With Sherlock Holmes, it all started with the trailer.

I absolutely ate it up. The trailer was almost perfect. Robert Downey Jr. sitting naked on a hotel bed, both hands cuffed to the posts and with nothing but a pillow covering his appendages, entertained me to no end – if only that were Rachel McAdams.

In any case that scene sealed the deal, and I went into Eastwood City Walk Cinema 2 expecting more of an action hero than literature’s greatest super sleuth. This is partly because my expertise — having taken up The Hound of the Baskervilles as a high school freshman — told me that Sherlock Holmes would never have been stuck in such a compromising situation, literally.

But it was also because friends of mine who have watched it and have read Conan-Doyle have told me not to expect too much from Sherlock Holmes.

I guess this is always the problem when filmmakers embark on a project to portray a classic piece of literature while adapting it for a more modern audience. It is a project destined to fail: either a film is not faithful enough, or Hollywood thinks we young folks can’t relate to it. Or both.

The purist in me would prefer that the movie was true to the literature, except that only a few filmmakers can pull that off without alienating audiences.

But another thing is that very few works are ready-made for film adaptation. That’s because the writers of old didn’t expect their stories would become movies, unlike nowadays.

So if Sir Arthur Conan-Doyle were alive to see his masterpiece on the big screen today, my guess is that he would’ve been scandalized. I mean sure, Holmes still lives on 221B Baker Street, smokes on a pipe, and solves cases with the help of his pal Watson in a magnificently-rendered 19th century London. But this is where all faithfulness to the book ends. Everything else is either exaggeration or a figment of the imagination.

Consider, for example, the extent of Holmes’ powers of rationalization as portrayed in the film. He stands behind a thug (or a boxer, or whoever happens to be his opponent for the set action piece), calculating how to beat him senseless. We follow his thought process step-by-step, through slow-motion camera, forecasting exactly which bones he’ll snap and which organs he’ll gouge. Then, having seen the pre-enactment, we watch it again — this time, with real sound and in real time.

Elementary, my dear Watson!

Of course, if you’ve ever been in a fight you know that isn’t exactly how it works. But more importantly, this wasn’t Sherlock Holmes, who was never much for physical violence. This was Bruce Wayne without the costume, or a bohemian Tyler Durden, or an urban Indiana Jones. He was witty though, the great detective that he is.

The plot wasn’t exactly Holmes-esque. There wasn’t much complication or mystery — or thinking, really — to be had. It revolved around a diabolical secret society being mobilized by an evil aristocrat who had probably read Holy Blood and the Holy Grail, or had watched National Treasure Hunt. Maybe that could account for why Holmes did more brawling than thinking.

Also, the film wasn’t just an action movie, it was a bromantic comedy. Holmes was obviously jealous of Watson’s fiancee, who was so unimportant she isn’t worth describing, and the tension made for much entertaining banter. Not to mention Rachel McAdams who was a very charming third wheel.

Basically, it ran roughshod over one of the greatest characters ever created in the history of Western literature — and I loved every minute of it. I guess I’m proving those Hollywood producers right, because I’m recommending this film to all kids of all ages.

And that is why unfaithful remakes will always sell if you can adapt it for a modern audience.

(The author is a second year BS Management major at the Ateneo de Manila University.)