The Writer's Life 5/14

Last night I watched yet another adaptation of an enduring literary classic, Sir Arthur Conan Doyle's The Hound of the Basketballs, episode two of the current BBC series Sherlock, which brings Holmes and Watson into the present age. Thankfully, it put fresh, high tech spin on the story. It would have been pointless to do it the same way. There are 20 versions of the spooky tale listed at IMDb, including a couple of silents and several in another language. The highest rated, 8.9, was made in the Soviet Union (1981). There is one I hope I never see, rated 4.4, starring Peter Cook and Dudley Moore as the immortal leads. The very thought makes my flesh crawl. The 2012 version scored 8.4. The 1988 version, starring Jeremy Brett, who seems to be the favorite Holmes of fans, was rated 7.7, tied with the 1939 version starring my favorite portrayer, Basil Rathbone. The 1959 version, starring Peter Cushing, is rated 7.0. My favorite, a BBC production starring Richard Roxburgh (2002), rated only 6.5. The hound had a truly demonic, frightening dimension probably attributable to CGI. In the literary hall in heaven, Sir Arthur must be beaming.

Here's a picture of my favorite version:

Since age has turned us into girly-men, Cuz and I cancelled our weekly round of golf rather than risk getting caught in the type of downpour we laughed off not so long ago. Of course, the rain has yet to materialize. I was able to set up shop and sell a bunch of books. Four of my regulars, the Merry Mailwoman, Alan, Herbie and Susan made purchases, while Michael donated several more books in Russian, three of which I sold immediately. Alan's mom, who must be in her 80's, is in the hospital again, suffering respiratory issues. Of course, she has still been smoking. I fear for Alan, whose IQ was once off the charts, should his mother pass away. He had a prosperous pharmacy business that he had to give up when he began suffering mental difficulties. He is on medication. Who will be there to make sure he takes it once his mom is gone? Will he be able to take care of himself, cook, pay bills? He struggles to get around, despite significant weight loss. He pauses and leans against the nearest fence every 50 yards or so. Life is cruel to an unfortunate few. It should serve as a reminder whenever the rest of us complain about the mundane like paltry book sales or age-related aches and pains.

Thanks, folks.

Read Vic's stories, free: http://members.tripod.com/vic_fortezza/Literature/