Stunningly sumptuous staging, breathtakingly beguiling bloodthirst, compelling characterisation, beautifully black...
Mrs Bonham-Carter's production of Sweeney Todd is about as perfect a rendering of this bastion of Broadway that anyone could ask for. Even the warbling imperfections of Johnny D's singing voice and piercing shrill of Helena are folded so beautifully into the texture of their characters and the mis-en-scene that to Lindsay-fi them would have been criminal.
But the problem still remains that this is a musical. And the time it takes to get to the point in musicals is so fucking arduous. The spoken parts of the film romp along at a crackingly engaging pace. Then someone starts to trill and the whole thing grinds to a halt. A colourful and well-montage'd halt, but grinding nonetheless. For the time it takes porcelin-boy Anthony to warble to us the extent of his love for the comatose Johanna he could have robbed a guv'ner, hired a hit and disposed of her protector the Judge. Get on with it!
Admittedly I've never been a fan of that particular sub-plot. Altogether to much waving of silk handkerchiefs and sterile indignity for my liking. The grot and grime of the Sweeney/Lovett mess is much more compelling.
Then there is Timmy B's casting. Brilliant on paper, but on screen... If you cast Johnny Depp as your money man - the living definition of ridiculous bone structure - for the love of God don't put Helena Bonham-Carter opposite him. It looked the whole movie like they were going to have each other's eyes out with their cheek bones. Then Jamie Campbell Bower as Antony looks as though he's taken one of Todd's blades to his jowls in an effort to mirror Depp's face-scape. Despite the colour and flourish and swell of the production, at times all I could do was stare in disbelief at the miracles of genetics in front of me.
Does that make it a good movie? No. But it doesn't make it a bad one either... Just one in which the big punches connected from unexpected places.
Mrs Bonham-Carter's production of Sweeney Todd is about as perfect a rendering of this bastion of Broadway that anyone could ask for. Even the warbling imperfections of Johnny D's singing voice and piercing shrill of Helena are folded so beautifully into the texture of their characters and the mis-en-scene that to Lindsay-fi them would have been criminal.
But the problem still remains that this is a musical. And the time it takes to get to the point in musicals is so fucking arduous. The spoken parts of the film romp along at a crackingly engaging pace. Then someone starts to trill and the whole thing grinds to a halt. A colourful and well-montage'd halt, but grinding nonetheless. For the time it takes porcelin-boy Anthony to warble to us the extent of his love for the comatose Johanna he could have robbed a guv'ner, hired a hit and disposed of her protector the Judge. Get on with it!
Admittedly I've never been a fan of that particular sub-plot. Altogether to much waving of silk handkerchiefs and sterile indignity for my liking. The grot and grime of the Sweeney/Lovett mess is much more compelling.
Then there is Timmy B's casting. Brilliant on paper, but on screen... If you cast Johnny Depp as your money man - the living definition of ridiculous bone structure - for the love of God don't put Helena Bonham-Carter opposite him. It looked the whole movie like they were going to have each other's eyes out with their cheek bones. Then Jamie Campbell Bower as Antony looks as though he's taken one of Todd's blades to his jowls in an effort to mirror Depp's face-scape. Despite the colour and flourish and swell of the production, at times all I could do was stare in disbelief at the miracles of genetics in front of me.
Does that make it a good movie? No. But it doesn't make it a bad one either... Just one in which the big punches connected from unexpected places.
No comments:
Post a Comment