I had never seen any production of Sweeney Todd before going into Tim Burton's typically pale-faced and exaggerated stylistic take on the material, so I wasn't sure exactly what to expect other than the much-ballyhooed gore. I hadn't really imagined an operatic musical without any catchy tunes, much less one that is as utterly dark as Sweeney Todd: The Demon Barber of Fleet Street turned out to be. The Best Picture chatter is a bit overdone, but it's a very interesting and unique piece of work that puts standard musical conventions in a tailspin.
In fact, the standard leads - the lovestruck young underdog and his beautiful young muse in need of rescue - are relegated to the sideshow while the central drama of the tragic figure Benjamin Barker (Johnny Depp) takes center stage. It seems the unassuming barber found himself suddenly abused and imprisoned by the power of the corrupt, affluent Judge Turpin (Alan Rickman, the best villain ever for anything) who used the harshest methods available to him to steal away Barker's wife and daughter. Fifteen years later, Barker is no more, and the evil-eyed Sweeney Todd returns in his stead, bent on bloody vengeance. With the help of Mrs. Lovett (Helena Bonham Carter), a bosomy lovestruck chef whose bakery resides beneath Todd's re-opened barbershop of doom, a cottage industry is forged wherein dastardly upper-crust criminals are killed and fed to the average blokes as meat pies. The poor serve the rich in life, and the rich serve the poor in death.
So it's certainly not Enchanted. It's highly compelling for such sick and twisted protagonists whose murder spree is almost an afterthought to them. Lovett is quietly pining for a weirdly happy family with Todd, who is entirely swallowed by his quest and doesn't even particularly wish to reunite with his daughter Johanna (Jayne Wisener), the aforementioned beautiful, imperiled muse.
The trouble arises where everyone has expected the trouble to arise with this movie - the casting of non-singers in roles that require them to be operatic. Strong voices are required on the stage, but film does have the advantage of surround sound, so no one has to play to the back row. Thus, it's easy to understand why Burton took this risk. The central question remains, though - can great actors act their way through songs they can't sing? Depp, of course, can pull it off. His voice notably lacks the power, but his eyes and movements balance out his weakness. Carter, on the other hand, has such a weak voice that it's distracting, to the detriment of the film. Rickman, who has an incredibly unique speaking voice, proves that he couldn't change the sound his throat makes if he tried. Not only did his "American accent" (or for that matter, his German accent) in Die Hard not sound any different, but even his singing voice sounds exactly like his speaking voice. It's surreal.
The fact that the film succeeds regardless of these drawbacks is due to its director managing to organize the mess into a work of art. Burton's typical style, while somewhat repetitive if one looks at his résumé, serves this story so perfectly that it buoys the film against being bogged down by iffy vocal work. Dark, grimy, foggy old London should be the setting of very Burton film. Every shot is not only full of things to catch the eye, but they are also, without question, something to see.
It's not the best picture of the year, but it should certainly be nominated for Best Director. If not, then there's a hole in the world like a great black pit and it’s filled with people who are filled with shit, and the vermin of the world inhabit it. Either that, or they'll hold the fact that he cast non-singers in singing roles against him. Not every risk pays off.
