.: Roberts' Reviews - Movie Reviews :.

In none other than a Tim Burton film will you see a man sing a love song to a razor blade. And certainly only in a Tim Burton film will you see a love scene as morbid, yet strangely touching as the one that ends his newest film Sweeney Todd: The Demon Barber of Fleet Street. Burton's films, if nothing else, certainly have little in the way of inhibition. Yes, Sweeney Todd is a wicked little musical: it is dark, disturbing, graphically violent, and grotesque. It has moving and catchy songs, is morbidly funny, and, in its own sick little way, is kind of enduringly sweet. I suppose one could say that it inhabits a paradox of sorts: how can a film be so dark and so violent, yet so lively and enjoyable? Then again, that's half its charm.

I'm singing high praise of Tim Burton here, but it hasn't always been that way. I belong to a seemingly marginal minority of people who have always held Burton at arms length, looking upon his work with admiration, while rarely ever liking a single thing he has done. He's a unique and singular talent to be sure, but his ambition constantly seems to be outreaching his grasp. Even Fellini's most audacious and extravagant works had the feeling of physical human beauty and yearning underneath the bombast. Burton however, is all flash and broad brushstrokes; a brilliant stylist who lacks the focus of a great storyteller.
That is why it is particularity remarkable that Burton has delivered exactly the film that Stephen Sondheim's famous Broadway musical deserves. It's a masterpiece of tone and set decoration, of make-up and special effects. It creates a dark and bloody world for its loveably eccentric characters, and never abandons its bizarre vision or loosens its grip around the edges. When the last scene comes, which may be the most gorily sweet love to ever have entered into a mainstream theatre, we applaud Burton for not, if you'll excuse my pun, dulling the razors.

If the movie were all flash, it would be vile and contemptible, but because Burton loves these characters, looks upon them with both pathos and good humour, and brings out their humanity (if you can call it that) through the staging of Sondheim's songs, the film has a certain poignant beauty. The last scene is not a senseless bloodbath but a touching portrait of love lost, found, and, well, lost once more. It may be bleak, but it's exactly the kind of scene that these characters deserve. To stage conventional love scenes would undermine the film's effect and the character's dignity; here Burton is following his story's logic right to its bloody end. It's a rewarding quality to see filmmakers willing to push possible boundaries of good taste in order to tell a story the way it deserves to be told.

The story revolves around the title character Sweeney Todd (Johnny Depp), a twisted, bitter, emotionless barber who shares the same hairstylist as Edward Scissorhands and the same fashion consultant as Beetlejuice. Sweeney was once a happy man with a beautiful wife and a newborn daughter, but was then imprisoned on false charges by the scheming Judge Turpin (the devilishly droll Alan Rickman) who plans to court Todd's wife and adopt his daughter. Now out of prison, Todd has grown pale and cold, his hair travelling across his scalp in any direction it pleases, one strip of white at the front, showing the wear he has endured over the years. Looking upon a monochrome London with a cold, heartless gaze, Todd returns to his home on Fleet Street, hoping to exact his revenge.

His shop has been taken over by Mrs. Lovett (Burton's wonderful wife Helena Bonham Carter), who bakes the worst meat pies in London. There's a funny scene in which we see what's in the meat pies, and an even funnier, more shocking revelation when we learn of Mrs. Lovett's plans on how to both dispose of the bodies of Todd's victims while also making her meat pies edible.

It's easy to see why Burton would be drawn to Sweeney Todd (which he claims is his favourite musical). Todd embodies, in a form clearer and better drawn than it ever has been before, the archetypical Burton anti-hero. Burton is attracted to characters that are deformed by their own grotesque natures. They are loners who have been cast out of society, isolating them with only their loneliness and resentment from being denied its love. In this sense, Todd is no different in theory from other famous Burton icons like Beettlejuice, Edward Scissorhands, Ed Wood, The Headless Horseman, Willy Wonka or Batman's arch nemesis the Penguin. What separates Todd from the rest of this motley crew (with the exception of Ed Wood) is that he is not a caricature, created from a twisted vision for our own entertainment; a strange being in a strange world. He is instead a strange being in a world of human cruelty. That's a poignant emotional contrast that is often the essential missing element in much of Burton's work. I'm glad that, at long last, he has finally found it.