Friday, October 2, 2020

Enola Holmes: The game's afoot!

Enola Holmes (2020) • View trailer
Four stars. Rated PG-13, and ludicrously, for occasional peril
By Derrick Bang • Originally published in The Davis Enterprise, 10.2.20

I love when it’s obvious, mere minutes into a film, that we’re in for a lot of fun.

 

When her mother vanishes under mysterious circumstances, Enola Holmes (Millie Bobby
Brown) is forced to request help from her older brothers, Sherlock (Henry Cavill, left)
and Mycroft (Sam Claflin) ... who prove to have unacceptable plans for her future.

Enola Holmes — debuting on Netflix — is an absolutely delightful adaptation of The Case of the Missing Marquess, the first book in Nancy Springer’s young adult series about the hitherto unrevealed teenage younger sister of Sherlock and Mycroft Holmes. The setting is London, the year 1884: just as Sherlock is in the process of establishing his credentials, following the successful resolution of “A Study in Scarlet” and “The Adventure of the Speckled Band.”

 

The literary Enola is plucky, intelligent and resourceful; as depicted here by Millie Bobby Brown — who shot to fame via TV’s Stranger Things — she’s also mischievous, endearing and quite captivating. Director Harry Bradbeer and scripter Jack Thorne don’t merely break the fourth wall; they shatter it completely, with Enola frequently pausing to address us viewers directly, or to shoot us a knowing glance.

 

That’s a tricky gimmick to employ, as it risks trivializing the story, and/or becoming too “cute.” But Bradbeer and Brown pull it off with élan, thanks in great part to the young actress’ facility with a well-timed line of dialogue. She essentially draws us into Enola’s unfolding adventure, as if we’re well-trusted confidants.

 

Bradbeer also spices this live-action adventure with occasional Victorian-style “stick figure” graphics, courtesy of animators Luca De Giglio and Lucas Scapim; they’re employed much the way Terry Gilliam’s similarly retro animation bridged the comic sketches in a Monty Python TV episode. They serve here as brief history lessons, character introductions, or depictions of Enola’s deductive reasoning.

 

She’s clever and physically adept, having been schooled in both book knowledge and jiu-jitsu self-defense skills, courtesy of her free-thinking and rather eccentric mother, Eudoria (Helena Bonham Carter). Although forced to endure the late 19th century laws and social traditions that place so many restrictions on women, Eudoria is a steadfast supporter of the suffrage cause, and wants to help create a world where her daughter can have freedom and power.

 

Carter is absolutely perfect for the role. She radiates authority, determination and calm resolve, along with a knowing gaze that bespeaks an impressive intellect. (This is, after all, the woman who raised the world’s most famous consulting detective; we have to assume that he got some of that acumen from his mother!)

 

The story begins as Enola wakes on the morning of her 16th birthday, and discovers that her mother has disappeared … leaving behind an odd assortment of gifts, but no apparent clue to where she has gone, or why. With her father long deceased, Enola is forced to contact her older brothers; this gives Mycroft (Sam Claflin) the excuse to insist that she be sent to a finishing school, in order to become a “proper” young lady.

 

Claflin’s Mycroft is insufferably condescending … and perhaps a little too much so. His emotional rants also are at odds with this character’s traditionally cool and imperturbable manner, when he solves cases, Nero Wolfe-style, from within the confines of his Diogenes Club. (I guess Claflin’s overly excitable Mycroft hasn’t yet developed those sensibilities.)

 

Although acknowledging the wisdom of his older brother’s decision, Sherlock (Henry Cavill) is much more sympathetic to Enola’s plight. Cavill, a sly smile frequently in evidence, plays the role with humanity and kindness; we get a sense that Sherlock admires his younger sister’s outspoken boldness, even as he regretfully recognizes that she has few options (or so it would seem).

 

Enola, having enjoyed her rich, free-spirited childhood, is horrified by the notion of being bound by corsets and customs. At earliest opportunity, she disguises herself as a boy and escapes via train, bound for London; she’s determined to find her mother, now armed with a few clues gleaned from those unusual birthday presents.

 

(Enola and her mother love puzzles and word games, and she frequently reminds us that her name, backwards, spells “alone.” Bradbeer depicts such anagramatical activities on-screen, with Scrabble-like tiles.)

 

Enola winds up in a compartment that contains a young man also hiding from pursuers: floppy-haired Lord Tewkesbury, Marquis of Basilwether (Louis Partridge).

 

At first, Enola assumes that Tewkesbury is merely running away from home for some rebellious reason; she’s therefore shocked when a silently menacing pursuer — Burn Gorman, quite malevolent as Linthorn — tries to murder the lad. One hair’s-breadth escape later, despite not wanting to be distracted from the search for her mother, Enola has her first case: Who’s trying to kill Tewkesbury … and why?

 

Matters are further complicated by the necessity of staying one step ahead of Mycroft and Sherlock, who — with the assistance of a young Inspector Lestrade (Adeel Akhtar) — are determined to catch Enola, and return her to the finishing school run by stuffy, discipline-minded Miss Harrison (Fiona Shaw, suitably imperious).

 

Brown and Partridge work well together. His playfully charismatic Tewkesbury is as hapless in the real world — thanks to an overly sheltered upbringing — as the far more sophisticated Enola is confident. She initially finds him maddeningly vulnerable, but mortal peril gradually stiffens the young man’s spine. Their relationship also takes a mildly flirtatious turn, which both actors with cute awkwardness.

 

Although Bradbeer’s tone is mostly light and larkish, the menace — personified by Linthorn — is palpably life-threatening; he’s a truly nasty character who keeps popping up unexpectedly. Thorne retains the novel’s spirit and key plot points, while deftly condensing lesser events; Bradbeer and editor Adam Bosman maintain a pace lively enough to justify the film’s 123-minute running time.

 

Production designer Michael Carlin and costume designer Consolata Boyle ensure that the film’s look is faithful to its Victorian setting.


The result is the best family-friendly adventure that I’ve seen in quite awhile. Check it out right away, and — if so inclined — watch it more than once; we want Netflix suitably encouraged to turn this into a franchise.

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