Hello Sherlock Holmes, this is Robin Hood calling
The newly installed telephone at 221B Baker St., London, rang. Sherlock Holmes picked it up.
“Is this Mr., um, Sherlock Holmes?” said a female voice.
“Yes, Madam Operator,” Holmes replied, “and I perceive by the hesitancy in your voice that this is a long-distance call, and further that it is one for which the charges have been asked to be reversed, hence your slight reluctance in asking that an unexpected expense might be imposed.”
“Yes, sir,” the operator replied. “This call is coming from Nottinghamshire. Oh, and it’s also coming from the 13th century.”
Holmes assented to the charge, and the caller was put on the line.
“Sherlock?” said a man’s voice. “It is I, Robin.”
“Robin of Locksley?” replied Holmes. “Robin Hood?”
“The same. I call in hopes of a sympathetic ear from a fellow historical/fictional character who hast been repeatedly portrayed in literature and drama. Forsooth, Mister Holmes, they are doing it unto me again.”
“Who is doing what?”
“Hollywood. The varlets are making another movie about me. It’s going to open in November 2018.”
Holmes was puzzled. “Do you not find that flattering?” he asked.
“Zounds, hast not thou seen the last couple of movies they made about me? The one with Russell Crowe a few years before? And the one several years before that, with Kevin Costner? Yea verily, a pair of mopes leading a dreary slog. I was the leader of the Merry Men, and there I am portrayed by a pair of Morose Men. My reputation is sore diminished.”
“I suppose they weren’t much fun,” Holmes allowed. He hoped, though, that Robin wouldn’t mention “Robin Hood: Men in Tights.” Notoriously unflappable, Holmes’ most closely guarded secret was that the one person in the world who cracked him up was Mel Brooks.
“The only perfect screen version of me was the great Errol Flynn,” Robin continued. “I’faith, there was a man who knew how to swashbuckle. The silent film with Douglas Fairbanks was good, too. And there was that nice TV series in the 1950s. Thou rememberest, “Robin Hood, Robin Hood, riding through the glen, Robin Hood, Robin Hood, with his band of men ...”
Holmes did remember, with a twinge of envy. The one regret of his career was that he never had a catchy theme song. “Cheer up, Robin,” he said. Maybe they will surprise you and make a great movie, one even Errol Flynn would be proud of.”
“I don’t know,” Robin went on. “I despair of them ever getting me right again. I had to reach out to thee for sympathy.”
Holmes let out a sigh. “Robin, I sympathize more than you can imagine. Have you heard what Hollywood is doing to me? In December 2018, it will release a film about me that is a low comedy! Apparently myself and Doctor Watson will be portrayed by a couple of clowns, me looking like a dimwit and Watson like an utter buffoon! Even worse, our beloved Queen Victoria will be drawn into the farce. I am glad the sun will have set on the British Empire before it gazed on such a travesty.”
“But Sherlock,” Robin soothed, “thou hast had so many flattering portrayals. Enacted by Basil Rathbone, who wast a superior Guy of Gisbourne in my Flynn film. And the superb Jeremy Brett on television. And, lo, the remarkable Benedict Cumberbatch.”
“True,” Holmes allowed. “Indeed, I have a confession to make. That Cumberbatch? His Holmes is so quick at the deduction business — to tell you the truth, even I can’t keep up with him. By the way, why did you need to call collect? Aren’t you robbing from the rich?”
“Yea, but then I dost give it to the poor, recallest thou? Besides, there be not all that many rich people, here in the 13th century. The last person I robbed, all he had in his possession was five shillings, a book titled “Fifty Ways Thou Canst Profit from the Magna Carta,” and a garment inscribed “My Parents Went on Pilgrimage to Canterbury, and All They Got Me Was this Lousy ChainMail Shirt.”
“A pity,” said Holmes. “You would do better here in the Victorian Age. We have an abundance of robber barons.”
“A thousand thanks, Mister Holmes. I knew I would find a kindred spirit in thee.”
“It comes with the territory, Robin. In fact, I am expecting a visit soon from a fellow Londoner. Ebenezer Scrooge, who’ll be complaining about all the things the movies have done with him.” Tony Gabriele, getserioustony@gmail.com