Sherlock Holmes & The Strange Disappearance Of Petri Wines

The most memorable pairing of Holmes and Watson is still Basil Rathbone and Nigel Bruce, who played the roles on film and radio. Rathbone was razor sharp, cut glass and full of energy – Bruce was pleasingly bumbling (the actor’s unpublished autobiography is worth a look – Bruce was a true Englishman abroad, in the best possible sense). On the radio, Petri wines sponsored their adventures in a rather natty piece of product placement, in which one Harry Bartell would visit the now ‘retired’ Dr Watson, a man now happily ensconced in California with his puppies and tobacco.

Bartell was a radio announcer referred to as ‘young fella m’lad’ by the good doctor, and was 26 when the series began (he lived to the ripe old age of 90). Any conversation would bend itself round to how nice it would be to enjoy ‘some of that wonderful Petri port’ – even Watson would often remark that it was close to impossible for Bartell to talk about anything else. How old Watson was by then is something of a mystery – he and Holmes had been shunted forward in time to frame and support the war effort, and the cases he referred to in the show were usually from around the 1890 mark.

So what happened to Petri wine itself – the family business that ‘took time to bring you good wine’? You can still dig up some memorabilia on eBay, but the operation was eventually acquired by Heublein, Inc, another family business that went on to become a huge food and wine distributor, and bought up the rights to Smirnoff. popularising it in the US. (They also did some early alcopops.) Heublein was bought in 1982 for $1.4 billion by what would become (in 1985) RJR Nabisco, who then punted it on to Grand Metropolitan in 1987, which would merge with Guinness to make Diageo in 1997.

It was only at this point that Heublein would be seriously downsized by its British owners. For more on the history of Petri wine before all this palaver occurred, see the following text. (Or, for a more potted version: here.) Intriguingly, the Petri trademark was last listed as being owned by Franzia wines, part of The Wine Group – a company with no apparent links to Diageo.

For more on advertising in vintage radio – Jack Benny hustling for Lucky Strikes – see here.

Uncertain about the new Sherlock Holmes? Try this

If you’re split over whether to see the new Sherlock Holmes movie, try listening to its main theme – Discombobulate – by the great Hans Zimmer, the inspired genius behind the theme to Driving Miss Daisy (try getting that out of your head after hearing it twice), Toys (cute ‘n’ catchy), Gladiator (sweeping, epic, brings a tear to the adolescent male’s eye) and the TV quiz Going For Gold (iconic to a whole generation of British students).

Mr Zimmer created a song that so perfectly sets and reflects the opening mood of the movie that it could easily serve as an acid test for the film. It’s all there – the quick cuts, the jangly Wild West inflection, the sheer barrelling energy of the project and unpredictability both of Downey’s Holmes and Victorian London. (Although it should be noted that Mr Downey, Jr, didn’t seem to enamoured of the violins involved when he trotted up to retrieve his Golden Globe the other weekend.)

The composer is not, however, to be confused with the musical Einstein behind Crockett’s Theme – the ode to smooth that adorned the opening credits of Miami Vice. That would be Jan Hammer.

FILM: Downey’s Holmes is a boiling ball of energy

Holmes is always a man of energy, both mental and physical. His more institutional brother Mycroft could be slothful and fat, but Holmes has always been a lithe ball of energy, and Robert Downey Jr plays him just this way. His Holmes is a man who lives with the boredom of seeing all, constantly pushing the boundaries of body and mind, be it in bare-knuckle boxing, drinking, or dosing the dog with anaesthetic. He has a logical understanding of the cause and effect of everything around him, something the plot attempts to challenge – but that’s not the key to the film.

The heart of Guy Ritchie’s exciting version of the story is the ‘marriage’ between Holmes and Watson, an endearing couple who bicker over who left the gas on, Holmes’s personal hygiene, and Watson’s choice of women. (Their situation is reminiscent of Joey and Chandler in Friends, when Chandler was moving to the suburbs.) In fact, Jude Law’s Watson is arguably more of a surprise than Downey’s Holmes. Gone is the familiar buffoon inherited from Nigel Bruce’s 1940s bumbler; Law’s Watson is Holmes’s more socially acceptable partner, the sharp, smiling public face, but a man with some demons sitting on his tailcoat. Given the strength of the Holmes character it’s nice to see Watson fleshed out so decently, no mean feat when you’re playing opposite Downey.

The weak point is the plot, which becomes too overblown and silly – that and the casting of Rachel McAdams (excellent as she is) as Irene Adler, Holmes’s femme fatale. (She is simply too young.) No, the film’s strength lies in its energy, and a diving sense of cinematography that pulls you into its earthy vision of London more effectively than the 3-D of A Christmas Carol, backing up the banter of its two leading men with a constant strive for what’s next. The first 45 minutes are brilliant fun, and the movie looks great, like the Wild West without the frontier, and furnished with some amazing costumes. Witness anything Adler or Holmes wear, Watson’s swish military dinner suit, and Lord Blackwood’s Gestapo trenchcoat.

The rest is up and down, but mostly up – great stuff with not a whiff of geezery Guy Ritchie-ness in sight. It left your correspondent walking slightly different, which is always a good sign.