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Sweeney Todd: The Demon Barber of Fleet Street (2007)
A cut below....
It is fair to say that I have been waiting for a cinematic interpretation of this most brutal and glorious of musicals for the majority of my life. For nigh on thirty years I have been enthralled by Stephen Sondheim and Hugh Wheeler's marvelous vision and have often wondered why it had yet to be tackled in a film version, especially in recent years when the musical film has had a resurgence and renovation. It was with some excitement and also some reservation, then, when I discovered that (hooray!) a film version was in the works and (Hmmm... oh dear) that it would be directed by Tim Burton and starring Johnny Depp.
Now, don't get me wrong, I have no particular loathing for either director or actor and in the past they have produced some amazing work. However, for me Burton's star is in the descendant, having not appreciated his last three live actioners and perhaps thinking he has run out of vision. Depp is a contemporary icon; a compelling and interesting actor not afraid to mix Hollywood dash with the smaller and more thoughtful. But their pairing on this project threw too many negatives up for me before I had even seen the film that have unfortunately borne relevance now that I have.
Firstly, and vitally, Johnny Depp and Helena Bonham Carter are miscast. I had my reservations over their age when they were announced and I just feel they are simply wrong for the time-line of the story. Depp looks no different in age from his 15 year incarceration except for some mad hair and a bit of pancake. "No doubt the years have changed me..." he reasons when finally confronted with the ruiner of his existence, Judge Turpin, but, no, they haven't actually.
Bonham Carter despite protesting her "limited wind" looks positively sprightly.
Alan Rickman is a good choice for the evil Judge, yet while all around him are fashioned as caricatures he looks like he is from a different film, with Vidal Sassoon fly-a-way hair and ruddy complexion. You never really get the sense that this is a depraved, nasty, vindictive man with a loose morality using the law to his own seedy, lascivious advantage.
Timothy Spall and Sacha Baron Cohen are decent in much reduced roles.
The newcomers fare better; Jamie Campbell Bower makes a fine, naive (yet somehow ambiguously sexual) Antony, and Jayne Wisener is sweet as Johanna.
Ed Sanders is too "stage school" and suffers the same as the leads by being too young. Toby is an outcast, a simpleton - the village idiot, if you will - not simply "a young boy".
In a reduced role Laura Michelle Kelly is underused.
Secondly, the direction. Tim Burton has hidden a musical in here somewhere, but you'll be hard pressed to find it. His direction and the editing leave you in no doubt that The Suits have told him to downplay it. There is no sense that Burton appreciates his source material or is even familiar with it and it becomes a film with some singing. There is no choreography between the musical pieces and the action, by which I don't mean full-out dancing (although, why not?) but at least some correlation between the score and the ensuing action. There were so may missed directorial moments, I found myself sighing audibly during potentially fantastic set pieces that never materialised. "A Little Priest" is the turning point for the whole production; the "point of no return" for the characters as Mrs Lovett devises a suitable means for disposal of Sweeney's victims. Burton shows the characters looking through their window. Thrilling! "Seems an awful waste.." she sings. I couldn't help but agree...
The singing is mediocre to say the least and most of it doesn't work. I don't care whether they can hit the notes or not, no-one is expecting Kiri Te Kanawa and Jose Carreras, but Depp and Bonham Carter fail to inject any character into their songs - their voices wet and weedy in turn. Depp goes from gruff pseudo-ominous spoken lines to singing like a novice choirboy, and Bonham Carter sounds barely interested. The transposing of Pirelli's numbers to suit Baron Cohen's lower range miss the whole point of the character completely. He's supposed to be a funny tenor. On the plus side, Jayne Wisener sings "Green Finch..." beautifully.
Also on the positive, the film looks gorgeous and 18th C London has been beautifully rendered. The condensation of the book works well and keeps the essence of the story, but it's almost as if they took too much out, whereas some judicious editing and better pacing could have fleshed the musical out more and given a sense of urgency and drama that the film as a whole sadly lacks.
Silent Hill (2006)
Silent Hill should have been a silent movie
As a player of the games on which this film is based I firstly have to say that the director and design team nailed it completely. The wide streets, the darkly lit alleyways, the backtsreet garages; ALL were there. I was in Silent Hill. Unfortunately, I was also surrounded by 2D characters, pointless plot developments and flat dialogue delivered straight out of the dubbing booth.
The film is crammed with so many of the game's references, that it's difficult not to be impressed by the visual achievement; but a film the game is not, and while it provides a 'cinematic' experience whilst playing it, to directly transfer (it seemed to me) everything, every tiny element from the game's history, opportunities for originality and dramatic tension were lost. I did find odd little touches funny - Rose wandering into dustbins and school desks; elements that players have experienced many a time, by over-running down corridors, or through deceptive spatial awareness. I admire the way the writers used elements of the game play to further the story: Sharons drawings led Rose to SHs most well known areas, the 'glint' of the special item in the janitor's throat, and Rose's memorising of the hospital map (not the right one, by the way) leading to the final denouement.
Set pieces in the film will stay with me for a long time for pure visual audacity. Much has been made of the Pyramid Head character, and the creation does not disappoint, providing two of the most memorable scenes. In fact the film is fairly unflinching in it's violence, and much like playing SH it's anyone's guess who is next to meet their maker in blood-drenched 'game-over' style. Having said that, it wasn't nearly as disturbing as I thought it was going to be, or as the games can be and sometimes I wanted it to take me a bit further into the nightmare, to really leave me with no way out.
Music from the games seemed to have been used throughout and not always successfully. One of my favourite moments is from SH3; Heather being driven home by the mysterious detective. All of a sudden this Portishead-esquire dub starts up, and we are treated to the fantastic 'Letter - from the lost days'. When the intro cranked up early into the film, I got excited, but after about 5 seconds the song was reduced to in-car radio audio and was barely heard. Oh, well.
A very interesting effort and a not entirely unsuccessful go at the genre. I think Christophe Gans should be allowed to be freed of the fans expectations, next time, and maybe create his own myths surrounding SH, whilst treating us to his unique visual style and interpretation.
We Can Be Heroes (2005)
Compellingly Awful - Awfully Funny
This series, written by Aussie stand up Chris Lilley, exemplifies the extremes of emotion that Australian writers seem to encapsulate so well: The huge lurches from comedy to tragedy, that can occur in a single sentence.
Lilley's transformation into the 5 (6 if you include the twin) different persona's all competing for the (real?) title Australian of the Year is outstanding - so much so that you almost forget you are watching made up characters with made up lives. How any of them hope to win this title is anybody's guess, being such a collection of narcissists and general hopelessly underachieving morons as they are. Only one character seems to be a person of charm; of heart; of warmth, and whilst (probably deservingly) bad things happen along the way to each, the ultimate sacrifice is reserved for the 'nicest' person.
It's only Lilleys' own distinct features that drag you back to the reality of the situation. It's worth reminding yourself, whilst watching, that it's only a show, and that Phil Olivetti (father of two - saved 9 children from a rogue bouncy castle) isn't really the most hideously embarrassing specimen of humanity that ever graced the earth, even if he is the most hideously embarrassing specimen of humanity to ever grace TV.
The whole production must really be commended for getting the Docu feel spot on. From intro music, voice over, editing style and the lack of recognisable (to this UK correspondent, anyway) background artists add to the feel. It makes you want to watch it, it makes you want to feel warm - that there are commendable qualities in these people; that they are deserving of our attention.
I'd like to see Chris take on a different set in couple of years time; to create 5 more fascinatingly horrible people for us to laugh at.
The Comeback (2005)
Phoebe is dead
I have just had the pleasure of seeing the entire season of The Comeback. I cannot believe the poor reception this series has had with the viewing public of America. The writing and performances from all concerned are outstanding. The situations are extreme, but then how many of us have the insight into the makings of a TV sitcom. Even so, it always seems believable. Kudos to Kudrow for creating one of the most likable, infuriating, delicious, yet tragic characters to grace TV for a long while. And special mention to Lance Barber for instilling Paulie G with so much venom and hatred to create one of the most loathsome. So many good moments crammed into each episode this series demands repeat viewing. I caught an ep. of Friends shortly afterwards, and could not watch Phoebe (or indeed any of the contrived, poorly scripted nonsense I had so previously enjoyed) without seeing Big Red behind the drippy one-liners. I will most definitely watch it again and again when it comes to the UK.
(To Tom Selleck on the phone: "Well, maybe I'll call you again if they decide to revive my big beaver...")
Charlie and the Chocolate Factory (2005)
Johnny Depp sounds like Michael Jackson, looks like Geena Davis
The first film to be based on the book Charlie and the Chocolate Factory lives so strong in peoples minds that comparisons are unavoidable. The book isn't actually very long, and the setting (ie The Factory) is so static that scenarios are replayed identically, but not as well.
The film is badly constructed and badly edited throughout - the whole opening sequence is cliché and uninspired. The section where the visitors first enter the factory and wander up the shrinking hallway is poorly handled. One minute they're at one end, the next by a tiny door. No middle ground. No "is this hallway getting smaller?" moment. And no-one bats an eyelid when they get there. There's a problem with people's reactions to events throughout the entire film. As the dreadful dullards get knobbled off during the factory visits, their parents appear not to care less. 'Oh dear, Augustus has just gone up a shoot, where do I fetch him?'. And zooming about in the Great Glass Elevator didn't faze the characters one bit.
The film does very little to improve on the originals visuals. I was expecting great things from Burton's factory setting, but I gasped when we eventually got there - it looked exactly the same as it did in 1971! Slightly more colourful, perhaps - but no imagination had gone into the design whatsoever. Same with the chocolate river boat ride. 5 minutes of swooshing about hither and thither will never replace the truly disturbing visuals the original enforced upon the boat occupants; especially the chicken decapitation.
Helen BC's teeth - what's that all about? The acting is uniformly bad. The kids are dreadful. There must be thousands of pretentious pre-teen moppets who could play pretentious pre-teen moppets, but the girl cast as Veruca Salt is flat and lifeless.
I liked the Oompas, and thought there songs sounded great (Dahl wrote the lyrics as part of the story, so there's really no getting away from musical numbers) except, I couldn't hear the lyrics. If you're gonna have songs, let's hear them! I couldn't believe that David Kelly (Grandpa Joe) was still alive, and I though he might peg out on screen. Thankfully (?) he wasn't given very much to do.
Can someone with a better memory for the book confirm for me that there is a soppy side story involving Willy Wonkas estranged dentist father uprooting his terraced house to the Yorkshire moors, with Charlie acting as the catalyst for their emotional (read: vomit-inducing) reunion? I just don't remember it - or else I blocked its insipidness out of my mind.
Where is the film supposed to be set? It looked like England, but there was a lot of talk of dollars, and candy and band-aids.... the generic-euro setting of the first film is much better handled.
All in all a wasted opportunity.
Melinda and Melinda (2004)
These guys wouldn't know comedy if it slapped them in the face with a wet fish!
Melinda and Melinda is a strange beast split in two. A bunch of pseudo-intellectuals gather for dinner. 2 are playwrights - one known for his comedies, the other for a more serious canon. Another dinner guest starts to recount a story he's heard about an uninvited arrival at a dinner party (there are many dinner parties in this film). The comedy writer finds the story funny; the serious bloke, serious. You get the picture. They proceed to tell the tales they imagine from their various viewpoints. We, the audience, are then presented the various musings from in their comedic and tragic form.
Plotpoints overlap and character traits are adopted, and redistributed. One constant in both tales is the uninvited guest - Melinda. Portrayed in the tragic tale as a woman on the edge, of being slightly unstable. In the other story she's just an ordinary woman with some of the characteristics to make her 'Melinda' and this is my problem with the film - there simply isn't enough differentiation between the stories.
The tragic tale is dramatic enough. Melindas past and obvious instabilities are played well by the young cast, but the alternative tale just simply isn't funny. Woody Allen seems to think that shoving a jazzy soundtrack over the top will make the action seem quirky, but it doesn't. Woody should have gone all out on this section. Rhada Mitchell hardly plays Melinda any different at all, she should have been more ditzy, the action more fast paced, more farcical. The only really laughable facet is that the protagonists in the romantic comedy portion are all middle-aged men (no, Woody doesn't star) going through their own mid-life's. Playing basketball and trying to pick up girls half their age. It will be no surprise to learn that (SPOILER) the old man gets the girl.
In fact, everyone in this movie is old. Even the young people. The dinner parties come thick and fast and are frightfully middle class. Hired pianists (the only black character), canapés, coat-check. Really, these people are barely 30. I'm sure they could still manage the odd nightclub or two.
Melinda and Melinda has some good ideas, but is poorly executed - if this is supposedly the work of two great playwrights I'd have to be stunned and forced to endure their body of work. I may also be inclined to feel the same about Woody Allens future productions.
Big Fish (2003)
Big Mole
There are many things that irritate me about this 'Forrest Gump' with arrogance, but none so much as the screen time given to Ewan McGregors mole.
I'm not a huge fan of his 'work', anyway and consider him fairly emotionless (his smile false, his tears forced) but I've always been irritated by that black as night dot on his right cheek. Why doesn't he get it removed, or cover it. To me it's as much a signature as Connery's accent, and I always fail to get round it and accept McGregors character.
In this film his mole is given higher significance and, embarrassingly, is deemed of greater importance than the films other star, Albert Finney - who, as the old McGregor, has to sport an identical mole. Same too the YOUNGER McGregor, also inflicted with the charcoal melonomus.
But to the story: (may contain SPOILER)
Like two not very good films not very well blended (some of the technical aspects and use of filters are dreadful). With a manipulative heart-tugging ending which fails to hide the fact that even if Crudups' character learns to accept his fathers truth of memory, still had a really crap childhood.
Love Actually (2003)
Really rather rubbish, actually
Half way through this collection of every Richard Curtis joke/set-up he's ever written (a quirky wedding and a funeral in the first five minutes, a female vicar, Rowan Atkinson adding nothing as usual), they play a track by Dido. And it occurred to me that this is a very 'Dido' kind of film; Bland, uninspiring, repetative; potentially interesting, but ultimately too irritating to care about.
All the characters could be played by Hugh Grant (even the female ones) and eveyone talks in dithering speeches, like the final 'I think I love you...' spiel from 'Four Weddings...'
And for a film which starts by making us contemplate, once more, the terrible events of 11th September (as we say in Britain), the ending shows a complete lack of regard for airport security!
The Shape of Things (2003)
Shapes up nicely
This had such shocking reviews in the UK I very nearly didn't see it, even though I was captivated by the trailer...
The good news is that The Shape of Things is nowhere near as bad as we have been led to believe, and infact is rather good!
Being based on a play there are few characters, few scenes, few locations, and I think it works. Rachel Weisz is intoxicating, Paul Rudd downright gorgeous, Gretchen Mol completely square and Fred Weller is incredibly annoying. But I enjoyed their static, rather wordy company and the hour and a half zipped by (Jonathon Ross claims it felt like twice as long, but then I've never thought he truly (twuly?) enjoys cinema). The acting retains it's theatricality a bit too much and is a bit over-egged, but if you've missed The Shape of Things at the pix, treat yourself to some mildly cerebral entertainment when it comes out on DVD.
In the Cut (2003)
Pulp fiction (or "If you only see one Meg Ryan masturbatory movie this year.....")
Oh deary deary me, what a waste of time. Gratuitous close ups of body parts full of life, and drained of it; irritating cinematography, the characters focused yet the edges blurred; Big red lighthouses, erections; Sharp blades on the ice-rink and on the body; It's all so sham... I mean SYMbolic.
With more red herrings than a fish market Jane Campions latest is disastrous. Not so much whodunnit, as who cares whodunnit. Bits of body are found in Meg Ryans garden, yet she'd be more upset if she ran out of condoms. Enter Detective Ruffalo (quite literally) who has a dirty mouth which Ryan thinks is sweet-talk (if she just wanted sex she could sleep with Bacon's nutter/stalker, but we're led to believe Ryan wants something more meaningful). Ryan and Ruffalo's first date is a threesome with his unhinged partner who makes some yawnsomely homophobic and mysogynistic remarks all in one breath, and Ryan picks up her dirty mac and goes off to get mugged and runover. Let's face it she was asking for it. Ruffalo likes his women bruised and ingratiates himself into Ryan's bed to graphically explain how he knows how to do what he does so well to women, in the toilet department. One can only imagine that his teacher was canine, as he proceeds to sniff Ryan's bottom. She is soon obsessed, meanwhile pushing away potentially better suitors who are all afflicted with character deficiences e.g obsession with serial killers, obsession with Ryan... No-one in Ryan's life is allowed to be normal.
Ryan pads out her blissfully romantic life by copying (badly translated)Poetry on the Underground onto a scrappy notepad and improving herself with a 'Word-a-day' calender. Did I mention she's supposed to be an English teacher? Yet the work of Dante has evaded her, and she can't even hazard a guess what the word 'disarticulate' might mean in reference to the cutting up of the aforementioned serial-killers' victims' bodies.
Oh, that's right! I forgot. This is a murder mystery, yet it's fairly easy to work out, even though everyone in New York is made out to be a suspect.
This really is the most charmless bunch of individuals ever to grace the screen. Campion, obviously upset that (producer) Nicole Kidman couldn't do it, styles Ryan to look like Kidman. Ryan, almost always naked, looks uncomfortable in her own apartment (this is not the first time she's been nude - she was topless in The Doors - all you freaks who are dribbling over the prospect can go and freezeframe that) and has a problem keeping hold of her shoes.
Shoes play an important part in Ryan's life. Flat & frumpy by day, killer heels by night - but she will keep losing one, like she has some weird Cinderella complex hoping that her Prince will come. You know those shoes you see in the street and on top of bus shelters, and you wonder where they come from? They're all Meg Ryan's.
But by far the worst performance in this film is New York itself. Dirty, grimy, sleazy as Campion tries to give us her 'Taxi Driver', her 'Mean Streets', but really only manages to deliver an explicit 'Cagney and Lacey'.