glenmoresparks:

It’s fair to say I have made my peace with series four. I didn’t like it, although some scenes were clever. Visually it was often beautiful, although that mawkish scene when John and Sherlock were blown nicely out a window was cringeworthy.

I’ve read lots (LOTS) of different views here, and all of them have informed me one way or another. I appreciate the varied views and opinions. There isn’t any one way to enjoy or loathe a program, although usually there are firm underlying reasons that will support your like or dislike.

It has taken me ages to work out why I didn’t like series four. I had my secret head canons, but no expectations that the writers would uphold them. I felt I had a good handle on the characters, and felt I had paid attention to the plots. Indeed, Moffit insisted that we must pay attention to the plots and clues, or heaven help us.

Bleeding obvious, isn’t it? Viewers have to pay attention, because that’s how they claim their the payoff, and satisfaction from the stories. So if we’d been told in ASIB that Holmes was besotted with Irene Alder, if we knew somewhere (anywhere) in series three that he was still texting with her, it would have made sense when we John made his furious directions (for Sherlock to make himself complete and pursue her) in series four. But series three was a train of events wherein Sherlock acted only in the service of John.

Same with Mary. If I knew that the writers were intending to create this platonic threesome with Mary at the core, calling the shots, I would never have watched, because that kind of tedious soapsuds narrative bores me.

And that’s why I hate series four. I like to follow clues and suggestions in a program. I like to have the rug pulled, I like to see how the clues are interpreted or tipped over. I expect good stories to do that. The Sopranos is a masterclass in that skill – you know about the mafia, you get to know the characters, but even after six series, the program can still shock or stun. Swathes of dream sequences that are not only brilliantly connected wit the story, they are also pinnacles of program making. Hugely ambiguous ending, yet utterly in keeping with the story we’d been told. Series one and two of Sherlock lured me into the same (false) sense of security. I expected a payoff, a resolution, some confirmation and some rug pulling.

Instead, with the final series,  I got pails of garbage thrown at me from all directions: the murder sister (incarcerated at the age of four contrary to all British laws) who Sherlock thought was a dog. The assassin who was stupid enough to store their identity on a usb key and then hide it in a plaster vase. The other assassin who shot Sherlock and then – well, nothing happened. She just did it and then everyone forgot about it, and then she became some kind of Angel who shops at Next.  The great advocate, John Watson himself, kicking and striking Sherlock in an assault that would score at least a couple of GBH charges and two years minimum. Another frigging serial killer who wants to kill Sherlock for no adequately explored reason. Moriarty unable to actually die. Mycroft thinking it would be a good course of action to introduce Moriarty to the murder sister. The murder sister who didn’t actually have to stay in the prison but just did. Her mind powers. All these tails of thread that were supposed to make a story and ended up being a a mess of tangles that, no matter how carefully you try to unpick them, won’t form a coherent pattern or even a serviceable mat.

The writers had no concern for the people whose investment made their product globally famous and hugely profitable. To be sure, they have no obligation to do that, but isn’t that what writers do? Tell a story that makes sense, or is at least consistent? Well, that’s what the ones I like do for me. The story doesn’t have to take the path I thought, and I am more than happy to suspend my belief to see a character turn bad or redeemed. I just like to see it supported by the narrative.

Anyway, I’m not trying to start a fight or cause distress. I’ve just realised that Sherlock made me feel duped, and that’s something I expect from face creams, not the world’s only consulting detective.