As you may have heard, it was announced recently that Sacha Baron Cohen and Will Ferrell will star as Sherlock Holmes and Watson in Judd Apatow's zany Sherlock Holmes comedy due out later next year. Even more recently, it was announced that Robert Downey Jr. will be starring in a second, competing Sherlock Holmes set for a 2009 release. Guy Ritchie will be directing this Sherlock Holmes, so it should be fast-paced, gritty and completely unintelligible like most of Ritchie's movies, or totally shitty, like his other ones.
Since Hollywood is a jealous, insecure, impulsive bitch, five additional Sherlock Holmes movies were announced, cast and shot within 24 hours of the announcement of Ritchie's Holmes. Yep. Worrying that Apatow and Ritchie knew something that they didn't, (how could they possibly?) five of the industry's most talented directors slapped together their own Sherlock Holmeses and, because I love you, I went out and watched every single one of these movies and my reviews are included below.
Martin Scorsese's Sherlock Holmes
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At least one Rolling Stones song, guaranteed.
Something is rotten in the NYPD, and it's up to convict-turned-cop Tommy Stinson, (DiCaprio) to clear his name before detective-turned-convict Mike Caruso, (Ray Liotta) either blows the case wide open or opens up a lucrative casino, run by corrupt police chief Sgt. Brugnola, (sometimes Nicholson, sometimes DeNiro). Not one of the characters is actually named Sherlock Holmes and it's unclear whether or not Scorsese even wants us to watch this movie.
Spike Lee's Sherlock, Homez!
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Denzel Washington stars as Sherlock, (no last name given), in this gritty, racially-charged adaptation (?) of Sir Arthur Conan Doyle's classic novels. Set in 1970's Harlem, Spike Lee spends almost three hours reminding the world that white people and black people are very different. No mysteries are presented or solved.
Guillermo Del Toro's Sherlock Holmes and his Horrifying Gang of Mutants
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We think the fish-monster with a pipe for a face is supposed to be Sherlock. Visually stunning, but who knows what the fuck is going on.
Tim Burton's Sherlock Holmes
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The only film on the list that is actually set in London, (probably just a coincidence), Burton's Sherlock Holmes follows the eccentric and unconventional detective, (Depp), and his loyal assistant Watson, (Depp), as they try to track down a quirky and eccentric master thief in a funny wig (Depp). Terrifying music by Danny Elfman. Helena Bonham Carter is also probably in it, (Depp).
Surecock Holmes
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A brilliant detective and his young, enthusiastic assistant Hotson wander around and attempt to solve a delicious mystery the old fashioned way, (delivering pizza and performing the reverse cowgirl on large-breasted, sexually-unfulfilled stay-at-home Moms). The pair of detectives have some questionable methods of investigation, (when their chief suspect refuses to cooperate, they double-team her in a shower and leave, despite the fact that they didn't obtain any new information), but when there's not boning on screen, Surecock Holmes is surprisingly the most faithful adaptation of the source material on this entire list.
There you have it, ladies and gentlemen. See you next year when Steven Spielberg, Oliver Stone, Ang Lee and McG decide to simultaneously put out shitty adaptations of The Snorks.
A bonus, unrelated-to-this-particular-article Note!
Folks, the rumors you've heard are true: After a couple of really great decades, I'm leaving the East Coast. I hereby resign as the EC's unofficial Mayor and pass all of my mayoral duties on to this guy Joe I know, (you'll like him). So, next week, my brother and I will be driving across country and relocating to Los Angeles. Maybe it's because of the beaches. Or maybe it's because, once I found out Swaim was living there, I figured "Hell, anyone can do it." Or maybe it's just because I heard that California's a little bit cooler about that whole Megan's Law thing. Whatever the reason, I'll officially be one of those smug, LA assholes by this time next week; Sipping martini's, sniffing coketini's, and boning chicktini's like there's no tomorrowtini.
What does this all mean for you, my beautiful, delicious children? It means that I won't be posting my column next week as I will be smack dab in the middle of my cross country trek, and for that I sincerely apologize. I know how you folks crave my warm, comforting jokes and my dangerous obsession with young Hollywood starlets, but even if I do get to California in time, I will undoubtedly be either watching The Dark Knight or seeing if I can buy some of this crack I've heard so much about. (Is it anything like jalapeno poppers? Because I love jalapeno poppers.)
If you find yourself itching, twitching and jonesing for a comedy fix, (like some kind of deranged jalapeno popper addict), I encourage you to check out my ridiculous book, (it's free). Or, check out Gladstone's book, (it isn't). OR, check out these tasteful nude photographs of Chris Bucholz that Annie Leibowitz took. If you haven't already figured out that all of those links take you directly to my book, please click here and I'll clear everything up.
Don't worry, friends. This isn't "Goodbye," it's just "Fuck off, for a little while."
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At least one Rolling Stones song, guaranteed.
