They Might Be Giants (1971)

After the death of his wife, a former attorney and judge (George C. Scott) has a breakdown and retreats into the delusion that he is Sherlock Holmes, the great detective. When his brother (Lester Rawlins), who wants his monies and estate, attempts to have him declared incompetent, the doctor (Joanne Woodward) assigned to evaluate the case bears the name of Dr. Watson. But instead of "curing" the patient, the doctor falls under Holmes' spell. Yet another throwback to those screwball comedies of the 30s and 40s, this might have worked with William Powell and Myrna Loy ..... maybe. But it's another one of those films with the dubious underlying premise that the mentally ill are somehow touched by magic and that it's the outside world that's insane, not them. Scott and Woodward give it a valiant effort. Scott, in particular, never the warmest of actors is quite likable here but James Goldman's (based on his play) script lets them down. It's heavy where it should be light and Anthony Harvey's (THE LION IN WINTER) direction is of no help. Considering how disappointing it all is, the film's last five minutes are surprisingly poignant. There's a lovely delicate score by John Barry. With Jack Gilford, F. Murray Abraham, Rue McClanahan, Kitty Winn, M. Emmett Walsh, Eugene Roche and Theresa Merritt.