Billy Wilder's drilling into Holmes's hush-hush side (his cocaine addiction, his rumored homosexuality, his broken heart) has a feeling of special privilege and intimacy, rather than irreverence and iconoclasm as it might have had. The opening examination of the deceased detective's personal effects is practically breath-taking; and for a while the movie looks as though it might hold up. But the mystery plot that eventually develops is disappointing (Conan Doyle, after all, is dead, too), although it's kooky enough; and the emotions actually achieved are inevitably punier than the ones imagined. A helpful score, in that regard, by Miklos Rozsa. With Robert Stephens, Colin Blakely, Christopher Lee. (1970) — Duncan Shepherd
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