Meh.

I fell asleep a couple of times during this movie. I don’t do that a lot. Generally it happens for one of two reasons: nothing is happening on the screen, or too much meaningless stuff is happening on screen. In either case, my nervous system shuts down in order to wait for better entertainment to arrive.

If you loved the previous Guy Ritchie take on Holmes, take heart. This is that. Holmes is still clearly in love with Watson, and begrudges him his impending nuptials in the bitchiest way possible. They are still engaged in a steampunk-kung-fu battle of wits with Moriarty, and they still have a very fancy set that Ritchie can’t help zooming around whenever things threaten to get focused on the characters.

Most of the problems are related to the fact that it’s a sequel to a tentpole movie. There seems always to be a great deal of temptation to top the previous installation by doing 50% more of everything that worked last time. Robert Downey making with the droll quippage worked? Let’s have him speak exclusively tongue in cheek. Weird homoerotic chemistry between Holmes and Watson worked? Let’s introduce drag and make sure their lips are always within kissing distance. The strange Bourne-fu fighting style where Holmes imagines the fight in slo-mo before it happens worked? Let’s take it up a notch with both Holmes and his opponent imagining the whole fight before it happens. Wait. Let’s have their slo-mo pre-fight videos interact with each other!

The plot is also overwrought and scattered. It’s something about anarchists and Gypsies and Gypsy anarchists and assassination plots and diplomatic summits and tuberculosis – as I mentioned, I fell asleep. I may have missed some of the connective tissue.

The movie is not entirely devoid of charm, of course. Stephen Fry shows up as Holmes’ brother, and is amusing with the scraps of screen time he’s allowed. Jared Harris is enjoyable as the diabolical but doomed Moriarty.

I should also use this space to lament the Deppification of RDJ. Like Depp, Downey is a lavishly gifted actor who’s become content with self-parody. Both of them are too young to spend the rest of their careers reprising their lesser works, even if it’s obscenely lucrative.

On cable, where you can stretch your legs when it gets boring, or on a plane where altitude makes everything seem better than it is, this movie would be a worthy timekiller. In a crowded theater for 12 bucks? Markedly less so.