Shakespeare — Mr. Gillette as "Sherlock Holmes"
Shakespeare — Mr. Gillette as "Sherlock Holmes" is an article published in the Liverpool Mercury on 3 september 1901.
About the play Sherlock Holmes at the Shakespeare Theatre, Liverpool, UK.
Shakespeare — Mr. Gillette as "Sherlock Holmes"
Shakespeare
Mr. Gillette as "Sherlock Holmes"
Sherlock Holmes! — the mere mention of the name suffices to conjure up in the mind of a huge clientele, hours and hours of delight spent under the guidance of this master-mind in the elucidation of marvellous mysteries, in the snaring of rogues, and in the vindication of virtue. We shall be roundly supported when we say that no figure in recent fiction has obtained such a mastery over the susceptibilities of readers; that magnetism and personality have but seldom been so strongly conveyed by the media of paper and ink as in the case of this remarkable figure. There are a good many reasons contributing to what may be baldly styled the vogue of this creation. To exhaust these reasons we do not aspire, but the enumeration of one or two of them will be, at this time, of interest. The most prominent reason for the fixity of attention which has been devoted to Dr. Doyle's creation is undoubtedly his unceasing success. Scarcely baffled for a moment, hardly disturbed by the bolstered prominence of a side-issue, sifting evidence the true and useful here, the false and useless there like a winnowing machine, slowly and surely he arrived at the invariable denouement-success of his methods of criminal inquiry. And the Britisher likes Success, nay, more, he loves it. It is life to him; it is bound up in his every day, and he dreams of it "o' nights." It is the brightest star in his horizon, and the goal of his ambitions. Holmes never failed, therefore Holmes, though only a figure in fiction, was worthy to be scrutinised and admired. Besides this more prominent cause of popularity, which we contend was more felt than declared, there was the straightforward honesty of the man, his hawklike and it must be confessed supernatural clearsightedness, his bracing pluck, his disciplined energy, his ubiquitousness, and his characteristic calm. These are a few of the perfections which contributed to the professional distinction of Holmes, and which made him known throughout all English-speaking countries. The profession of the detective is one around which has always hovered the glamour of romance. Of late years the memoirs of Gaboriau and Du Boisgobey in France — and in England-have been read and re-read. But it has been left to Dr. Conan Doyle to outdistance all competitors in the depicting of a fictional figure of this kind. Sherlock Holmes, if memory serve, was the central figure of a story some time before he appeared as the pivot of a monthly contribution by Dr. Doyle to a magazine. Yet his fame only began to be mooted when, issue by issue, the curiosity of a growing number of readers was stimulated.
Even the most casual reader of the "Adventures of Sherlock Holmes" could not fail to be struck by the many-sided opportunities for dramatic treatment presented by the central figure. And yet up to last night no serious play — though one of volatile nature was produced in London some few years ago — dealing with the great detective had been seen upon the English stage. The divergent character of Holmes' many enterprises from the playwright's point of view, and the difficulty of physical suitability from the player's standpoint, doubtless have had something to do with this tardy dramatisation. And the play placed upon the stage of the Shakespeare Theatre last night for the first time in England is in no sense a dramatisation as dramatisations go. The series of "Adventures" are impossible of welding into play form. We are told, indeed, that the story is founded on a hitherto unpublished episode in the life of Holmes, So it was the man who works the miracles, his satellites, and his great opponent who were familiar to us last night, and not the story which now surrounds them. That is of a kindred nature to most of those with which Holmes was engaged when living in the "Strand." And, when all is said and done, the story, notwithstanding its melodramatic strength, its quick interest, and its vivid incidents, was not the most commanding part of last evening's production. Had the melodrama been twice or thrice as meritorious as it is, we should have not hesitated to speak firstly of Mr. William Gillette as the famous headpiece Holmes. We can think of no actor who, in voice, appearance, and histrionic method, is likely to more nearly approach the popular conception of the character than Mr. Gillette. The placing upon the stage of figures beloved in the pages of fiction more often than not results in destruction of preconceived ideals and the despoiling of memories. However, this was not the case last night, for Mr. Gillette made the familiar Sherlock "live, move, and have his being." From the moment of his first appearance he held his audience in a vice, and he gave them what they longed for — the real figure of Dr. Doyle's stories. Here were the eagle-eye, the cold calm of manner, the inscrutable face, the pluck — may, more — the sheer, yet cool, considered bravery, the address, and Napoleonic energy. Here was the tricker of tricksters, the deluder of villains, and the snarer of rogues. A very remarkable piece of acting, replete with a finish and aplomb, deft assurance, and grace that make one inclined to tack it on to the list of really great portrayals in the field of melodramatic enactment.
"Sherlock Holmes" the play is concerned with the detective's efforts to obtain certain papers which in unscrupulous hands are possessed of blackmailing possibilities. They are in possession of an Alice Faulkner, and they reflect to the discredit of a foreign nobleman, who deserted Miss Faulkner's sister. Holmes' task is doubled in magnitude by the machinations of one Larabee and his wife Madge. This precious pair hold Alice Faulkner a prisoner in their house, the while that they, too, try to obtain the coveted documents. Holmes arrives at the domicile of Larabee, raises a false alarm of fire, and becomes possessed of the objects of his quest, returning them, however, to their owner on partly legal and partly honourable grounds. He warns the Larabees of his watchful care of Miss Faulkner henceforth, and they, being no match for Holmes, call in the detective's inveterate enemy, Professor Moriarty. Moriarty has a duplicate packet made, and Larabee offers to sell this to Holmes. For the purpose of the sale Holmes is asked to a salubrious and properly melodramatic spot-to wit, "a gas chamber" at Stepney. He acquiesces, and goes, notwithstanding that he has the knowledge that the papers offered are not those of which he is in quest. Once one has shed oneself of the bald theatricalism which prepares the way for this Daniel in the Lions' Den episode, it is immensely exciting, and at the culmination almost breathless work to watch. Holmes has his life in his hands, for his enemies are to leave him to be overcome by the gaseous fumes. Miss Faulkner, who now is anxious to "guardian angel" Holmes, also comes to this ghastly spot, but is promptly shut up in a cupboard. Sherlock discerns her presence, smashes open the door, and assists her. As his foes actively attack him he rushes to the centre table and sweeps the lamp away. The place is in pitch darkness — a blackness that can be felt. Nothing is seen but the "calm one's" glowing cigar. The villains "wait on the glimmer; but Holmes has forsaken it and stuck the end in the wall. There it splutters till the curtain falls, and Holmes is safeguarding Miss Faulkner at the door, whilst the dumbfounded trio are staring at the cigar near the window. No one will need to be told how the audience at the Shakespeare last night really "bit" into this surprising and astonishing conclusion. curtain was raised over and over again, and the triumph of Sherlock Holmes (the character) was complete. No one who saw Mr. Gillette in the telegraph station scene in "Secret Service" will need to be told how remarkably he is able to handle so tense a scene as this. It cast a spell over the oldest playgoer, whilst younger ones held their breath for the safety of their hero-detective. In the end Moriarty and Co. are arrested, and Holmes is shown to be not so adamantine but that "the gentle art of love" is not without its sway over him. We have given pride of place to a fine enactment because of its abiding merits. As for the play, it serves its purpose. It is certainly not a great play, nor is it a great melodrama, but it contains a great part for Mr. Gillette — may we say that the part in question one only for Mr. Gillette, and not for any other player that we can think of? — and that it contains one breathless scene, which, but for the essentially and markedly theatrical way in which it is arrived at, is memorable for its potent and astonishing sensationalism — a sensationalism, however, that owes its large thrill to the playing of the chief actor. The play, not-withstanding the fact that the measure of its success was largely owing to the manner of its playing, has what may be called with fitness quite a unique pulse of its own. This pulse is quick though irregular, and no body of players but those the most careful and experienced could hope to bring such a piece into the fair haven of critical approval It has also the great merit of being placed upon the stage in a "gilt-edged" fashion. Perfection of detail has been studiously cared for, and the result is an astonishingly interesting entertainment. Mr. W. L. Abingdon, one of the finest exponents of the technically, styled "heavy" roles, deserves a high word of praise for his study of Moriarity. As a foil to Holmes, this senile reprobate has excellent place. Mr. Abingdon in make-up," and in his unctuous villainy, is quite a picture worthy of memorising. Mr. Percy Lyndal is a blithe Dr. Watson, and Miss Maude Fealy appears as Alice Faulkner with much simple charm. Miss Granville had a thankless part as Mrs. Larabee, but plays with strong point throughout. Gillette warmly thanked the audience at the final fall of the curtain.
