Review of ‘Ms. Holmes & Ms. Watson – Apt 2B’: “Memento Mori Arty”

The Arcola Theatre celebrates the London premiere of Kate Hamill’s parody play, starring a gender-swapped remodel of Arthur Conan Doyle’s signature character in a post-pandemic setting. Guillermo Nazara shares his views on the show to let us know if, in this version, the game is afoot.

The spirit of Billy Wilder spoke to me during last night’s performance. He wasn’t happy. Or at least, that’s how the lines that instantly popped into my mind came across, as I struggled to keep myself focused throughout the press performance of Ms. Holmes & Ms. Watson – Apt 2B, a play as unfortunate as its poor title suggests.

As its confusing, unappealing narrative unfolded before a group of closing eyelids and recurring yawns, I pictured myself as William Holden in the first act of Sunset Boulevard, where an aghast Joe Gillis goes through the schizophrenic scribbles of a delusional diva with no sense of accountability. “Sometimes it’s interesting to see just how bad, bad writing can be”, his weary inner voice proclaims, as if he wished somebody shot him out of his misery. Who knows? He might get lucky.

That wasn’t my case, however. I stayed through the whole thing, and trust me, it was not a pleasant experience. I’m all in for some good parody of a book classic. The problem is that neither the good nor the parody is present in this ersatz (to put it mildly) of a play. And despite Holmes’s uncanny ability to spot the slightest details, her ability to read the room is questionable when it comes to audience engagement. They might honour the novel, but they literally have no clue how to do it justice.

A gender-swapped contemporary Watson travels from America to start a new life in London. Enticed by the reasonable rent price (which, suspiciously, isn’t located in Zone 12), she moves to a small flat inhabited by an eccentric detective with an even more unconventional name — at least for a woman. From then on, mystery, adventure, and a good dose of apocryphal “elementary, my dear Watson” quotes will become their everyday — forging a solid bond over time, and excluding their viewers from it all along the way.

It’s virtually impossible to feel for these characters. In all brutal honesty, as this show can only generate, it’s virtually impossible to feel anything at all. No laughter, no tears, not even content. Just an annoyingly increasing sense of boredom that overcomes you to the point of bleeding agony. The dialogue has no flow, the lines brim with cliched devices, and the jokes are so predictable and unresponsive as they are dull.

Such calamitous flaws might still give the show a chance and spark an interest in those looking for the excitement of the catastrophic. In other words, something can be so terrible that it’s actually enjoyable. Not here, however, as only the first part of the equation applies.

Not only is the plot extremely thin and underdeveloped, but it’s also excruciating to sit through. It doesn’t know where it’s going. And as a result, it doesn’t go anywhere. You may disconnect for long periods of time, and certainly you will, and still wouldn’t miss a single turn. There aren’t just that many — that is, if there are any at all.

Two murders we don’t care about. An ending that comes off crooked rather than twisted. And in between, more and more failed attempts to amuse an audience, they’ve lost the moment they started speaking. There’s nothing thrilling about it, let alone sharp. And those are two elements you can’t go without when we’re talking Holmes. And talk they do, but it’s all blabber.

Wistfully, the performances do nothing to save the day. Lucy Farrett makes the only exception with her portrayal of Holmes, whose flamboyant character she delivers with an effusive, droll energy. There’s only as much as the material provides, nonetheless. And on most occasions, that’s basically zero. She can’t feed from the other renditions either, all of which fall flat and lack range, naturalness, and credibility.

We could go on and on analyzing every single detail that makes Ms. Holmes & Ms. Watson a stillborn show, but there’s hardly any point. We don’t need to put it through the magnifying glass to see how flawed it is. And anyone with even the feeblest powers of deduction would have concluded this is not a piece ready for the stage — at least, not in front of a paying crowd, and definitely not with critics in it. Google the play, and you’ll find a cover where its subtitle reads “cheerfully desecrating the stories of Arthur Conan Doyle”. Remove the adverb, and it will no longer be false advertising.

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All pictures credit to Alex Brenner.

Ms. Holmes & Ms. Watson – Apt 2B plays at London’s Arcola Theatre until 20 December. Tickets are available on the following link.

By Guillermo Nazara