Edward Woodward is Holmes and John Hillerman is Watson. Anthony Andrews chews the scenery as Moriarty. Mycroft Holmes is kidnapped to help break a secret code to give Moriarty the key to British intelligence.
The makers of this original story try to give Holmes Holmesean things to say, so dialog is lifted from "The Greek Interpreter", "The Bruce-Partington Plans" and other Holmes tales by Arthur Conan Doyle. Their research is oddly inadequate in other places, for going by the number of the _Strand_ Watson displays, it's during the period when both Holmes and Moriarty are dead. Of course, Sir Arthur wasn't always careful about these things himself.
The rather silly story telegraphs most of the major plot twists well ahead of time. It ends with a chase in hearses that reminds one of the 60s comedy "The Wrong Box". Throughout, the dialog is obvious, especially one unintentionally humorous scene in the middle where Holmes and Moriarty both have each other at gunpoint and no one shoots.
Moriarty is a genius of evil yet he surrounds himself with the sort of henchmen Austin Powers' Dr. Evil would be proud of. Perhaps no one would look quite adequate compared to Moriarty (there is mention that he is a mathematical genius who wrote a work on asteroids), but these guys are such obvious losers one wonders what the job market for crooks looked like in the 1890s, if this was the best he could hire.
In contrast to the wonderful Granada series where Watson was perfectly portrayed as a surgeon who performed under fire (and was wounded, twice or so) in Afghanistan, and who possessed the courage, intelligence and patriotism of the ordinary Victorian gentleman who simply isn't up to Holmes' massive intelligence, John Hillerman's Watson is a slight reversion to the old days where Watson was portrayed in the first stages of senility. This Watson is not truly dumb (like, say, Nigel Bruce or Bernard Fox) but he's incredibly gullible. In the midst of a tense case where Watson knows Moriarty is roaming free and he's out to get the Holmes brothers and he's already abducted Mycroft, someone rushes up to Watson and says, basically, "Come with me, somebody's sick," and Watson dutifully tags along. But Watson does come through competently in the end. Curiously, Hillerman's Watson is sporting a beard. Perhaps that's why his wife has thrown him out of the house and he's living with Holmes at a time when none of them should be at 221B Baker Street.
It's difficult to understand why Mycroft Holmes, who is conceded to be, even by Sherlock, the sharper of the two brothers, was abducted so easily. It was a trick Watson might've fallen for, but Mycroft should've seen through it in an instant.
Woodward's Holmes is waspish and irritable and Hillerman's laid back Watson makes a extreme contrast. As usual, too much is made of Holmes' recreational cocaine use. No one divulges what sort of sedative Watson is on, but Hillerman never seems to raise his eyelids all the way up. Lestrade is simply a loud-mouthed jerk. The excessively loud music cues ones emotional responses, so all one has to do is watch and never really think or feel.
For the Holmes completest, it's a necessary curio. For the typical viewer whose knowledge of Holmes is rudimentary at best, it's an undemanding time-killer that's a cut above most other TV-movies (they went all out on interior decoration). Why it's called "Hands of a Murderer" isn't explained, but it's a suitably lurid title.
The makers of this original story try to give Holmes Holmesean things to say, so dialog is lifted from "The Greek Interpreter", "The Bruce-Partington Plans" and other Holmes tales by Arthur Conan Doyle. Their research is oddly inadequate in other places, for going by the number of the _Strand_ Watson displays, it's during the period when both Holmes and Moriarty are dead. Of course, Sir Arthur wasn't always careful about these things himself.
The rather silly story telegraphs most of the major plot twists well ahead of time. It ends with a chase in hearses that reminds one of the 60s comedy "The Wrong Box". Throughout, the dialog is obvious, especially one unintentionally humorous scene in the middle where Holmes and Moriarty both have each other at gunpoint and no one shoots.
Moriarty is a genius of evil yet he surrounds himself with the sort of henchmen Austin Powers' Dr. Evil would be proud of. Perhaps no one would look quite adequate compared to Moriarty (there is mention that he is a mathematical genius who wrote a work on asteroids), but these guys are such obvious losers one wonders what the job market for crooks looked like in the 1890s, if this was the best he could hire.
In contrast to the wonderful Granada series where Watson was perfectly portrayed as a surgeon who performed under fire (and was wounded, twice or so) in Afghanistan, and who possessed the courage, intelligence and patriotism of the ordinary Victorian gentleman who simply isn't up to Holmes' massive intelligence, John Hillerman's Watson is a slight reversion to the old days where Watson was portrayed in the first stages of senility. This Watson is not truly dumb (like, say, Nigel Bruce or Bernard Fox) but he's incredibly gullible. In the midst of a tense case where Watson knows Moriarty is roaming free and he's out to get the Holmes brothers and he's already abducted Mycroft, someone rushes up to Watson and says, basically, "Come with me, somebody's sick," and Watson dutifully tags along. But Watson does come through competently in the end. Curiously, Hillerman's Watson is sporting a beard. Perhaps that's why his wife has thrown him out of the house and he's living with Holmes at a time when none of them should be at 221B Baker Street.
It's difficult to understand why Mycroft Holmes, who is conceded to be, even by Sherlock, the sharper of the two brothers, was abducted so easily. It was a trick Watson might've fallen for, but Mycroft should've seen through it in an instant.
Woodward's Holmes is waspish and irritable and Hillerman's laid back Watson makes a extreme contrast. As usual, too much is made of Holmes' recreational cocaine use. No one divulges what sort of sedative Watson is on, but Hillerman never seems to raise his eyelids all the way up. Lestrade is simply a loud-mouthed jerk. The excessively loud music cues ones emotional responses, so all one has to do is watch and never really think or feel.
For the Holmes completest, it's a necessary curio. For the typical viewer whose knowledge of Holmes is rudimentary at best, it's an undemanding time-killer that's a cut above most other TV-movies (they went all out on interior decoration). Why it's called "Hands of a Murderer" isn't explained, but it's a suitably lurid title.