In a world of many Sherlocks, the game cascades.
Having reached a meta level of post-canon knowledge, compounded by The Great Game, we harbor expectations for translating a story into other mediums, holding certain guidelines, like nets, in which interpretations are revealed. Personal lines are set by individual tastes, ranges of Holmesian knowledge, life experience, and other factors. A question (to be addressed another time) is: how do we pursue such boundaries for adaptation? The answers are soritical in nature and vague. Do five pips a good interpretation make? How many monographs equal a pile of pipe ash? How many Holmesian pursuits doth a Sherlockian make? Are we owed a certain interpretation?
When it comes to character translations certain patterns seem less ephemeral. The line for Watsons, for example, seem fairly porous. We accept the variations: the vaudeville/music hall buffoonery of Nigel Bruce; the strong, kick-ass intelligence and perseverance of Lucy Liu; the subtle shades of boyish and gleeful David Burke versus the mature and capable Edward Hardwicke; the whiny emo girlishness of Shihori Kanjiya’s Wato-san; and the faithful, action-addicted, soldierly Martin Freeman.
Lestrades are most often, well, Lestrades.
But when it comes to Moriartys (Moriarties? Moriartae?), there are fewer seas to navigate.
Moriarty is inevitable. He is fate. There are many paths to Reichenbach, but they all have one terminus—a reckoning.
This is played upon in the BBC Sherlock series, where the nemesis constantly reminds Sherlock of his “I.O.U.” Moffat and Gatiss, along with script writer Stephen Thompson, call upon the old powers. The Fates, the Moirai, were the keepers of the life-line to which even the gods were bound. They created the boundary of birth, life, and death: the allotment in which every entity exists before the string is cut. This apportionment is a loan—not a gift—and, being a loan, requires a debt to be paid. Life itself is an “I.O.U.” In all instances, Moriarty becomes Moira-rty, the reckoner and debt collector of the final problem—Sherlock’s death for his life.
In the realm of BBC Sherlock, Moriarty is prefigured “mythologically” twice: in one of his many employees, the cab driver Jeff Hope, bringer of two-pilled life and death (one of the first times we hear the Moriarty musical theme); and in Mr. Ewart of two-faced Janus Cars, a for-hire faker of deaths—and new lives (and an anagram for “water,” of which Moriarty is the captain). The masking-unmasking of many faces continues with Moriarty’s Hansel-and-Gretel torturing of children with a Sherlock look-a-like as well as his creation of the “Secret Life of Sherlock Holmes”-esque Richard Brook.
Of course, this duality was pre-ordained by the canonical meeting:
‘All that I have to say has already crossed your mind,’ said he.
“Then possibly my answer has crossed yours,’ I replied. [FINA]
Subsequently the professor lists his descriptive notation of being “inconvenienced” by the detective, followed by the dire warning: “It has been a duel between you and me, Mr. Holmes….You hope to beat me. I tell you that you will never beat me. If you are clever enough to bring destruction upon me, rest assured that I shall do as much to you.” [FINA]
This tone continues in several of the new adaptations of the scene, enhanced with diagetic music (that is, music known and acknowledged by the characters within the world of the scene), whether the time, context, and locations differ.
Game of Shadows has a wide-range of Moriarty-attached musics: their initial meeting in Moriarty’s college office was soundtracked diagetically by Schubert’s Fischerweise and by low strings (a common orchestration that we will see again), and even the torture scene where Holmes is hooked like a fish is underscored by classical music. Moriarty tosses Irene’s death handkerchief on the pristine chessboard and navigates an opening gambit towards the camera. The villain’s soundtrack theme is also accompanied by a common Zimmer trope, a clock, like the ticking of fate, the limit of Holmes’ life approaching him: “The laws of celestial mechanics dictate that when two objects collide there is always damage of a collateral nature.”
BBC Sherlock has Holmes playing the violin as Moriarty creeps up the stairs to 221B Baker Street (Bach, followed by the tale of the “unfinished melody”). Throughout the series Jim Moriarty is variously tied to music like Rossini’s overture to “The Thieving Magpie” and, more tellingly, “Staying Alive” by The BeeGees. He wants to solve the final problem of their mutual existence: “Every fairy tale has an old-fashioned villain.” And he and Holmes meet to duel on the roof of St. Bartholomew’s Hospital, eternally twin rivals.
Nowhere is this duality more perspicuous than in the musical clues left by BBC Sherlock’s composers Michael Price and David Arnold. The motivic themes of the two characters suggest great interconnectedness and “propinquity” (as Nero Wolfe would say).
Much has been said by Michael Price himself about the main Sherlock theme and the “hero’s theme” (the jaunty, slightly humorous call-to-action music, derived from the chords of the main opening, that accompanies the setting off of John and Sherlock in innumerable instances). The main Sherlock theme is the recognizable first few measures, played in the strings, right after the iconic drum pick-up into the iconic blurred London opening titles. Here is what it looks like, from the piano arrangements by Anthony Weeden
Contraposed to this is the Moriarty theme, heard (or felt) nearly anytime he is mentioned, but most famously employed in the “Prepared to Do Anything” cue leading up and through “the jump” scene atop St. Bart’s. It is always low strings, ominous, active, prowling (this example is both lines in the bass clef, taken directly from the original score).
When we move things about on the staff a bit, simplify meter and note length for the sake of visual patterns, take the Moriarty theme up into treble clef, then transpose it, a very clear relationship emerges.
The Moriarty theme shares the first musical intervals as his rival—but where Moriarty hangs, Sherlock, well…falls. They are two sides of a coin awaiting the toss and the landing.
And, oh, what a landing.
The interpretations of the Reichenbach scene range from the faithfulness of Granada to the (spoilers!) London-scenarios of Rathbone’s The Adventures of Sherlock Holmes (in which Moriarty dives from the Tower of London) and The Woman in Green (Moriarty, solo, from a drainpipe); to Moriarty the Patriot’s dive from Tower Bridge under construction (this is a slight deviation in intent that, for the sake of spoilers, we won’t discuss further); to the similar Tokyo tumble of Stella Maris herself (another great play on Moriarty’s nautical name), Dr. Moriwaki of Ms. Sherlock; to the metaphorical (perceived) moral collapse of Holmes in Elementary. All feature roadblocks, rivals, and plummets. Downward.
This cascading motion is set by Granada composer Patrick Gowers in his representation of Moriarty. First appearing in the episode for “The Red-Headed League” and continuing, naturally, through “The Final Problem,” Gower’s Moriarty shares the bass clef, low strings—plus erudite church organ—with the Zimmer and Arnold/Price renditions: borrowing operatic conventions that the villain is often played by bass voices or accompanied by bass instruments, sinister and craven.
Not only does the serpentine line tumble down, it also features three groupings of the tritone, the interval which splits the chromatic octave in two: the first two separated by a middle note, the final immediately side by side. (This last is a common motive of Gowers to signify distress or darkness—to be discussed another time.)
It is this interval that ecclesiastic authorities allegedly banned for centuries due to its sinister angularity, the difficulty in singing it correctly, and its dissonance. It was, and is still, referred to as “The Devil’s Interval.” And it is in the eternal battle of angelic and demonic forces that the struggle continues.
Though it was cut from the final product, one of the original scripts floating around on the internet for the BBC Sherlock episode “The Reichenbach Fall” has a reference to "the 64,” the number of digits in Moriarty’s all-access code which the assassins are trying to gain from Sherlock. The popular Netflix show “The Queen’s Gambit” reminds us that the 8 x 8 square of chess is one of the oldest metaphors for a battle of wits between equals. The great game of chess is used just prior to Reichenbach in the Guy Ritchie film in a clear and intentional way and is even featured in the toy shop scene against Ratigan in The Great Mouse Detective.
A very famous game theory problem involving an infinite chess board is the Angel problem, first proposed by John Conway—also known as the “Angel and Devil” game. This title calls to mind one of the most famous lines from the BBC show: "Oh, I may be on the side of the angels, but don't think for one second that I am one of them.” Often interpreted moralistically as Moriarty tempts Sherlock to suicidal despair and ruin, with this statement Sherlock reveals that he is, indeed, “prepared to do anything” and has arranged for his own death (or at least a fall)—he will not fly. Finally beaten, Moriarty pulls the final “check” with his own suicide, but not until after thanking Sherlock for the endgame—the hero is not a “boring” angel after all. Not just heroic language, the quote may be grounded more simply in the Conway game. BBC script writer Stephen Thompson is a mathematician and was a maths teacher (and it goes without saying in a forum such as this: Moriarty is a professor of maths). In the game, the Angel can move to any square in any direction, while the Devil leaves a block for the Angel’s path. “The angel may leap over blocked squares, but cannot land on them. The devil wins if the angel is unable to move. The angel wins by surviving indefinitely.” On an infinite 2D chessboard, the Devil will always win—which seems impossible considering how the Angel can infinitely maneuver. On an infinite 3D chessboard, the Angel has been shown to be able to win. He needs an infinite height—the infinite height of the Reichenbach in our minds—and a landing spot. In the episode, Sherlock has been trying to move from Moriarty's blocks but, at the last moment, is prepared to lose/take the fall/leap on to the Devil's block by anticipating: he loses on purpose. The Devil is revealed to be only working in dualities—but Sherlock sublimates the game altogether.
"I may be on the side of the angels, but don’t think for one second I am one of them.” Checkmate.
The math no longer adds up (though the final problem is solved) and the limits of the board are shattered (though the limits are infinite); the net is cut (but is used for Sherlock to be caught). The hero chooses to sacrifice, to protect friends, and the tables are turned. As we have been expecting the duality of “So Sherlock, so then Moriarty,” we also surmise (along with Moriarty) “So not-Sherlock, so then not-Moriarty.” The excitement is to see how, in each interpretation, Holmes sidesteps the syllogism altogether. That makes us, as viewers, move from “So Reichenbach, so then The Fall” to “So Reichenbach, so how The Fall?” From our height, post-canon, we are excited to see how Holmes is the better, not the equal. How will he appear to cut his own thread?
The board is turned over completely and the great game spills over—until the next time.
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