Doctor Who - The Power of Three - A Review

For me, Doctor Who has always been about ordinary people doing extraordinary things, and extraordinary things happening in ordinary places. But the dawn of Steven Moffat’s era seemed to largely herald an end to that vision of the show. If you look at the episodes from Series 5 onwards, you can just about count on one hand the ones that are set in modern day Earth. And I think that a lot of the poor characterisation that is synonymous with this era of the show is linked to the fact that its ties to the modern day have been next to non-existent in recent times. What I liked so much about The Power of Three, though, was that it brought the show back to the Extraordinary Things Happening In Ordinary Places mantra that worked so well for it in the past. For arguably the first time in the Moffat era, this modern, social media-driven world was presented well and accurately. And for the first time in the Moffat era we were given a decent insight into what the consequences of travelling with the Doctor really are (whereas it took Moffat three series to deal with this hugely significant issue, Russell T Davies had explored it by the end of the fourth episode of his first series). And, credit where it’s due, this episode really worked.

The highlight of the episode was, by country miles, the scene in which the Doctor and Amy sit by the Thames, watching the city by night. It sort of addressed a motif that has been touched upon before; just as Amy’s choice in Series 5 was between the ordinary (Rory) and the extraordinary (the Doctor), so was it again in this episode – should she and Rory choose the ordinary life, with friends and jobs and houses and anniversaries, or the extraordinary life with the Doctor? To an extent, it’s a decision that all companions have had to make. With Rose, there was never any question that she would choose life with the Doctor. The same goes for Donna. But the consequences of that decision were tragic for both characters – because of that decision, their on-screen stories had to end tragically, with them being involuntarily separated from the Doctor. Admittedly, Martha did stop travelling of her own accord, but that was more because being around a man who would never love her back was no good for her, and because of what travelling with him had done to her family. So what’s interesting about this story is that, for once, we’ve got two companions that are genuinely torn between two lives, and who are very close to choosing the other life. That’s not really a path that’s been explored in New Who before, but at the same time I think it’s a very real, and very human, response to their situation. Travelling through space and time is one thing, but at the end of the day, home is where the heart is. The fact that Amy is behaving in such a human manner is a giant leap for her character, an absolutely giant one - not least because the Amy of Series 5 would have chosen the extraordinary life in a heartbeat. What we’ve got here is evidence of an actual, proper character journey. And it’s so rewarding that it almost makes up for all the years where she was nothing more than an emotionless shell.

"You're thinking of stopping, aren't you?" The Doctor and Amy watch London by night.

The other highlight of that scene is the speech that the Doctor gives to Amy. We’ve heard him state before that the human life is “the one adventure [he] could never have.” We’ve seen him in episodes like The Lodger actually show us that he could never live a normal life. And whilst it’s not difficult to understand why he can’t live a life like that, we’ve never actually heard him stand up and articulate in his own words exactly why not.

“I’m not running away. But this is one corner of one country in one continent on one planet that’s a corner of a galaxy that’s a corner of a universe that is forever growing and shrinking and creating and destroying and never remaining the same for a single millisecond, and there is so much – so much – to see, Amy. Because it goes so fast. I’m not running away from things, I am running to them before they flare and fade for ever. And it’s all right. Our lives won’t run the same. They can’t. One day – soon, maybe – you’ll stop. I’ve known for a while.”

As I said, we may have seen him be unable to cope with living life in the slow lane (and in the right order) and we may think we understand why, but hearing him explain why not to us is absolutely monumental. It allows us right into the Doctor’s head (just look at that second sentence – it’s so long and fast that it’s like his thoughts about this are almost too strong to be put into words), and that isn’t something that happens an awful lot on this show. Normally, everything we see is seen through the companion’s eyes, which is why the few times where we get to see things through the Doctor’s are so special.

Now, there’s no way I could end this review without mentioning Jemma Redgrave as Kate Stewart. I don’t venture onto Doctor Who sites as often as I used to, so I had no idea prior to the episode that there was so much speculation about who her character would be. And my Who senses are clearly waning, because even when she told the Doctor her name I still didn’t figure out who she was. Therefore the revelation that she was the Brigadier’s daughter was a real surprise for me, and an absolutely lovely one at that. One of the main reasons why her character worked (apart from Jemma Redgrave’s wonderful performance) was that she wasn’t written with the intention of being a female replica of the Brig. He was such a vital part of the show’s history that it would almost have been insulting to try and simply replace him with a character designed to be exactly like him. Instead, Kate is a strong, independent, likeable character in her own right (and take note, Moffat, that she didn’t have to be “feisty” like Sally/Amy/Clara/etc to be so); she’s not trying to be the Brigadier (hence why she dropped the ‘Lethbridge’ from her surname), but she is carrying on his good work. And overall I think that her character was one helluva tribute to both the character of the Brigadier and to Nicholas Courtney himself. I’m just really, really hoping we’ll be seeing a lot more of her in future – New Who’s UNIT needs a character like her.

Jemma Redgrave as Kate Stewart, a wonderful character and an even more wonderful tribute to the Brigadier.

So, overall, no major gripes with The Power of Three. It won’t ever be one of the great Doctor Who stories, but it was a really enjoyable, strong episode nevertheless and it followed on nicely from last week’s similarly enjoyable A Town Called Mercy. The Ponds’ grand finale is next week, and as long as the Weeping Angels are as good as they were in Blink (and not as poor as they were in The Time of Angels/Flesh and Stone), it looks set to be a great episode. I mean, it’s set in New York and has got the fabulous River Song in it – what more could you want? Lovely jubbly.

(Also, just saying, this episode contained some of the best cameos in the show’s history. Professor Brian Cox, Lord Sugar and Sophie Raworth. Forget the Doctor, Amy and Rory – I think they’re the power of three that the title alludes to!)

Doctor Who - Asylum of the Daleks - A Review (Spoilers)

It's no secret that I'm not a fan of Steven Moffat or his vision of Doctor Who in the slightest. That being said, I still approach each new episode with an open mind, and hope against hope that I'll love it. On Saturday evening Asylum of the Daleks hit our screens, and with it heralded the arrival of a brand new series of the world's longest running sci-fi show. And as usual, there was me, sat on my sofa, hoping I'd be amazed. Unfortunately, I was wrong.

Before I talk about just a small handful of the many gripes I had with the episode, for the sake of being balanced I'd like to point out that there were parts of it that I actually liked. The unexpected appearance of future companion Jenna-Louise Coleman, for example, provided a nice "Oh wow!" moment, and was a welcome piece of proof that not all spoilers manage to leak their way onto the internet. Secondly, the scene which reveals just why Amy and Rory have drifted so far apart (she can't have children and didn't want him to have to live the rest of his life without them) was handled absolutely beautifully. I don't think Karen Gillan always gets it right with her acting, but she definitely did in this scene. Arthur Darvill, too, really nailed it with his understated approach to the scene, combining disappointment and sad acceptance with the right mix of heartache.The whole thing just pulled at the heartstrings.

Karen Gillan delivers the episode's most emotional moment.

But then, what ruins - or at least significantly dilutes - good things like that for me are mistakes and misguided assumptions on the part of Steven Moffat. Whilst the inclusion of Jenna-Louise Coleman was undoubtedly a big deal for the ming-mongs, the impact of her appearance will have been almost non-existent for the casual viewers who simply have no idea who she is - and let's not forget that it's those viewers who make up the vast, vast majority of the show's audience. I am aware that Doctor Who always features small elements that only the fans will get, and I don't think that there's anything wrong with that; my problem this time around, however, is that the deliberate inclusion of a future companion is not a small thing. Yes, her appearance in this episode will almost undoubtedly be referenced in a future episode, but that's missing the point. The point is, the bulk of the show's audience was denied one of the biggest "OHMYGOSH" moments of the new series. And to make things worse, I feel that this is indicative of a worrying trend in Moffat's writing. More and more, Doctor Who appears to be descending into a forty five minute spectacle of Moffat trying to shoehorn in as many GIF/Tumblr-worthy lines as possible, often recycling one-liners that weren't all that funny to begin with. Maybe it's just me, but I don't feel entirely comfortable with the idea of Doctor Who being written with its fanbase as its core audience. And this leads on to my problem with the other thing I liked about the episode: the main Amy/Rory scene. I've already established how great I thought that scene was. How awful, therefore, for that to be cheapened by one throwaway line at the end of the episode. The "Yessss!" Rory does right before Amy lets him back into their house? Awful. Why? Firstly, he already knew that they were getting back together - that had been established MOMENTS before. The reaction was redundant. Secondly, that scene had established just how delicate a topic their break-up is; it had clearly caused a lot of pain and damage to both Amy and Rory. And for all that to be resolved and swept under the carpet with a simple "Yessss!" Sorry, I don't buy it. And the worst thing is, I'm willing to bet that Moffat wrote that line thinking about how great a GIF it would make.

The first appearance of Jenna-Louise Coleman

To prove I'm not a Moffat basher, though, I'd like to give credit to the man for canning most of the God-awful rainbow Daleks that were introduced to the show in Series 5. And credit to him also for trying to go somewhere new with the Daleks. I'm not sure how successful that Dalek exploration was, but credit to him for doing it in the first place.

I'm not going to list all the things about the episode I didn't like because this post would go on for ever and I don't want this blog to turn into the Julia Moans About Things website. However, I do think it needs mentioning that even Matt Smith, who's usually nothing less than spectacular as the Doctor, was conspicuously underwhelming in this episode. (Well, his hair looked better than usual - I'll give him that.) It got to the stage where, when he was shouting to the Daleks, "What are you waiting for? At long last, it's Christmas. Here I am." I was focusing much more on how appalling his enunciation was than on what the scene meant in the context of the episode. As an actor, saying your lines clearly is Rule Number One, and I'm shocked that an actor as brilliant he is can get such basic things wrong.

Surprisingly, Matt Smith disappoints in Asylum of the Daleks.

Incidentally, as common a criticism as this may be, it does indeed look like Moffat has, again, made the mistake of writing all of his female characters in the same way. At this stage, Oswin's dialogue, if read in isolation, could easily be passed off as that of Amy's, River's, Sally Sparrow's, etc. However, this is only episode one. This isn't the new companion's introductory episode. We have no idea if Jenna-Louise's companion will ultimately be anything like she was in Asylum of the Daleks. So, until we've seen more of her, I'll not write her off just yet.

So why do I still watch the show if I dislike it this much? Well, anyone who knows anything about me knows just how much the Russell T Davies era of the show means to me - it shaped a lot of who I am and it's what got me so interested in television in the first place - and it's out of loyalty to that era that I still watch. Russell's era made me love Doctor Who and made me realise that, at its best, television doesn't get much better. However, I can't help but feel that this era squanders that potential. Doctor Who could be so much more than it is right now, but it's not. I could never honestly say that I hate this era, because at the end of the day it's still Doctor Who, but I would definitely say that I'm disappointed with it, and episodes like Asylum of the Daleks show why.


(Thanks to www.doctorwho.sonicbiro.co.uk for the screencaps.)

The Reichenbach Fall

It's been a full five days since the final episode of the second series of Sherlock was broadcast. "Why have you left it so long to review?!" I hear you cry from in front of your computer screens. Well, firstly it's because I'm incredibly busy at the moment. Like, busy beyond belief. I've got a COLD SORE from all the stress I'm under! But the other reason is simply because it's taken me a few days to really mull the episode over in my head.

In case you missed The Reichenbach Fall (in which case, stop reading right now and go watch it), the scene that's got everyone talking occurs towards the end. After a confrontation with Andrew Scott's Moriarty on the roof of St Bartholomew's Hospital, a figure who is almost certainly Benedict Cumberbatch's Sherlock Holmes throws himself off the roof, landing on the cold, hard, unfeeling pavement below. Martin Freeman's John Watson staggers towards the bloodied corpse and sees that his eyes have not deceived him, and that Sherlock Holmes is dead.

Sherlock Holmes is dead.

Now, there's so much to say about that scene alone. The episode could have finished there and then, and audiences would have been talking about it for the rest of the month (if not the rest of the year). But no. The final scene of the episode sees John and Mrs Hudson visit Sherlock's grave, to cement - if it even needed cementing in the first place - the fact that this man is dead and buried and not going to come back. In fact, to an extent it tries to emphasise this too much, because it makes it so obvious that it's trying to make you think that Sherlock is dead that in doing so it becomes clear that there's one final twist to come. And that twist, as it happens, turns out to be the final shot of the series. As a heartbroken John walks away from the tombstone of a man whose reputation has been completely and utterly destroyed over the course of the episode (thanks to the delightfully evil Moriarty), the camera tracks back slowly to reveal a dark figure watching him from a distance. And when the camera pans around to reveal the identity of this mysterious watcher, it becomes apparent that it is - as it was always going to be - Sherlock Holmes himself.

A mysterious watcher looks on.

And, of course, it's Sherlock Holmes.

If anything was going to fire up the imagination, crash discussion forums and set Twitter alight in a frenzy of speculation and hashtags, it was going to be this. How. The. HELL did Sherlock manage to survive that fall? Of course, it's a testament to Sherlock's genius that he's able to fake his death in such a convincing manner, but seriously, as a viewer, knowing that I'll have to wait another year or so to find out (or possibly even a year and a half, if the gap between the first two series is at all indicative of how long we're going to have to wait this time around) is driving me insane. Knowing that all I can do is speculate along with other Sherlock aficionados - which, let's face it, is probably the rest of the country, with a particular mention going to the Radio 2 Breakfast team - whilst everything else on TV for the rest of the year fails to live up to January's standards... it's just so frustrating! But I'm not going to complain. I think the fact that a single episode of a television show can unite the country in an air of suspense and speculation, especially in a time of growing criticism and falling viewing figures, speaks volumes about how good British television can be when it's done right. And The Reichenbach Fall is very much the epitome of "British TV done right."

Of course, much of the brilliance of the episode is down to its writer, Steve Thompson, and whilst I don't think his script was quite as strong as Steven Moffat's script for the opening episode, which was perfect in the truest sense of the word, it was still brimming with wit, humour, intelligence, and an all round coolness that only Sherlock can pull off. However, that's not really what I want to focus on. No, instead I'd much rather focus on Benedict Cumberbatch and Andrew Scott.

Sherlock Holmes.

Jim Moriarty.

For the two series of Sherlock that have aired now, Benedict Cumberbatch has portrayed a cold and emotionally isolated interpretation of the character. The only overt displays of warmth his Sherlock ever really displayed were both fake and deliberately unconvincing to the audience. And yet... And yet there were always tiny, subtle moments that made you think that there might just be more to him than meets the eye; that beneath his hard exterior, a soft little heart beats away inside. They're things like how he tells John that "England would fall" if Mrs Hudson were to ever leave Baker Street. They're easy to not remember, but they're there. And what's so special about Sherlock's apparent suicide scene in The Reichenbach Fall is that, for the first time, the softer side of Sherlock comes to the surface. Just look at him as he speaks to John from the roof. Seriously, just look. And listen. His voice breaks. Tears fall from eyes which genuinely do seem to offer a glimpse into his soul. And to see such a massive development in Sherlock's character is not only refreshing but a relief, not to say incredibly moving. After all, as much as I've always been in awe of Cumberbatch's Sherlock, I can't say I've ever really liked him as a character, and that's precisely because he's largely been so emotionless. Don't get me wrong, I never disliked him, but I wouldn't have wanted him as my best mate, either. So thank God that's changed, then! But of course, there's a more sceptical way of looking at this whole thing. In hindsight, it's clear that, despite what he says, as Sherlock stands on the roof, and even as he falls, he has no intention of dying. Therefore, could you perhaps argue that all the things he says in that phone call are nothing more than convincing lies, which he utilises to make his death seem more convincing? Quite possibly. But I think that's missing the point. The thing is, although he may be misleading John with his words, the sentiments behind them are all real - of that I'm sure. Not even the great Sherlock Holmes could fool anyone into thinking he cared about his friends if, in reality, he didn't. Honestly, there are so many layers to Cumberbatch's performance in that scene alone that the only word that springs to mind at the moment is 'BAFTA'. If he doesn't win, I'll be writing the Academy a letter. 

The Sherlock beneath the Sherlock?

Something that I think is very interesting is the fact that the time at which all this warmth and goodness within Sherlock suddenly pours out is the time at which he's faced with the very opposite. For all that Holmes and Moriarty are similar entities, they couldn't be more different. Whilst some may think of Sherlock as cold-hearted, it's only in the face of a truly cold heart that the warmth in Sherlock's begins to shine through. And I love that. It may be cheesey to try to reduce such an epic rivalry into a basic struggle of good against evil, but that's what I think it is, at least on a fundamental level. And since it's only human nature to cling on to all that is good when faced with evil, it's hardly surprising that this episode seems to have intensified everyone's love of Sherlock.

On the subject of Moriarty, however, I feel compelled to talk about the performance of Adam Scott. In many ways it's an odd performance (people have likened Scott's performance to Graham Norton of all people!), but it's certainly an effective one. I mean, we'd seen previews of what Scott's Moriarty could really be like in The Great Game and A Scandal in Belgravia (and even, to an extent, in the final moment of the mediocre The Hounds of Baskeville); there had been little shows of his unpredictability and malice... but those were nothing compared to what he was like in The Reichenbach Fall. The fact that he veers so dangerously between jokey and completely and utterly psychotic in a heartbeat makes watching him both thrilling and terrifying. And I'm not joking about the whole 'terrifying' thing; seriously, there were moments on the rooftop where I was actually a little bit scared of Moriarty. It was partly due to the lighting, I suppose, which really made him look inhuman, but the bulk of the blame (or should I say credit?) for that can fall on Adam Scott. The thing is, though, the whole 'unpredictable arch-nemesis' thing has been done before; it's not new. Look at John Simm's Master in Doctor Who, for example. The main difference between the two is that John Simm's Master doesn't work, and Adam Scott's Moriarty does. He so does. The Simm Master always felt very forced and contrived to me, and I had a lot of trouble believing in him; but believe you me, I had no trouble accepting that Scott's Moriarty is a guy who listens to Staying Alive one minute, and then breaks into the Tower of London to wear the Crown Jewels the next (just to show that he can). And I certainly had no trouble believing that he would be willing to shoot himself more or less on a whim, as indeed he did. I don't think I've ever been frightened by acting before - of scenes in TV shows and films, yes, but never of acting. So I think that speaks buckets about how bloody fantastic Andrew Scott's portrayal of Moriarty is, then. In a way, I do sort of hope that Moriarty stays dead, even though we're only two series into a show that I could see running for a good few years yet, just for the sake of poor ol' Sherlock, and also for my own sake (I don't like being frightened!). But at the same time, he's so damn good that I can't help but hope that Steven Moffat and Mark Gatiss find at least some way to feature him again at some stage, even though he's dead. Come on, as if death could stop Moriarty!

A more psychotic villian never there was. Bravo, Mr Scott.
 

Downright scary...

And completely bloody insane. A genuine psychopath.

And so, having discussed the two actors and characters that I wanted to discuss when I started writing this review, I'm finding myself thinking, once again, about how the cliffhanger is going to be resolved in Series 3 (which, as it happens, was commissioned when Series 2 was commissioned, the cheeky buggers). The fact that Molly was excluded from Moriarty's 'list' of Sherlock's friends felt like a glaring omission to me. That, coupled with the fact that Sherlock approached her for help earlier in the episode, has made me certain that she's involved somehow. Also, the cyclist who rode into John 'accidentally'? Not an accident, but then again I don't think we're seriously supposed to believe that it was. Furthermore, the fact that there was an open-top rubbish truck directly next to where Sherlock fell, which conveniently drove away as soon as people began to approach the body on the floor? Not a coincidence, I don't think. But other than that I don't know. Of course, Steven Moffat has gone on record to say that there's something incredibly obvious that everybody has missed... but that doesn't really help matters, does it? I guess for now we'll have to not worry about the fact that we don't know how Sherlock survived; instead, we should just take solace in that he did survive. He'd have broken my heart if he didn't!

It's hard to know exactly what to say to round off this entry, partly because I'm probably running dangerously low on superlatives. So I think I'll settle for using no superlatives, and keeping it short:

"More, please!"

Julia
xx

PS. If Sherlock and Frozen Planet don't sweep up at the BAFTAs this year, I'm going to have to seriously re-evaluate my ability to predict winners, cos those two shows are dead certs

A Scandal in Belgravia

I wasn’t a very good blogger last year. The amount of times I told myself I would make a conscious effort to blog more (I even went on record on here a few of those times) clearly had no effect on the amount of blogging I actually did. I finished watching Smallville (ie. Clark Kent finally became bloody SUPERMAN!) and picked up on House where I last left off - and I didn’t even so much as think about logging into Blogspot. The Christmas episode of Downton Abbey aired and I didn’t even go near the computer!! Shameful.

But last night, at 8:10pm, on your TV and mine, something remarkable happened. Having enjoyed the first series of the BBC’s updated version of the Sherlock Holmes myth, which first hit our screens in 2010 under the watchful eyes of Steven Moffat and Mark Gatiss, I was naturally excited about the prospect of a new episode to watch, especially since it had been 18 months since audiences saw Sherlock finally come face to face with the positively psychopathic Jim Moriarty by a swimming pool, with only a worried-looking Watson, a bunch of snipers, a bomb and a gun for company. However, there was no way in hell I could have anticipated just how bloody fantastic this new episode, A Scandal in Belgravia (based on the original Arthur Conan Doyle’s A Scandal in Bohemia), would be.

Now, let me make something clear right now. I am no fan of Moffat. I enjoyed his episode of Sherlock last year, but the buck stops there. I’m no fan of Coupling. I try not to think about Jekyll. And I will never forgive him for what he’s done to Doctor Who. But what he did when he wrote A Scandal in Belgravia… well, I can honestly only describe it to you as pure perfection. From the opening moments to the final, exhilarating few seconds, I was hooked. And the only – and I mean only – piece of television that I can think of that betters last night’s Sherlock is the finale of Season 2 of The West Wing, Aaron Sorkin’s Two Cathedrals. Nothing on TV will ever better that episode, let me tell you that now – so for me to say that Moffat’s Sherlock episode came perilously close to doing so last night… that is saying a hell of a lot.

It’s difficult for me to highlight just what was so excellent about Scandal because if I were to do so you’d end up reading a transcript of the episode, and as entertaining as I’m sure reading it would be, that’s not what I’m here to do. But there were just so many moments that I’m struggling to know where to begin. Perhaps, then, I should start at the beginning, which saw the knife-cutting tension of the final moments of the last series broken (or, quite possibly, exacerbated) by the ringing of Moriarty’s phone, which just so happens to have the Bee Gees as its ringtone. Or maybe I should talk about the way Sherlock sits in Buckingham Palace stark naked, covered only by a flimsy sheet. But then I’d also want to talk about how chilling it was to hear Sherlock describe to the annoying American exactly what injuries he’d have, and detailing how he would get them, before he even got them.

Benedict Cumberbatch simply OWNS as Sherlock Holmes, whilst Lara Pulver dazzles as Irene Adler

However, as wonderful as those little elements are, the ultimate highlight must surely be what was essentially at the very core of the whole episode - the relationship between Sherlock Holmes and Irene Hadler. For his whole life, Sherlock has been the cleverest person (and then some) in whichever room he’s arrogantly stridden into. But with Irene Hadler, he might just have met his match. And as interesting as Moffat’s decision to make his interpretation of the character a seductive dominatrix, a woman who elects not to stride arrogantly into a room but calmly glide into it naked, was, what was truly compelling was the way in which the entire episode was essentially an intellectual way of depicting two predators circling each other and trying to size each other up (though Sherlock did appear to have the upper hand on that front). Sherlock and Irene are so incredibly similar that they could be either friends, enemies or lovers – and, quite deliberately, there are elements of all three of those possibilities dispersed throughout the episode, and that makes for truly exhilarating viewing.

A big congratulations also has to go out to the show’s composer, David G Arnold. Composers  - especially on TV shows – don’t get nearly enough recognition, and often when they do receive it its only because somebody wants to complain about their music being too loud/interfering/whatever. I hope that nobody will be saying that about the score of Scandal because it was absolutely superb. There were some (well, a lot) of moments in the episode that were outstanding of their own accord, but when coupled with that tremendous, tremendous score – which struck me as rather evocative of Hans Zimmer’s score for The Da Vinci Code – they just became something else entirely. I’m thinking specifically of the scene where Irene finally figures out what Sherlock knew all along about how the accomplished sportsmen died, but, more specifically, the scene in which Sherlock reveals to Irene how he could tell from both her pupils and her pulse that all the words she’d ever said to him were more than just words.

Which leads me on to one last thing I wanted to talk about it. I like it when TV shows are clever. I like it when they make you think. Shows like The West Wing and Doctor Who are like that. And so’s Sherlock. But I especially loved Scandal because it wasn’t just clever in that traditional sense; it was clever because it was constantly able to fool the audience. When Sherlock typed in the codes 1895 and 221B into the phone, it can be presumed that if the codes weren’t at least the codes that the audience was thinking of, they were certainly the codes that they were sure would  be the correct ones (although I suppose the fact that there were remaining attempts was a big of a giveaway), only to find that they were not. That, I suppose, just made the eventual reveal of what the code actually was all the more satisfying. And as for the code itself…  well, I’m fairly sure that I AM SHERLOCKED is going to be remembered for years to come in Sherlock mythology. The ultimate moment of deception, though (at least for me), came at the end. I honestly thought that, having ‘died’ once, Irene’s death at the hands of the terrorist cell would almost certainly be unavoidable. This was cemented as she resigned herself to her fate, was approached by a swordsmen, and the screen faded to black. But to hear that text alert, and for the picture to race back to the screen, and to see Irene look up and straight into the eyes of Sherlock Holmes… that was the biggest surprise of them all – and what a surprise it was. Absolutely breath-taking, there’s no other word for it.

Legendary.

To be entirely truthful with you, I’m a little concerned about the rest of 2012. I mean, yes, it looks to be a good year in terms of television: there’s another series of Downton Abbey for starters, what I presume is the final episode of Absolutely Fabulous, and hey, there’s even another two episodes of Sherlock! But seriously, when you consider that A Scandal in Belgravia was a masterpiece in every sense of the word, will anything on television in 2012 – the rest of the decade, in fact – actually top it?

I think not.