away, it's from Mycroft. Seriously, these "I bet you didn't see this coming" moments are getting more and more sloppy. Mary tells Mrs Hudson she's gotta dash because she's needed and when Mrs Hudson asks who needs her, she replies "England". Which Mrs Hudson thinks isn't very specific an answer but I believe it is, because Mary could have said "Europe" instead. Now that wouldn't be specific at all.
Setting: the mortuary, where Sherlock, John and Lestrade mean to examine Emelia's body. Some things are discussed, Sherlock pretty much calls everyone there an idiot and then... Enter Molly, sporting a terrible fake moustache. Given what people can do with wigs and make-up, this is just embarrassing. She's not fooling anyone. I'm not fooled, John isn't fooled. So why is everybody else? More importantly, why is Sherlock? Isn't he the king of noticing? Isn't he the hero London deserves?
I can't help but notice the casual misogyny throughout the episode. Mary should prepare food for the men. Mrs Hudson likes to feel involved so Lestrade should stop and talk to her on the way out, humour the stupid lady. If it wasn't his wife's business, John would talk to the maid himself. Huhuhu, such fun we're having.
John is perfectly capable of talking to the maid however, when it comes to having his ego stroked. If you are to tell him that you enjoyed his story, how much you enjoyed his story, then do proceed. If not, go away, you bint! What's the point of you anyway? You can't even boil an egg!
No, Moffat. I did not like your potato. I did not like your potato at all and I usually like potatoes.
Fun fact: In Greece, we sometimes refer to something which turned out to be bad by saying "it was a potato". Think about that.
Mycroft, the Victorian version gambling with his own life and his modern version, that is somewhat slimmer, is the only character that doesn't fail to give me feelings at this time, though I am tempted to believe that Mark Gatiss is the cause of that. Ooh, that arrogant little smirk of his! I could just squeeze the breath out of him.
La la la, stuff happens, Sherlock must investigate, even though he's certain he's already solved the crime. Nighttime at the Carmichael residence falls after a spinning transition effect, which is the stupidest thing that I have ever seen. (The only context in which it was acceptable to use this stupid thing, is Batman, the 1966 tv series, and even there it was a questionable choice of transition.) Deeply affected by the shock of this transition's use, Sir Eustace Carmichael drops dead. Sure, all witnesses may agree that it was the Abominable Bride who did it, but I know the truth. It is even discovered that Moriarty was somehow involved in this crime, even if he's quite dead.
*sighs*
Mycroft, listen. This is what we're going to do, you and me. We're going out to dinner. I'll treat you to plum pudding, roast beef, anything you want! As long as we leave this place and never look back. This is the moment, Mycroft. Come with me, forget all about Sherlock and his shenanigans and let us go, you and I. Let's forget any of this ever happened because it's only going to get worse. I can feel it, Mycroft. The nightmare isn't over. But I can save you! Just take my hand!
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Mrs Hudson informs Lestrade that Sherlock hasn't eaten anything in two days. I am quite impressed to see his brain is able to conjure up flying newspaper clippings, which might somehow help him solve the case, unaffected by his body's needs. Or maybe that's just the result of him not eating. In any case, Sherlock deems it wise to get his drug on. On an empty stomach no less. And that's the exact moment Moriarty decides to show up, to perform shameless fan service. I mean... flirting! No no, he's here to inform us that "dead is the new sexy"! Except it totally isn't. What does that even mean? It doesn't make any sense!
Because this is all a result of Sherlock's overdose, on the damn plane still. It has been a dream all along. A quite elaborate experiment to conduct in five minutes' time. A very stupid reason to risk your life for. But Sherlock wants to go back, finish the dream and figure out how Moriarty faked his own death. So, he goes back and finds Victorian John waiting for him.
Cue Mary's note. John and Watson rush to Mary's aid, only to find out she's in no danger whatsoever, because the woman can handle tough situations better than either one of those imbeciles. And it turns out, Emelia didn't die when she blew her brains out, she died later on and since then, the women of London, the invisible enemy (for fuck's sake), have been taking turns posing as Emelia, in order to avenge the wrongs done by men. Sherlock finally sees Hooper as Molly and then Moriarty shows up in a wedding dress. "Is this silly enough for you yet?" Yes, it has been for a while now and I'd like it to stop, please. This dream within a dream concept is so poorly executed that it's making me feel kinda sick.
Sherlock and Moriarty are transported to *gasp* a waterfall! The originality! The magnificence! The glo- ry! They fight, or more accurately, Moriarty punches Sherlock a lot, threatens to throw both of them off the edge, and just when I'm ready to shout hurrah, Doctor John "I've got a revolver and I'm not afraid to use it" Watson, comes and saves the day. Well, he saves Sherlock. My day is definitely not saved. After throwing Moriarty to his inescapable doom, the two buddy buddies chat, before Sherlock resolves to wake up by... jumping.
Which transports him back to today, where he confirms that Moriarty is definitely very dead which, of course, doesn't mean he's not dangerous, but luckily Sherlock knows how to proceed.
So, the episode we watched was basically Moffat, trying to convince us he's a feminist, like totes, by making Mrs Hudson exclaim she's not merely a plot device, while using a bunch of women as a means to discover how Sherlock's enemy faked his own death, which was pointless to begin with, because the man is actually dead! *bangs head on desk repeatedly*
I have had it with this tiny man, thinking he's a feminist icon for taking a sexist comment from a man's mouth and placing it into that of a woman. I'm tired of his sloppy writing used as a persuasion technique to shut valid criticism up. The more he's allowed to write, the more he considers this an invitation for him to shit on things we've enjoyed and mock us for enjoying them.
I can't go on. Please, this it too much. Mycroft, baby, are you ready to go yet?
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