When I was a wee lad steeped in Conan Doyle's original Sherlock Holmes stories, this movie struck me as plain awful. It was painful to see Sherlock as a tourist in a wildly inappropriate DC milieu (the back-projected crazy quilt of Washington monuments on his drive around town makes it seem the chauffeur is on crack), spouting pax Americana patriotism and even paying tribute to the crime-fighting superiority of the FBI (??!!). Nigel Bruce was a particular affront as a doddering Dr. Watson, noisily sucking down ice cream sodas and struggling to read 30 pages on a 10-hour transatlantic flight. <br /><br />But time has been kind to "SH in Washington." This was the first of these movies written by Bertram Millhauser, who always came up with witty dialogue for Rathbone and Bruce and snarky bits of malice for the supporting cast. Basil Rathbone gives a hopped-up performance as Holmes, barking out ludicrously improbable deductions and even reprising his Louis XI imitation as a limp-wristed "eccentric" collector. There is a small gem of a performance from Gerald Hamer (unbilled, sadly) as the master spy who sets the plot in motion -- he gives the movie a few whiffs of danger, intrigue and poignance. And it's hard to dislike a movie with two Moriartys: silky sadist Henry Daniell and glittery-eyed psycho George Zucco. By the way, the suspense hinges on the fate of a fast-dwindling book of matches, so if you're trying to quit smoking, this is not the movie for you.