It’s no mystery why Sherlock Holmes has remained so popular throughout the decades. Since his debut in 1887, Sir Arthur Conan Doyle’s detail-oriented detective has delighted readers and audiences with his witty retorts, keen eye, and seemingly endless ability to escape mortal peril. In his “final adventure” at Dallas Theater Center, however, Holmes feels like he might have overstayed his welcome.
A tired script by Steven Dietz, which mashes up plotlines and villains to the point of befuddlement, and even sleepier acting by a normally solid cast of regulars sinks this Sherlock from the beginning.
Actually, not quite the beginning—Ryan Rumery’s cunning sound design jolts with thundering piano and screeching violins, a shivery trick that makes each major scene change (helpfully delineated by lighting designer Clifton Taylor) feel ever so promising. Russell Parkman’s Victorian proscenium and elongated thrust stage are decorated thoughtfully with Sherlock bric-a-brac, and the rolling furniture tries to summon up intensity by whooshing the Baker Street detective in with an elegant glide. Gleaming satins, soft furs, and satisfying tweeds make up Jennifer Ables’ excellent costumes, which are beautifully tailored.
Wearing an extra-long coat and Holmes’ famous deerstalker hat, Chamblee Ferguson cuts a dashing figure as the detective. But appearances, as Holmes has so famously taught, can be deceiving. Whether from a case of opening night jitters or simply from under-preparing, Ferguson stumbled and mumbled through his lines to the point of distraction. Kieran Connolly, as the usually so dependable Dr. Watson, here seems game only if the adventure includes a cup of tea and a hot water bottle.
The “final adventure” in question starts out as a jaunt to retrieve a compromising photo—the 1904 version of a sext—of the King of Bohemia (Hassan El-Amin, searching for an accent) with opera star Irene Adler (Jessica D. Turner). It twists to involve a pair of nefarious siblings and a Cockney safecracker (Taylor Harris), all working under the thumb of sinister perpetual villain, Dr. Moriarty (it’s only a fun coincidence that Kevin Moriarty directs).
Regan Adair, normally able to summon such depth, projects a cartoonish aura as Moriarty. Daniel Duque-Estrada and Christie Vela do what they can with their paper-thin characters, each of which is decked out with an unsettling accessory (for Vela, it’s a milky white contact in one eye; for Duque-Estrada, it’s a highly synthetic-looking wig.)
After the all-important photograph has changed hands a few times, it becomes less and less clear to where the plot is meandering. Just like the play begins, Sherlock once again finds himself atop Reichenbach Falls, grappling with the dastardly Moriarty. At this late point in the story, the only remaining mystery is how something written by one of the most produced playwrights in America, could be this dull.
