Tim Burton and Johnny Depp should always be allowed to play with sharp objects, a principle introduced in “Edward Scissorhands,” extended in “Sleepy Hollow,” and confirmed with “Sweeney Todd: The Demon Barber of Fleet Street,” a gothic version of the famed stage musical.
In retrospect, it had to be this way: Burton was born to direct the screen adaptation of Stephen Sondheim’s bloody tale. And Depp was destined to add this vengeful barber to his gallery of grotesques.
Set in 19th century London, “Sweeney Todd” sings a story of murder most foul, if sometimes tasty. The barber, re-naming himself Sweeney Todd, has returned to the city after being falsely imprisoned for 20 years by an evil judge (Alan Rickman), who also stole his pure, innocent wife.
Taken in by London’s worst pie-maker, Mrs. Lovett (Helena Bonham Carter), Sweeney Todd reunites with his old razors and sets up barbering again. But his real plan is to shave off the head of his nemesis.
Burton holds little back in visualizing this story. Everything is dank and dark (even the romantic leads have hollows under their eyes), the blood flows freely, and the prospect of filling Mrs. Lovett’s meat pies with a cannibalistic alternative is treated with, uh, relish.
Sondheim’s songs dominate the storytelling, with screenwriter John Logan’s dialogue discreetly and amusingly filling in the gaps. Burton and Logan have streamlined the stage show, cutting songs and shortening them, but unless you’ve memorized the score you probably won’t feel anything lacking.
Well, correction: You might miss first-rate singing voices. Depp does strong work despite not really being a singer; he knows how to get inside the songs and not strain for effect. Helena Bonham Carter (Burton’s partner in whatever constitutes “real life” for them) looks incredible, although she can’t really hit the notes with any authority, and somehow the role seems to need a bigger, louder performer.
The younger players all have the facial strangeness that makes them perfect for Burton’s world: Jayne Wisener as Sweeney’s long-lost daughter, Jamie Campbell Bower as her determined suitor, and Ed Saunders as a Cockney lad.
And then there’s Sacha Baron Cohen, of “Borat” fame, injecting some much-needed broad comedy as Pirelli, a rival barber and huckster. He’s a stitch.
To be honest, I’m not sure Burton completely solves the age-old problem of adapting stage material to film; despite the imagination on view, the proceedings still come to a halt at various times so people can stand and sing.
In one crucial way Burton gets it exactly right: the shift in tone from operetta to brutal violence. Viewers who enjoy the campy aspects of Burton’s style will find their laughs sticking in their throats when the blood begins spraying, and Sweeney’s trap door will remove any doubts about the bloody business at hand. There must have been a temptation to brighten Sondheim’s dark vision for a popular movie. But this one’s on the dark side.
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