Modern takes on Sir Arthur Conan Doyle’s famed detective have been a bit of a mixed bag. From Robert Downey Jr.’s dashing rapscallion and Benedict Cumberbatch’s on-the-spectrum introvert to Johnny Lee Miller’s tortured addict in TV’s Elementary, the quirks and charms of Sherlock Holmes seem exciting at first but always tend to fizzle once they’ve worn out their welcome. Netflix’s new exclusive feature film attempts to sidestep these pitfalls by focusing on the familiar gumshoe’s lesser-known little sister, Enola Holmes.
Enola is much younger than her older brothers, Sherlock and Mycroft, living with her eccentric mother Eudoria (Helena Bonham Carter, appearing mostly in flashbacks and montages) who teaches Enola everything from archery to tennis to cyphers and Scrabble, everything except how to be a “proper lady.” When Eudoria disappears under mysterious circumstances, it is up to Enola to find out why.
On the trail of her mother, and running from her cantankerous brother Mycroft, who wants to send her to finishing school, Enola meets a runaway young Lord, the Viscount of Tewkesbury (Partridge), whose absence is of great consequence to London politics and is somehow connected to Enola’s mother’s disappearance as well. Based on a series of young adult novels by Nancy Springer, this adaptation becomes quite convoluted onscreen, with familiar characters like Lestrade (and arguably Mycroft and Sherlock themselves) serving little to no purpose other than as member berries. Conspicuously absent though, is Sherlock’s right-hand man, Dr. John Watson.
The star of the show is Netflix’s own poster-girl, Millie Bobby Brown (Stranger Things), whose serviceable British accent and charismatic rebelliousness are all but ruined by the film’s insistence on constantly breaking the fourth wall. Enola grins and winks (literally) and eye-rolls directly to the camera enough to rival Jim from The Office. It’s aiming for cute but quickly becomes cloying and insulting as it is used far too often to explain something the audience already knows, or tell us something it should instead be showing us.
Henry Cavill as Holmes is a sly and effective choice. The man best known for playing Superman, and streaming himself building a PC at his grandmother’s house during quarantine, plays perhaps the most calm and stoic version of Sherlock in recent memory. It’s an intriguing take, and one of the only understated aspects of the film.
Ultimately, Enola Holmes falters from a weak pair of mysteries (most of which are solved by deciphering codes left by Eudoria, who I thought didn’t want to be followed . . .) and an overly cutesy, hyper-style from a director whose work on Fleabag and Killing Eve proves the importance of strong source material. While Enola struggles to define her path in the film, the film also struggles to differentiate her, bogging her down with the trappings of her famous detective brother, ultimately settling on her just being the young female version of him, and this despite the film’s theme of self-discovery. Here’s to hoping she is able to step out of the shadow of her namesake in the inevitable sequel.
