The Hound of the Baskervilles

Sir Charles Baskerville is found dead on Dartmoor, his face contorted in terror, and near the body are the footprints of a huge dog. The county knows what this means: the legend of the Hound of the Baskervilles, a phantom that has killed for generations. When Sir Charles's American heir, now Sir Henry, arrives in England, he does the only sensible thing and takes the legend to Holmes.

Holmes, from the outset, is having none of the supernatural. There is a human murderer at work, and he lays a deep plan to catch them. The plan involves sending Watson to Dartmoor alone, which is the best thing the film does: Watson gets a proper adventure of his own, tramping the moor and meeting the Barrymores and the Stapletons, while Holmes stays in London, watching from a distance. His return to the moor is a proper entrance. And the fog does half the acting. The moor is a character in its own right here, and the production gives it the screen time it deserves.

Brian Mills directed, from T.R. Bowen, John Hawkesworth and Conan Doyle. Kristoffer Tabori's Sir Henry is a decent, ordinary man in extraordinary circumstances, Ronald Pickup's Barrymore carries a house full of secrets, and James Faulkner's Stapleton is charming on the surface and cold underneath. Alastair Duncan's Dr Mortimer, Rosemary McHale's Mrs Barrymore and Raymond Adamson's doomed Sir Charles complete the picture.

The reveal, when it comes, is the one everyone knows, and the film still manages to make it land. There is a reason this is the story everyone knows even if they have never read a line of Conan Doyle, and the film earns that familiarity. It is the most famous case in the canon for a reason, and this version gives it the room it needs, right down to the great hound itself, which is worth the wait.