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The Hound of the Baskervilles
Dramatised by TR Bowen
Designers: James Weatherup and Chris Bradshaw
Directed by Brian Mills
Supporting Cast:
Dr. Mortimer: Neil Duncan
Barrymore: Ronald Pickup
Mrs. Barrymore: Rosemary McHale
Sir Henry Baskerville: Kristoffer Tabori
Stapleton: James Faulkner
Beryl Stapleton: Fiona Gillies
Frankland: Bernard Horsfall
Laura Lyons: Elizabeth Spender
As an executive producer I always believed in giving the hands-on, frontline producer as much freedom as possible. I would offer note and make suggestions but seldom imposed my will on another’s creative responsibility. In this case, perhaps I was wrong.
The film begins, predictably enough, with Sir Charles Baskerville waiting in the yew alley on the night he is to die. We see a glimpse of the phosphorescent hound, but, when we expect to hear a threatening howl, there is only an asthmatic wheeze. This is apparently frightening enough for the old gentleman, however, who takes to his heels and collapses. Only now do we hear the distant baying of the beast. It is a curious start.
In 221B Holmes performs his Canonical trick with the coffee pot and Watson attempts to build a picture of a visitor who has left behind his walking stick. Most film makers follow one of Watson’s mistakes and give us an elderly Dr. Mortimer. One of the refreshing innovations here is that we get the younger, slightly eccentric character that Conan Doyle created. His admiration for Holmes’ skull provides one of the few moments of fun in this dark story. We also meet his spaniel, who makes himself thoroughly at home on the Baker Street sofa.
Other film versions give us a full-dress flashback to the seventeenth century and the first appearance of the hound—a fine piece of grand guignol which is at the heart of the mystery. Trevor Bowen, however, was happy to give the legend less prominence. In Bending the Willow, David Stuart Davies’ study of Brett as Holmes, Trevor says he believed that a flashback would give “this myth a kind of reality, a credence which is wrong for the story. It should be buried in the mists of time and talked about but not shown.” So Holmes reads the legend very cursorily while Watson and Mortimer discuss the cause of Sir Charles Baskerville’s death. Then Holmes give us a sketch of the Baskerville curse, which is in accord with his sceptical nature but robs the audience of a thrilling piece of story-telling. We see instead Mortimer examining the yew alley and hear Mrs. Barrymore’s touching tribute to her master—“He brought the world to us”—but the end of the account is fatally underplayed. We can hardly hear Mortimer say, “Mr. Holmes, they were the footprints of a gigantic hound!”, one of the great chapter endings in all fiction. There is a great deal of mumbling in this film, as if the actors were not altogether confident of what they were saying.
The pace and shape of the piece is also unhappy: some elements condensed, some scene stretched unnecessarily, some threads of the plot omitted altogether. The arrival of Sir Henry at Southampton seems like an extravagance, but we do see that he is being followed. Holmes and Watson meet him at his hotel, where the separate incidents of the stolen boots are telescoped into one. Holmes stresses the importance of this mystery, but later, when he asks Sir Henry if anything interesting has happened to him in London, he gets a negative reply. Apparently nothing else is discussed at this first meeting, and Holmes goes home to study a map of Dartmoor.
Dramatised by TR Bowen
Designers: James Weatherup and Chris Bradshaw
Directed by Brian Mills
Supporting Cast:
Dr. Mortimer: Neil Duncan
Barrymore: Ronald Pickup
Mrs. Barrymore: Rosemary McHale
Sir Henry Baskerville: Kristoffer Tabori
Stapleton: James Faulkner
Beryl Stapleton: Fiona Gillies
Frankland: Bernard Horsfall
Laura Lyons: Elizabeth Spender
As an executive producer I always believed in giving the hands-on, frontline producer as much freedom as possible. I would offer note and make suggestions but seldom imposed my will on another’s creative responsibility. In this case, perhaps I was wrong.
The film begins, predictably enough, with Sir Charles Baskerville waiting in the yew alley on the night he is to die. We see a glimpse of the phosphorescent hound, but, when we expect to hear a threatening howl, there is only an asthmatic wheeze. This is apparently frightening enough for the old gentleman, however, who takes to his heels and collapses. Only now do we hear the distant baying of the beast. It is a curious start.
In 221B Holmes performs his Canonical trick with the coffee pot and Watson attempts to build a picture of a visitor who has left behind his walking stick. Most film makers follow one of Watson’s mistakes and give us an elderly Dr. Mortimer. One of the refreshing innovations here is that we get the younger, slightly eccentric character that Conan Doyle created. His admiration for Holmes’ skull provides one of the few moments of fun in this dark story. We also meet his spaniel, who makes himself thoroughly at home on the Baker Street sofa.
Other film versions give us a full-dress flashback to the seventeenth century and the first appearance of the hound—a fine piece of grand guignol which is at the heart of the mystery. Trevor Bowen, however, was happy to give the legend less prominence. In Bending the Willow, David Stuart Davies’ study of Brett as Holmes, Trevor says he believed that a flashback would give “this myth a kind of reality, a credence which is wrong for the story. It should be buried in the mists of time and talked about but not shown.” So Holmes reads the legend very cursorily while Watson and Mortimer discuss the cause of Sir Charles Baskerville’s death. Then Holmes give us a sketch of the Baskerville curse, which is in accord with his sceptical nature but robs the audience of a thrilling piece of story-telling. We see instead Mortimer examining the yew alley and hear Mrs. Barrymore’s touching tribute to her master—“He brought the world to us”—but the end of the account is fatally underplayed. We can hardly hear Mortimer say, “Mr. Holmes, they were the footprints of a gigantic hound!”, one of the great chapter endings in all fiction. There is a great deal of mumbling in this film, as if the actors were not altogether confident of what they were saying.
The pace and shape of the piece is also unhappy: some elements condensed, some scene stretched unnecessarily, some threads of the plot omitted altogether. The arrival of Sir Henry at Southampton seems like an extravagance, but we do see that he is being followed. Holmes and Watson meet him at his hotel, where the separate incidents of the stolen boots are telescoped into one. Holmes stresses the importance of this mystery, but later, when he asks Sir Henry if anything interesting has happened to him in London, he gets a negative reply. Apparently nothing else is discussed at this first meeting, and Holmes goes home to study a map of Dartmoor.
A day later over breakfast at Sir Henry’s hotel, Holmes gives his full attention to another mystery, the warning note made up of words clipped from a newspaper. While Mortimer tells Sir Henry of the possible link between his uncle’s death and the legendary hound, we cut away to see that the group is being watched by a bearded man. As the breakfast party breaks up Holmes spots the watcher and he and Watson chase him through the hotel, only to lose him at the rear entrance, where he leaves in a waiting cab. In spite of this we are denied the interview with the cab driver who proudly reveals that his fare was “Sherlock Holmes.” The telegram intended to establish Barrymore’s presence in Devon and the search for the mutilated newspaper have also disappeared. There are some odd decisions here for a screenwriter who thought that “Conan Doyle tells the story perfectly.” We return to the original structure with Holmes’ exppression of concern for Watson, who has agreed to go to Dartmoor with Sir Henry. But it’s no wonder that some critics described the film as slow-footed, when so much lively detail has been omitted.
On the journey to Devon—in a lovely old train with authentic Great Western Railway livery—Watson discovers in his watch pocket a note from Holmes, warning him of the dangers ahead. The arrival at the Hall is faithfully done: the escape of Selden is clearly established, the Barrymores are suitably somber and there is a neat visual clue in the glances they exchange as the joint is removed at the dinner table. The Barrymores announce their decision to resign straightaway and Watson has a troubled night, haunted by the sound of a woman sobbing.
On the following morning Watson pays a visit to the post office in Grimpen in order to send a report to Holmes. When he leaves, the postmistress retrieves his letter from the outgoing mail and hides it under the counter. In the village, Baskerville’s neighbour, Stapleton the entomologist, introduces himself to Watson and the two men walk back over the moor together. Their conversation and the meeting with Stapleton’s sister, Beryl, proceed just as they are described in the novel. Meanwhile we see a mysterious gloved hand accept Watson’s letter at the post office, and that gloved hand is seen again outside the Stapleton’s house, suggesting that Watson is being watched. Those who know the story will recognize the presence of Holmes; those who know other film versions may be disappointed that we do not see him in an elaborate disguise. Both groups will be puzzled by the next shot of Holmes, brooding over Watson’s report—in Baker Street.
In the novel Watson and Sir Henry are gradually introduced to the other neighbours. In the film Sir Henry throws a dinner party at the Hall, which brings together the Stapletons, Dr. and Mrs. Mortimer, Frankland and the vicar of Grimpen. It is a pretty boring occasion, relieved only by the charm of Miss Stapleton and her good sense in attributing rumours about the hound to the presence of the escaped convict, Selden. After an interminable leave-taking Watson must have been quite glad to retire, only to be disturbed by his host, who has spotted Barrymore signalling to someone on the moor.
Rather than questioning the butler, the next logical step in the novel, Watson and Sir Henry set off to find the other end of the chain of signals. This leads to a confrontation with Selden, who throws a boulder at them, and they hear the baying of the hound. Watson also gets a glimpse of the mysterious “man on the tor,” a horribly bungled shot of someone moving through the studio undergrowth. What we needed was an approximation of Paget’s evocative illustration for The Strand, which would have been child’s play to achieve.
Back at the Hall the Barrymores confess: Selden is their relative, and they plead for him to be allowed to escape to South America. In the novel Watson condones this appalling notion on the grounds that it will “relieve the taxpayer of a burden.” Here his agreement is made more excusable because the murderous Selden has been rendered harmless by an operation on his brain. When we see him he certainly looks like a survivor of the Victor Frankenstein School of Surgery, but still not exactly the Notting Hill pussy-cat. But why, I wonder, was Selden in Dartmoor in the first place? If he escaped the hangman on mental grounds, surely he would have been 200 miles away in Broadmoor, which was established in 1863 as a secure hospital for the criminally insane.
On the following day Sir Henry gives Barrymore some of his discarded clothes, although he must realise that they will incriminate him if Selden is caught. He does not, of course, realise that he is condemning the man to death. While Sir Henry sets out to visit Beryl Stapleton, we see Holmes on a train and hear the guard announcing, “London next stop.” Curiouser and curiouser. Sir Henry’s courtship is interrupted by a furious Stapleton and watched by Watson, a sequence from the novel which has been repositioned and expanded. In London, for no very good reason, Holmes sets off for the Royal Observatory. Watson’s letters are still being withheld and we next see Holmes back in Baker Street. Then, in a shot borrowed from The Greek Interpreter, we see him on a railway station platform again. What on earth is going on here?
In Devon events follow a more familiar pattern. Barrymore reveals that a note signed L.L. led Sir Charles to his death and Watson identifies Frankland’s estranged daughter, Laura Lyons, as the sender. Frankland himself points out a spot on the moor to which a child is taking food; Watson investigates and meets Mortimer, who is conducting an archaeological dig nearby. The two men lie in wait for the mystery man, who is using a cave as his hiding place.
Holmes reveals himself and, when Mortimer has gone, he and Watson compare what they have learned about the plot against the Baskervilles. As an apology for deceiving Watson about his whereabouts, Holmes offers him some of his home-made stew, which, in an affectionate nod to a similar moment in The Priory School, Watson describes as “quite disgusting.” Their discussion is interrupted by a fearful commotion outside the cave, and, in the best action sequence in the film, we see Selden fall to his death pursued by the hound.
There are some minor changes here. Holmes has identified Stapleton as the villain (and Beryl as his wife), but Stapleton is not involved in concealing the death of Selden, for instance. The most important is that we are denied Watson’s interrogation of Laura Lyons. Edward Hardwicke, who pays a perfect Watson in a story which puts him at the centre of the stage, deserved to have that scene. Instead the two interviews with the lady are combined into one and, because he has been away so long, Holmes gets the bulk of the dialogue.
Quite understandably, Lestrade is omitted from our version and is replaced at the climax by Mortimer. Sir Henry dines with Stapleton, Beryl is bound and gagged, the luminous hound is abroad. Holmes just manages to shoot the dog before it does serious injury to its victim, and the battered Miss or Mrs Stapleton is released. As Stapleton loses his footing and dies in the Grimpen Mire, we are left to wonder whether or not his widow will one day become Lady Baskerville. Back in London, Watson ties up the loose ends before being whisked off to the opera by Holmes, who apparently drives his own carriage to Covent Garden for the occasion.
To complete the record, our main location was Heath Hall in Staffordshire, but much of the moor was reconstructed in Granada’s Stage One, now the permanent home of Coronation Street. Our hound was a Great Dane called Khan, whose glow was supplied in the laboratory by a special optical effect, rather like Eille Norwood’s hound in the 1921 film, which was hand-painted frame by frame.
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