All right, before we start the investigation (see what I did there?) into the second season of Sherlock, let me lay something right out on the table.
I’m a Whovian.
In plainer English, I am a Doctor Who fangirl.
Bet you’re surprised, right?
Yeah, no, I know you’re not.
But my point is that, in the grand world of Steven Moffat’s televisual projects, Sherlock can win, lose, or burn to the ground for all I care so long as Doctor Who stays solid.
My mantra since the end of Who season 5 has been “Don’t fuck up season 6.”
That said, I like Sherlock. I heartily enjoyed the first season. I was looking forward to the second season.
And…well…Moffat didn’t fuck up season 6.
And I can’t say that Sherlock 2 is a total loss but….wow. After season 1? It’s kinda sad.
The short version: Scandal = hot mess. Hounds = much stronger. Reichenbach = oh my fucking God is anyone paying attention here?!
Spoilers follow. RAYOR.
So, Scandal in Belgravia. I can’t even begin to recap the story for you because, honestly, I’m sorta confused as to what happened. I think the actors were confused as to what happened. I’m damn near certain the writers were.
There was the pool. And then there was a phone. And some pictures. And a dead hiker. And a naked woman. And the phone again. And Mycroft being seriously bitchy for no good reason. And the phone again. And….yeah, I don’t know.
Moffat. Gatiss. We all know you can do better than this. WTF, guys. Seriously. Pull your fingers out and do a third draft next time.
And if you ever ever write another female character as hampered, pointless, uneven, whiny, and generally useless as Irene Adler (who could have been so completely kickass I can’t even stand to think about it), I will end you. Me, and every fangirl out here with a sense of self-respect.
Also? Moffat, stop ripping off your Who storylines for other things. Most of us watch both. Cribbing River Song to make a cod dominatrix version? Not. Cool.
(And while we’re on that subject, I don’t think you need to whap someone around with a riding crop after you’ve tranked them. One or the other. Not both. Both was just going for a forced ‘sexy’ moment that didn’t work. If it had worked, I’d’ve forgiven you much. But it didn’t. And if you’d realised it didn’t and then let it drop, I’d’ve forgiven you. But you didn’t. It didn’t work — and then you kept pushing it. Realise when the horse is dead, fellas.)
The best thing about Scandal is the few moments of Moriarty at the beginning. Oh, that, and John, Sherlock, and Mrs. Hudson. Mrs. Hudson wins all the things in this — as does Sherlock coming to her defense from the American (really, Moftiss? really?) thugs who break in to interrogate her. And Molly. Molly can share the things with Mrs. Hudson for finally stepping up for herself and telling Sherlock off — much to the apparent amazement of everyone else in the room — bar Lestrade, who was still trying to get over her dress.
I really cannot fully express my disappointment in this episode. It was a complete let-down after the tight, well-thought-out, detailed, character-rich storytelling that was the bulk of the first season to get this kind of sloppy rubbish that didn’t seem to know where it was going, what it was doing, or what story it was trying to tell.
Something more fun on Wednesday. I promise.