Writer David Stuart Davies has created a superb one man show, and the script is spot on, combining humour and pathos with drama and keeping the tension throughout.
Sherlock Holmes returns to Baker Street after the funeral of his old friend, Watson and, from the moment he appears on stage Roger Llewellyn is riveting. It is impossible to tear your eyes from him as he talks to Watson, or to the memory of him, recalling their first meeting, reminding him of conversations past, and recreating the cases and the stories they worked on together. He demonstrates a tender and regretful affection for Watson which is often poignant, but also amusing.
Llewellyn’s performance is spellbinding. He plays a whole host of characters, switches accents and posture with bewildering ease, and terrific direction from Gareth Armstrong keeps him moving around the stage in surprisingly physical theatre. He is both fit and graceful. The pace is fine tuned so that moments of high melodrama move seamlessly into touching introspection, and on to camp self-aggrandisement. We are in the presence of a superior intellect; Holmes relishes his powers and thrives on stimulus.
Davies’ script provides a fascinating angle on the literary figure, a character wedded to reason and logic, fixated on the analytical, yet presenting aspects of vulnerability. He rants about the Great War, confesses to his addiction, is lost in reverie as he re-imagines an enchanting young woman and is disgusted by his own brutish father.
The set is minimal, only the few essential, recognizable props for Holmes’s rooms, and clever use of sound effects and lighting come together to create theatre at its most engaging. Davies’ great writing, Armstrong’s flawless direction and Llewellyn’s strong presence offer an astonishing experience.
Sherlock Holmes returns to Baker Street after the funeral of his old friend, Watson and, from the moment he appears on stage Roger Llewellyn is riveting. It is impossible to tear your eyes from him as he talks to Watson, or to the memory of him, recalling their first meeting, reminding him of conversations past, and recreating the cases and the stories they worked on together. He demonstrates a tender and regretful affection for Watson which is often poignant, but also amusing.
Llewellyn’s performance is spellbinding. He plays a whole host of characters, switches accents and posture with bewildering ease, and terrific direction from Gareth Armstrong keeps him moving around the stage in surprisingly physical theatre. He is both fit and graceful. The pace is fine tuned so that moments of high melodrama move seamlessly into touching introspection, and on to camp self-aggrandisement. We are in the presence of a superior intellect; Holmes relishes his powers and thrives on stimulus.
Davies’ script provides a fascinating angle on the literary figure, a character wedded to reason and logic, fixated on the analytical, yet presenting aspects of vulnerability. He rants about the Great War, confesses to his addiction, is lost in reverie as he re-imagines an enchanting young woman and is disgusted by his own brutish father.
The set is minimal, only the few essential, recognizable props for Holmes’s rooms, and clever use of sound effects and lighting come together to create theatre at its most engaging. Davies’ great writing, Armstrong’s flawless direction and Llewellyn’s strong presence offer an astonishing experience.
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