Film originally seen at Seattle International Film Festival ’15.

Sir Ian McKellan extends a touch of majesty to just about any role he sinks his teeth into, whether that be a Middle Earth wizard or a Brotherhood metal mutant. Lending his commanding British timbre to Conan Doyle’s most esteemed literary creation, super sleuth Sherlock Holmes, Sir McKellan is extended an opportunity to tap into an established icon at an unprecedented juncture: Mr. Holmes as an aged, forgetful retiree.

Even at the ripe old age of 93, Holmes is no dolt – and he shows off his trademark ability to gleam facts from the minutia of someone’s decor like a liver-spotted soothsayer more than once – but his memory bank is running low on steam as his marches towards his centenarian marker. Desperate to remain astute and dead set on penning his memoirs before all his many memories go to mush, Holmes journeys to Japan to procure a plant known as “prickly ash”, an herbal treatment plucked from the smoldering remains of Hiroshima with medicinal purposes Holmes expects can aid his ailing memory.

Holmes’ exploits in Japan become a subplot that at first seems extraneous to the story at hand but eventually unfolds handsomely into the rich tapestry of Bill Condon’s elegantly told tale. What at first seemed an unnecessary minute-stretcher becomes part and parcel of this aged Holmes’ moral fabric. It’s quite a magic trick.

But let’s rewind.Mr. Holmes starts in Sussex where our near-decrepit flatfoot mouses himself away from his celebrity status on Baker street – an address he’s already done well to conceal from the public by promulgating the fact that the apartment across the cobblestone is his actual abode. Out here on his rural farm house, Holmes escapes distraction to house bees.

At first, his procurement of the stripped creatures comes from a similar desire for a cognitive cure-all – their “royal honey” is the prequel to his palette for prickly ash – but his admiration for the gentle drones grows into his becoming an apiarist, a hobby he subsequently passes down to housekeeper’s son Roger (Milo Parker), who very much fashions himself on the elder Holmes.

Our first encounter with Holmes has him grumbling on a train (fear not though, McKellan’s Holmes is never grumbly for the sake of grumbly or grumpy for the sake of grumpy) as a “bee” flutters outside the window. A boy watches its persistence to enter with admiration. His mother turns to Holmes – who’s very much flushed with what appears to be disgust – and utters, “He loves bees.” That’s no bee, Holmes retorts sharply, that is a hornet. This simple thread – the distinction between bees and hornets – goes on to become the heart and soul of Condon’s piece, both metaphorically and literally. The graceful simplicity with which everything is tied together is predicated on our ability to see the contract. Bee and hornet. Bee and hornet.

With a tight cast, McKellan is charged with much of the heavy lifting but co-star Laura Linner, as the housekeeper Mrs. Munro, puts in strong work to provide a tart counterpoint to Holmes’ crumbling mental fortress. As does the aforementioned Parker who plays deferential with a side of rebellious with just the right amount of plucky pitch. As much as the film rests squarely on McKellan’s slumped shoulders, without convincing work from this duo, his pitching fortitude would be for naught.

As Holmes launches into one last investigation – revisiting the case that make him put down the magnifying glass 20-odd years ago – Condon is able to travel through space and time, propelling the narrative into different corners of the globe and procuring fanciful images to match. Capturing those images is Tobian A. Ashliessler, whose last work was the stunningly photographed Lone Survivor. Matching the emotional flourishes beat for beat, Ashliessler’s rustic cinematography is akin to Holmes’ detecting skills – oft spellbinding and never off point.

Condon hit a triumphant low point two years past with The Fifth Estate – a film I named the fifth worst movie of 2013 – but with Mr. Holmes has returned to a more intimate and, ironically enough, timely style of filmmaking. His picture is a Rubix Cube taking shape slowly and deliberately. Once constructed, it’s a beaut to behold.