This is a K.B.S. Production filmed at the California Tiffany Studios and is now in the public domain. From this you may deduce that it's pretty shoddy.
You'll find nothing in here from Conan-Doyle's first Sherlock Holmes story, "A Study in Scarlet." It's just a second-feature detective story taken out of some desk drawer, dusted off, and dropped in somebody's lap. Well, that's not entirely true, I guess. The Holmes character does get to pull off one of his amazing feats of deduction, something like what he does in the original story at the murder scene, having to do with square-toed boots, a limp, and a trichinopoly cigar. And there are oddments from other stories jammed in here and there. A minor character is named Jabez Wilson. There was a Jabez Wilson in one of the stories, maybe "The Red Headed League." But that's about it. They even got Holmes' and Watson's address wrong. (221a, Baker Street.) There is a secret society, here, the Scarlet Ring, engaged in the disposal of some stolen goods worth a million pounds, which was a lot of scratch in 1933. Somebody is killing off the members one by one.
Reginald Owen plays Holmes stiffly and with deliberation. He makes plastic seem genuine. He speaks his lines slowly, thoughtfully, as if on a stage and hoping that the groundlings in the rear seats will follow him. That's not Sherlock Holmes. That's some professor of classics laying out the details of the Peloponnesian War. Watson is dispensable. Lestrade is Alan Mowbray, Hollywood's Brit in residence. Anna May Wong slinks around and exudes a particularly debauched sort of sexuality.
I had a hell of a time keeping awake.
You'll find nothing in here from Conan-Doyle's first Sherlock Holmes story, "A Study in Scarlet." It's just a second-feature detective story taken out of some desk drawer, dusted off, and dropped in somebody's lap. Well, that's not entirely true, I guess. The Holmes character does get to pull off one of his amazing feats of deduction, something like what he does in the original story at the murder scene, having to do with square-toed boots, a limp, and a trichinopoly cigar. And there are oddments from other stories jammed in here and there. A minor character is named Jabez Wilson. There was a Jabez Wilson in one of the stories, maybe "The Red Headed League." But that's about it. They even got Holmes' and Watson's address wrong. (221a, Baker Street.) There is a secret society, here, the Scarlet Ring, engaged in the disposal of some stolen goods worth a million pounds, which was a lot of scratch in 1933. Somebody is killing off the members one by one.
Reginald Owen plays Holmes stiffly and with deliberation. He makes plastic seem genuine. He speaks his lines slowly, thoughtfully, as if on a stage and hoping that the groundlings in the rear seats will follow him. That's not Sherlock Holmes. That's some professor of classics laying out the details of the Peloponnesian War. Watson is dispensable. Lestrade is Alan Mowbray, Hollywood's Brit in residence. Anna May Wong slinks around and exudes a particularly debauched sort of sexuality.
I had a hell of a time keeping awake.