For those of you who read this blog, first off, thank you. Second off, you probably have come to realize that I'm somewhat of a musical theater geek, what with all the time I spend in theater. I'm not a hardcore musical theater geek, though. If I were a hardcore musical theater geek, I would think that Stephen Sondheim is the greatest thing since sliced bread. I do not think Sondheim is the greatest thing since sliced bread. I admit that he is a lyrical genius, and many of his plays are fresh and interesting even when they are decades old, but I find that many of his melodies sound the same within shows and from show to show. I also find that the clever wordplays of his lyrics can get old by the end of the second act.
Still, there are some Sondheim musicals I really enjoy. While Into the Woods is probably my favorite, one such musical that I sort of adore in all of its base quirkiness is Sweeney Todd. It's violent and dark and challenges the viewer to grow to like someone that takes extreme, unlikable measures to avenge his wrongs. It's, in short, kind of weird. At least, I thought it was weird. Then, I saw Tim Burton's stage-to-screen adaptation, and I started to revise my thinking.
The story: Mr. Todd aka Benjamin Barker (Johnny Depp, sigh) was a happy Fleet Street barber, married to the beautiful Lucy and doting over baby daughter, Johanna. That is, until, the usurping, seedy Judge Turpin (the wonderful Alan Rickman) covets Lucy to the point of raping her, ordering the local Beadle (Timothy Spall) to arrest Barker and ultimately convicting him of a crime he didn't commit. He sentences Benjamin to 15 years in prison and adopts Johanna as his ward.
Flash forward to 15 years later: by the aid of young sailor Anthony, Benjamin has rechristened himself Sweeney Todd and returns to London to exact his revenge. He returns to his former place of residence to find lonely and amorous Mrs. Lovett (Helena Bonham Carter), who makes and sells her unappetizing meat pies and who has grown quite an affection for the legend and charisma of the scheming barber. She's also informed him of the fate of his daughter and Lucy, who poisoned herself. His plan is to lure the Judge to his chair where his old friends, his accurate and deadly silver razors, will be the instrument of death, but Anthony has come across the sheltered Johanna, now grown and a spitting image of her mother, imprisoned behind a pane of glass. Turpin, meanwhile, seeks to slake his lust by marrying Johanna in place of her mother. Anthony falls in love and seeks to rescue Johanna but unwittingly interferes with Sweeney's plans. While revising his schemes, Mr. T.,as Mrs. Lovett calls him, practices his art on unsuspecting customers, who then become the main ingredients in Mrs. Lovett's meat pies. And this is just the tip of the bloody iceberg.
Tim Burton's yen for dark cinematography with grotesque and abstract art direction works well for this grim tale. This may very well be his masterpiece. The transition from stage to screen is quite breathtaking, as a certain reverence is shown for the source material. Mrs. Lovett's dream sequences are equally delightful in their light and fanciful contrast to the dark and distorted realities of Sweeney's world.
The trouble I had with this film, though, was the actual performances. Burton used his usual muses, Depp and Carter. Johnny did an admirable job as Sweeney, and he has a passable singing voice, though he sort of reminded me of an evil version of Edward Scissorhands crossed with Ichabod Crane, and I couldn't get past that for much of the movie. I still fell hook, line, and sinker for his Sweeney by the end, though, because his gift for acting and for delving wholeheartedly into such oddball characters has made him a master of suspension of disbelief. Helena was a quirky and amusing Mrs. Lovett, but it's clear she can't really sing. Sweeney Todd is supposed to be somewhat operatic, a tragedy told through melodically complex songs. Mrs. Lovett requires a stronger voice. Carter doesn't have it; she softened up quite a bit in her phrasing, especially when she seemed insecure about key, and used no vibrato, and it was hard to get past that. She was otherwise perfect for the role when she wasn't singing; her timing and delivery were well suited for the slightly addled Mrs. Lovett.
I also wasn't a fan of Sacha Baron Cohen as Pirelli. He also clearly can't sing and chose to make the character more cartoony than normal. I have trouble when people in musicals, movie or otherwise, can't sing.
Still, I liked what Tim Burton did with it. It was bloodier and grimmer and scarier than the source material. In fact, it was very bloody, but it was done in a symbolic and quirky way that seemed to fit like a hand to a glove. And it was very very weird, which is par for the course. That alone made it a unique way to celebrate Christmas.
I think I have to rate ole Mr. T a 7.5 for the fact that the mediocre singing seemed like a major flaw to me. Just consider Chicago or Rent or Phantom of the Opera - what if the top billed performers couldn't sing in those films? Think how much worse those might have been if that were the case. Yet, I still found this movie extremely entertaining, so it falls between shaky but entertaining and minor flaws but very good. Also, it may pass the test, but perhaps not for a while. I think I might like the movie better on repeat viewing, but I think with the liberal blood flow, I might be good not to see it again for a while. All in all, the movie was a bloody good time, and I think it will be an Oscar contender, at least in the technical awards, in the very near future.