Stars:
**
Rating: R for excessive, relentless gore
Run Time: 1 hour, 56 minutes
Revenge is
a dish best served cold; exactly how I was left after watching Helena Bonham Carter
butcher a cheeky star turn in Tim Burton’s cutthroat musical based on Steven
Sondheim’s stage spectacular.
It doesn’t
help that Johnny Depp could do Todd in his sleep; the dark and edgy barber with
a thirst for the macabre is a glove-fit. Think “Edward Scissorhands”, “Sleepy
Hollow”, “Pirates of the Caribbean”, etc.
Can’t blame
Burton for this gruesome misfire -- except perhaps for casting his wife as the
female lead – his signature moves prevail and for the most part the look and
feel are deliciously off-color.
Todd,
formerly known as 19th century London nice-guy Benjamin Barker, has
revenge on the brain after the sinister Judge Turpin (Alan Rickman) imprisons
him on false charges and steals his wife and child in a vicious emotional coup.
Years later Barker returns as alter ego Todd, barber cum serial killer
extraordinaire whose hell bent on destroying Turpin and recovering the
affections of his daughter, now Turpin’s ward.
Joining forces
with Todd’s diabolical scheme is hostess with the mostess Nellie Lovett (Bonham
Carter), a trampy tavern owner renowned for her unappetizing meat pies. Ever
the resourceful businesswoman Lovett turns tragedy into big business, turning a
tidy profit by making mince-meat of Todd’s unfortunate victims and packing her
pies full of wholesome human remains. Yummy.
While Depp
and Bonham Carter fumble their way through incessant yet catchy numbers meant
for those who can carry a tune the rear is brought up by some genuine young
talent (Jayne Wisener as daughter Johanna, Jamie Campbell Bower as her love-struck
suitor Anthony and the extraordinary Edward Sanders as ragamuffin baker’s
assistant Toby) whose solid pipes only serve to exaggerate the chasm between
those who can and those who cannot.
Depp’s
brooding charisma makes up for the blunder but no such luck for Bonham Carter.
Burton’s temperamental tones and whirling cameras match the mood but he goes
overboard with a gratuitous parade of spurting slit throats and the inevitable
and relentless slide from barber’s chair to oven door.
A couple
musical numbers thrill; in particular the captivating refrain “Johanna” and
Sanders’ sweetly tempered “Not While I’m Around”. But those fleeting pleasures weren’t
enough to keep me from repeatedly checking my watch, one foot perpetually
pointed towards the exit.