Fury (2014)

Score: 4.5 / 5

Fury is brutal. It's now one of my favorite war movies -- ranking behind Kathryn Bigelow's The Hurt Locker (2008) and Zero Dark Thirty (2012) and Steven Spielberg's Saving Private Ryan (1998)-- but I don't know how many times I'll watch it again. Writer/director David Ayer has crafted a compact, concentrated, and complex vision of war as hell that left me reeling and, yes, weeping.

Our battle-scarred heroes are at the forefront of the final stage of World War II, pushing into the heart of battle-scarred Nazi Germany in their battle-scarred tank, named Fury. Like their tank, the five-man crew has to act in perfect tandem or risk injury, death, and -- more important for them -- defeat. Passing through enthusiasm and honor to isolation, desperation, and horror, the men are forced to eventually make a last stand (literally at a crossroads) against a small army of Nazi elites. This story is not for the faint of heart.

Brad Pitt's performance as the leader of our team is really solid. It wasn't the best I've seen from him, but he carries the film with a risky and successful war-hardened stoicism. His character, however, is wildly interesting, as in one scene he shoots an unarmed prisoner in the back, in one he protects two German women from his own men. He also acts as brother and father to his team, drinking with them and breaking in the fearful, idealistic new member. His crew consists of admirable actors Jon Bernthal (The Walking Dead) and Michael Pena (End of Watch, Gracepoint) in strong performances, and Pitt takes his orders from an understated and haunted Jason Isaacs (The Patriot, Harry Potter).

The real acting gems in this movie are in Logan Lerman and Shia LaBeouf. Lerman (Percy Jackson, The Perks of Being a Wallflower) -- the young, recently enlisted typist -- can't fulfill his role as gunner due to his idealistic innocence. Pitt literally forces him to shoot a Nazi prisoner, and Lerman's arc from miserable disillusionment to the hero of the film is the stuff of aged veterans. LaBeouf (Nymphomaniac, Disturbia) plays the chief gunner and spiritual counsel to the group, and frankly his tears brought mine every time. Well-meaning but spiritually tortured, his Bible-quoting rhythms and compassionate emoting brought a much-needed sense of humanity to the film. I strongly recommend you see this movie simply for his performance, if nothing else. Which is saying a lot, because the claustrophobic atmosphere brings these five men together with remarkable homosocial honesty and emotional vulnerability.

In our world of role-playing, first-person, over-simplified, graphically violent war games, my favorite thing about Fury is that it never once feels simple, computer-generated, or remotely machismo in its approach to the subject matter. Ayer eyes most of the rubble-strewn, muddy landscape in grayscale, and heavily dirties every prop, costume, and actor's face. He also surprises us with unexpected and shocking violence, as we see bayonets through eyes, bodies under tank treads, and legs blown apart. We even see images so subtle but profound that they enhance our horror beyond the gore, including a refugee still wearing her wedding dress, and an older woman cutting meat from a dead horse. Against the tactile grit of Fury's images plays Steven Price's (Gravity) gorgeous score, featuring a men's chorus in spine-tingling efficacy.

IMDb: Fury

Dracula Untold (2014)

Score: 3 / 5

Dracula Untold is a prime example of a film that is mislabeled, released at the wrong time, and that carries unfortunate baggage with it. If you think it's a Halloween scare-fest, a Gothic romance, or even remotely like anything associated with the Dracula story ever, you're in for disappointment.

Yet it's an interesting concept and a decent (if familiar) story. A re-imagining of a generic vampire myth (that only happens to carry the name Dracula), it feels like anything but a vampire movie. It's not really a romance -- even remotely erotic -- and it's not really horror, though there are a few moments of sentiment and violence. It's essentially an action movie about an archaic antihero who has to navigate his duty to himself, his family, and his kingdom in the face of a cruel higher power. In fact, it often feels like Stephen Sommers's (also re-imagined) Mummy franchise in its focus on action and a creature that casually uses supernatural powers; it does not, however, share Mummy's wit or humor.

Luke Evans (The Raven, The Hobbit trilogy) is great as Vlad the Impaler, the brave prince of Transylvania under Turkish rule. Paternal, brooding, charismatic, and downright hot, Evans skillfully performs the rote character with heart and style. But then, I would watch him do anything. I find the film's antihero approach to the character wildly fresh, and I can't get enough of the character's "wholesome" sex appeal. That's not a very articulate way of putting it, but what I mean is that he isn't an exotic Other (Bela Lugosi), a handsome gentleman (Frank Langella), or a shape-shifting mesmerizer (Gary Oldman). He's somber, passionate, and stereotypically masculine in ways I've never seen Dracula played; he's a loving husband, a devoted father, and a sacrificial ruler. I said the film is hardly romantic, but in several ways I see the passion Evans shares with his character's son as arrestingly romantic.

This film -- and more interestingly, the title character -- wisely stays far away from an optimism all too common in other fantasy/action films (Maleficent, for example). I said earlier that it never fully feels like a vampire film, because it lacks our cultural horror of bodily fluids, foreign invasion, and sexual perversion/manipulation. Charles Dance provides the central means of bugaboo in the film, as the sorcerer/vampire living in an isolated mountain cave, and his scene with Evans is the only freaky, "normal" vampire moment in the film. Creepy, disfigured old man who shares his blood and performs arcane magic. That's normal, right? I find rather disgruntling, moreover, the suggestion that the horror (stemming from the war violence in this tale) comes from Muslim culture, as the vampiric Turkish Sultan (Dominic Cooper) demands a tribute of youth to serve in his army. Vlad, the quasi-Christian prince who speaks with a British accent, sells his soul to Satan to stop the Sultan, who speaks with a more exotic accent which sounds weirdly like Bela Lugosi's Dracula accent. Rather than, like in Francis Ford Coppola's version of the story, attempting to bridge the gap between foreign and domestic or Christian and Other, Dracula Untold is a very deeply Christian tale that not-so-subtly pits itself against Islam.

Though its plot is similar to many up-beat, mainstream action films, the film's aesthetic thrives in heavily textured darkness. First-time feature film director Gary Shore leaves a lot of room for special effects that don't always work, but he does find occasionally nice visuals. He and cinematographer John Schwartzman (Pearl Harbor, The Amazing Spider-Man, Saving Mr. Banks) especially succeed with effective lighting, notably in Dracula's final fight with the Turkish Sultan. My favorite technical aspect of the film is its costumes, designed by Ngila Dickson (The Lord of the Rings trilogy, Blood Diamond); the armor Evans wears is just fabulous.

The film arguably has a happy ending, but it's also pretty dark, so I'll leave that one up to you. Besides a few funky plot holes and too-familiar melodramatic turns, Dracula Untold is a fully functioning dark fantasy and a serviceable supernatural action picture. Overall, it's an entertaining hour-and-a-half to be sure, but it is not, sadly, particularly memorable.

IMDb: Dracula Untold

The Judge (2014)

Score: 4 / 5

It's been several years since Robert Downey, Jr., seriously performed a serious character. His role in this makes up for all of it, and then some. The Judge is essentially a character study on a highly successful big-city lawyer whose personal life is disintegrating. When he returns to his childhood home to mourn his mother's passing, he becomes entrenched in a murder trial with his father as the prime suspect. Over the course of the film, he reconnects with his roots and heals his damaged relations with his family.

Robert Downey, Jr., proves to those of us who forgot that he can be a leading man. His roller coaster ride from guarded, impersonal urban workaholic to surprisingly vulnerable hometown man yearning for belonging. He has moments of his familiar, slippery humor, but he never sacrifices character or drama for it. More impressive to me is that he is a dramatic leading man in an almost entire cast of men. We don't see this very often, where a bunch of well-regarded male actors join together to create such an emotional movie about family, pride, respect, love, and reunion.

Robert Duvall plays Downey's father, the titular judge, with the gruff short-sightedness we've come to expect from him, but it effectively sets up his domestic problems the film goes on to explore. Unfortunately none of the supporting characters are given much of any dramatic arc, rather existing solely for our two leads to bounce off and develop against. More comic elements to the story are largely brought by Billy Bob Thornton, playing a dangerous prosecutor, and Dax Shepard, playing the town's up-and-coming defense attorney. Vincent D'Onofrio and Jeremy Strong play Downey's two brothers in heartwrenching portrayals of confusion, dependency, resentment, and eventually family. Several other fairly important names show up -- including Denis O'Hare, Leighton Meester, Sarah Lancaster -- but the big "third lead" as I consider her to be in this film is Vera Farmiga (Up in the Air (2009), Bates Motel), playing Downey's high school girlfriend. She is the only supporting role that has much dramatic arc, and most of it is because of the incredible work she's put into the character, not because the script allows much time for her.

It's not an original narrative, but director David Dobkin views most of it with an eye for wildly dramatic lighting and deliberate pacing. Especially engaging for me were the courtroom scenes, with such dark interior colors and stark contrast with garish light streaming through the windows. Dobkin allows for sentimentality in this picture, but he never totally gives in to it. His catches us by small surprise here and again with sharp comedy and brutal emotional revelation. Brutal, you ask? Oh yes. In one scene, Duvall falls and gets sick (presumably from his cancer treatment) and Downey helps clean him in the shower. And then, just when it's almost too much to watch, director Dobkin throws in some comedy in the form of Downey's daughter knocking on the bathroom door.

It's a charming, stylish family drama that partly takes place in a courtroom. Its familiarity and simple plot make it that much easier to project our own associations and emotional baggage onto it, and then receive a cathartic payoff before the end. Be prepared to smile, laugh, and then let the tears come.

IMDb: The Judge

Annabelle (2014)

Score: 2.5 / 5

This one is a bit of a mess. Produced by James Wan (creator of Saw and Insidious), Annabelle advertises itself as a prequel/spin-off of The Conjuring (2013), focused on the eponymous doll briefly featured in that film. If you don't like creepy dolls this is definitely not the film for you, but this is also not Chucky. In fact, my primary problem with this film is that it can't quite decide what it wants to be: possession, home invasion, satanic panic, or haunting. I'm all for complicating genre boundaries, but this just gets confusing. And it seems that director John R. Leonetti views each "type" of horror with a different aesthetic approach, which makes the film inconsistent. I would say that the film's heart lies with a paranoia of the suburban occult, and in this it succeeds over other recent attempts like this year's Devil's Due or Paranormal Activity: The Marked Ones.

Annabelle is mostly full of jump-scares; unless you're scared of hideous porcelain and lace, this one won't keep you up at night. It's a little too familiar, a little too predictable, and a little too relaxed to keep you on the edge of your seat, either. A lazy mixture of Rosemary's Baby (1968) and Child's Play (1988), the filmmakers toss in a little classic haunted house to try and buttress the scary elements, because they know the rest of the film is so weak. Even though it may be the best Satanic panic film in a while, it's also the only one we've seen in some time, and it doesn't really stick to that plot. Cheap scares and poor special effects with little real grasp of the potentially horrific elements makes a disappointingly chilly (but still rather entertaining) Halloween treat.

That's not to say there aren't good moments. Actors Annabelle Wallis and Ward Horton acceptably play the lead married couple, and stole my sympathies if not my strict attention. Tony Amendola plays an unfortunately shallow priest who only serves as a poor plot device reminiscent of The Amityville Horror (1979). Alfre Woodard steals the acting spotlight as the friendly mentor/neighbor. Her character embodies the central "lesson" of the film -- praising a sacrificial mother -- which is surprisingly fresh, I think, in the genre, though it isn't particularly strong in context of this movie.

Leonetti occasionally scores well with his visuals and atmosphere, though they never seems to last long. My favorite scene takes place in the basement, as the panicking mother hallucinates and frantically tries to escape a materialized demon in an elevator that suddenly breaks down. Another good scene takes place near the beginning as an insane couple murder two people, break into our protagonists' house, and attempt more murder. One image that actually did remain in my mind as I turned out the lights last night was one of the titular doll levitating off the floor in veiled light through the window; as it rises, we see a demon's face leering out of the darkness behind it in an image similar to one in Insidious (2010). The film has a number of these little memorable moments, which I think makes it worth a watch on the small screen.

IMDb: Annabelle

Gone Girl (2014)

Score: 5 / 5

After seeing the trailer for this movie, I was expecting a crime mystery and a courtroom drama, much like A Cry in the Dark; the material made me wonder if moments would feel like Taken (2008) or its ilk. I had no idea, however, that it would ultimately feel like Fatal Attraction (1987), and leave me gasping for air. David Fincher's newest thriller Gone Girl is unquestionably one of the most intense dramas I've ever seen. I gasped aloud several times -- which I don't normally do in cinemas -- not because anything leaps out at us, but because it takes us on such a violent roller coaster of emotional connections and clues to its mystery.

Fincher, who notoriously calculates every facet of his films better than his crew, seems a perfect fit for Gillian Flynn's incredible script. Her tight, provocative dialogue and genius pacing paired with his control of atmosphere and tension make this film immeasurably rich. Morbidly funny and mordantly acerbic, this film had me giggling and gasping in places I neither predicted nor particularly wanted to. Fincher and Flynn navigate the thick, heavy plot with grace and style, breaking free of chronological storytelling to present us with a thematic and logistical maze. At each turn, they challenge us to declare our sympathies and allegiances before lifting the veil on our worst fears. Add the fierce talents of his actors, and this film is endlessly watchable, if you have the stomach for it.

Rosamund Pike releases a tempest of strength in this powerhouse role. She turns from fearful victim to brilliant villain, beautiful trophy to ravenous monster, in intimately nuanced moments. Ben Affleck dominates in a role that demands -- indeed, works partly because of -- his stony visage and faraway gaze, and he gives it to us with emotional complexity and guarded virility. Neil Patrick Harris matches their energy and skill (though, sadly, not their screen time) with horrific exactitude and chilling eroticism that I've never seen from him before. And Tyler Perry (whom, I confess, I've never bothered to watch act before) presents us with disguised flair in a very funny and surprisingly direct performance as Affleck's character's attorney.

I want to take some time to talk about the film's horrific themes, though, and how they manifest particularly in the titular character. Amy Dunne (Rosamund Pike), as the title explicitly implies, is our damsel in distress. She is also (SPOILER ALERT) a psychotic murderer and conniving "bitch", as she is called several times. Some have accused this film of promoting a misogynist agenda, largely because Amy is both so stereotypically female and so monstrous. She's skinny, white, blonde, and wealthy; she's artistic, domestic, and narcissistic; she's clever, manipulative, nagging, and cold. She uses especially female concerns to attack the men around her: She accuses an ex of rape, she seduces a man to harvest his sperm and kill him, and she seeks pregnancy to keep her husband bound to her.

The argument that villainous female characters are harmful to feminist art doesn't hold much water, because many people find villains intriguing (think of the recent spike in "antiheroes" in mainstream media, such as Breaking Bad and House of Cards). And consider the psychological attention filmmakers give to "bad bitches" in even more controversial films such as Fatal Attraction (1987) and Basic Instinct (1992), or even in Medea and Macbeth. Even these "evil" portrayals are arguably progressive because, in showing that villainy is gender-blind, they level the playing field. That's all a conversation for another time, but my point is that the labelling of Amy as a misogynistic image of woman is dangerously shallow. But analyzing her stereotype-laden character is wildly provocative.

I have a theory that makes this complex discussion even more mesmerizing. Several elements of the film suggest that it could be viewed as satire. Nick Dunne (Ben Affleck) is as stereotypically male as Amy is female. Their archetypal union in marriage is also all too familiar. The darkly comic humor in their failing marriage and past family drama reveals a thread of biting bitterness that the graceful film broadly and suspiciously tries to gloss over. Bizarre comedy and extravagantly overwrought character tropes -- in the tried-and-true, sensitive, capable hands of both Fincher and Flynn -- suggest to me that there is a lot more going on beyond the otherwise offensively straightforward images of this film.

However, one problem remains in my estimation. Rape still seems to be largely taboo in mainstream media, and when portrayed is often simplified as a straightforward plot device. We don't often see women making false rape claims in films -- which unfortunately and damagingly happens in real life, let's not forget -- but Gone Girl surprisingly puts a stake in it. And, to my endless confusion, the woman who makes this false rape claim is a psychotic, manipulative "bitch" who seeks to ruin and kill the men in her life. I don't know that our culture needs a high-profile example of a sexual woman who uses a rape claim as a legally unquestioned weapon to punish men (for a crime, the film pointedly points out, as mean as losing sexual interest in the woman and disliking her gifts of neckties). Not to mention that the man who supposedly raped her is cast with a slight, anything-but-physically-dominant man; the implication, of course, is that an apparently weak man wouldn't rape a woman (laughably inaccurate), and now said man is sympathetic (more so when we think of his unfair punishment by a government that protects the villain) and the woman is comparatively more wicked (in part because her virulent sexuality has successfully emasculated her former partner).

As you can tell, I'm of two minds on this, and I'm actually okay with that. I think David Fincher wants us to be blown away by how complicated and subversive his new film is. In conclusion, I loved Gone Girl. And my lasting impression is that this is one of the most complex meditations on gender roles that I've ever seen. Its implications are not remotely clear-cut, and should inspire a lot of valuable discussion about feminism, marriage, misogyny, mental disorders, art, violence, and the media.

IMDb: Gone Girl

The Rite (2011)

Score: 4 / 5

This is a prime example of a film that doesn't quite fulfill genre expectations, and so was rather underrated. The title most explicitly refers to the Catholic rite of exorcism, which the film prominently features. It also, however, refers to the central narrative of the film, which is its protagonist's rite of passage; whether into the clergy, manhood, or his own faith is up for discussion. The demonic possession elements of the story -- as well as some expected bugaboo moments -- certainly make this a horror film, but it's not particularly scary. I think that's why it never got much buzz. Its drama, however, is pretty solid, and plenty of skill went into crafting this picture.

The story spins intriguingly off a typical exorcism plotline in that our protagonist is a skeptic. The somewhat resentful son of a religious mortician, Michael Kovak (Once Upon a Time's Colin O'Donoghue) attends seminary intending to rescind his vows upon graduating to earn a free degree. His mentor, Father Matthew (Toby Jones), sees his calm and control in the face of violence and death, and sends him to Rome to become an exorcist under his friend Father Xavier (Ciaran Hinds). Unable to sate Michael's curiosity and skepticism, Xavier sends Michael to learn from Father Lucas (Anthony Hopkins), whose "unorthodox" methods apparently work.

Other elements to the film fit the genre a little too well, unfortunately. Michael's possessed case study -- the pregnant teenager Rosaria -- was raped by her father, supposedly inviting the demonic infestation. Another boy tended to by Father Lucas has been abused, possibly by his mother. But just when we expect the film to follow a rote pattern of sex/age/gender-based possessions, director Mikael Hafstrom and writer Michael Petroni (The Book Thief (2013), The Voyage of the Dawn Treader (2010)) turn the tables. The climax of the film occurs when Father Lucas, vulnerable from doubt and grief, becomes host to a demon, and Michael must perform the exorcism himself.

The dialogue in this film occasionally feels too quotable -- a little too heightened to be taken seriously -- but it also works. I think it works because the story itself is also a bit surreal. Thanks to cinematographer Ben Davis (Guardians of the Galaxy, The Best Exotic Marigold Hotel), the still, wide camera shots, varied colors, and beautiful lighting give the film a dreamy quality that brings the heightened script into balance. Alex Heffes's (The Last King of Scotland (2006), Red Riding Hood (2011)) lovely score similarly could be a little overwrought if the other technical elements were not slightly exaggerated. Director Hafstrom skillfully balances all these aspects while controlling the film with consistent pace, gentle style, and unrelenting tension. He recycles motifs, colors, and images with remarkable attention and perseverance, and its end result is one of a very specific exorcism movie that feels like few others.

Hopkins rules the screen with yet another portrayal of an isolated, frighteningly intelligent man with hell in his brain. I don't deny that he plays villainy better than most could ever hope to, but I do tire of seeing him cast as the crazed old man. To his credit, however, he does find fresh ways to scare us each time. Of course Ciaran Hinds and Toby Jones are fabulous as mentoring priests, though their roles are rather brief. The unsung hero of the film is Colin O'Donoghue, in what I believe is his first (and only?) major starring role in a feature film. His nuanced performance features layers of complexity and intelligence -- which says a lot when by day he fights demons and by night traverses disorienting hallucinations -- until he finally rises from tortured confusion to righteous triumph.

I sometimes think down on this film because it essentially reinforces a male-dominant narrative of returning to faith and the Christian tradition. That, and it does largely ignore the reality of mental illness and the importance of psychiatric attention in possession cases. But as I watch it again, I am reminded that the film does not give in to sentimentality or mindless Christian propaganda. It smartly and subtly weaves its way to a religious conclusion, and I can't fault it for that. If you're going to make an explicitly religious movie about turning to that religious tradition, this is the way to do it.

IMDb: The Rite

The Drop (2014)

Score: 4 / 5

This one took me completely by surprise. I had no idea what I was walking into, and I had no idea who director Michael R. Roskam is. I knew that it is James Gandolfini's final feature film appearance and that it is a crime drama; after seeing A Walk Among the Tombstones, I expected something similar. Each features cold, rough exteriors with cold, rough characters, and each threatens violence far more than showing it. While the chilling, dreamlike atmosphere and simmering tension of both films feel alike, this one disturbed me far more.

A main reason I so liked The Drop is because the whole film is about the two very different sides to its central character, Bob the bartender (Tom Hardy). Bob is a quiet, hardworking, isolated man in Brooklyn who tirelessly works for his cousin, the bar's owner Marv (James Gandolfini). The bar, much like our protagonist, operates on two levels, the lesser-known being "the drop" where the mob collects money. My biggest complaint about the film is that the gangsters are foreign (Chechen, if memory serves), but then again, none of the characters are really "good guys", so take it as you will. Marv stages a robbery at his own bar which triggers an increasingly violent string of events with the mob, culminating in Marv's death. I find that the "crime" aspect of this film isn't its strong suit; without the film's drama, the crime plot is vague and therefore dull.

Early on, Bob finds an injured pit bull puppy abandoned in a trash can. The owner of the house, Nadia (Noomi Rapace), helps Bob nurse it back to health. Their relationship -- which never really comes to fruition, thankfully -- becomes fraught when Eric Deeds starts stalking Bob and Nadia. Deeds previously dated Nadia, and was the abusive owner of the injured pit bull; he demands money of Bob and attempts to make violent claims on Nadia. But gentle and kind Bob, whom Marv warns us not to underestimate, puts an end to Deeds' sadistic overtures in the film's riveting climax.

The performers are all spot-on. Rapace skillfully holds her own as both wounded and tough, and Gandolfini lords over the proceedings as both paternal and desperate. Even the secondary players are really solid, notably Matthias Schoenaerts (playing Eric Deeds) and John Ortiz (playing Detective Torres). But Tom Hardy is the shocking hero of this film, and not just the plot. His performance singly makes this film worth the watch (which is saying a lot, because Roskam's direction, the set design, and cinematography are all enchanting). His chameleon voice takes yet another surprising turn with a deliciously gruff Brooklyn accent, and he internalizes his character so much that I quickly forgot that Bob wasn't a real person. Hardy's every moment on screen is electrifying, with innumerable emotional beats during each faraway gaze and impeccably specific introverted mannerisms. And before the end, we see that the mild-mannered hunk is also the smartest character we've seen in a recent crime drama: Bob allows himself to be underestimated advantageously, and we see Bob the puppy become Bob the vicious pit bull and back again in the blink of an eye.

IMDb: The Drop

Sweeney Todd (2007)

Score: 2.5 / 5

I'm going to admit my bias right away: I hate this film. As a fan of the stage musical, I can't say that Tim Burton's adaptation is even representative of Sondheim and Wheeler's work. But, as I have said before -- and to avoid hypocrisy -- I hope here to objectively view the 2007 film on its own merits and not by comparing it to incomparable media (a book or stage show), and certainly not by comparing it to my expectations of what the film should be. Shall we stroll down Fleet Street together, then? Tuck in, lads.

Since the film is a musical, let's start with the adapted score. The instrumental theme thunderously succeeds, raucously inviting us into a hellish 1846 London. Other slightly tweaked moments, such as Judge Turpin's masquerade ball, sound beautiful and rich onscreen. I find unbalanced, however, the rousing orchestrations and the singers. None of the vocalists (with the exception of young Ed Sanders) are powerful singers, and their voices don't quite fit the operatic scope of the music. Rather, many of the songs are performed clipped and conversational, as if they were stylized dialogue; this would work for "The Worst Pies in London", but not necessarily for "Wait", for example.

Though the singing doesn't always match the score, it arguably does match the style. Tim Burton typically heavily relies on stylized costumes, lighting, acting, camerawork, and visual effects to achieve a specific impression for an audience, and Sweeney Todd is no exception. In fact, his devotion to thick atmosphere, dark wit, and caustic theatricality is admirable and makes this film notably compelling. I find his weighty style in this film a tad damaging, because it occasionally works against the story; he highlights spectacle, which feels redundant since the material is already so spectacular. By the end, it feels so unrealistic that I have little interest in any of the characters or their problems. A big reason for this is Burton's focus on splatter. The deaths of the characters are icky and fun but also distancing. Sometimes this works -- a combination of giggling and shrieking that comes from complementary nastiness -- but when splashed across an otherwise grim and brooding world, I have a hard time accepting any seriousness in the tale.

Pardon a little lecture: Musicals are a lot like Shakespeare. In Shakespeare's plays, there are precious few stage directions, but as scholars will tell you, almost all the dialogue implies some amount of stage direction if you know the signs. Similarly, musicals (more specifically, the music and lyric of musicals) imply a lot of stylistic and acting advice. Having seen this film, I'm not sure Tim Burton or Johnny Depp (among others, no doubt) understand how to "do" a musical, because they ignore a lot of potentially effective moments, while rendering others redundant or oxymoronic. Consider "My Friends", which feels unnecessary because the camera repeats images that mirror (literally) the lyrics, or "The Worst Pies in London", when the editor ignores potentially comedic beats on Mrs. Lovett in favor of showing Sweeney's disgust at the pies (that she's already telling us are disgusting).

A last thought on musical productions: The great paradox of musicals is that, though "realistically" we do not break out into song and dance, in the theatre we burst out into song and the audience automatically believes us. Hopefully they believe us and empathize with us by the power of the music and our vulnerability in the moment. But in this film, I often feel distanced from the characters and the material because the singing is awkward and the style overwrought. That said, "Epiphany" has a great idea in entering Sweeney's mind as he hunts his victims. And I like the visual fantasy in "By the Sea", but its contrast to the rest of the film makes the whole movie feel just that more surreal and contrived, more like an animated picture.

Moving on to the cast. Helena Bonham Carter soars as Mrs. Lovett, and her remarkable strength in humanizing a crazed character makes up for her sometimes shaky vocals. Johnny Depp is an interesting Sweeney: He's somewhat introverted, surprisingly young (I don't believe for an instant that the apparently older Pirelli worked for him as a boy), and apparently can't sing with proper technique though his tone weirdly works in context. Depp and Carter have some nice moments together, but especially shine in "Little Priest". Ed Sanders steals the show as Toby, and his beautiful, powerhouse voice amazes me. Young boys who can sing the part are rare enough (I've seen it convincingly played as an older, handicapped boy), and it seems a little odd that a child would need a "miracle elixir" to grow hair, but Sanders nails it.

Jamie Campbell Bower's vocals are nice, but I don't particularly buy that as Antony he is an experienced sailor. His facials leave a lot to be desired; for example, he can't quite decide what to do with his eyebrows at the end of "Johanna" and I laugh aloud every time (not the proper reaction, mind). Alan Rickman is a wonderful Judge Turpin, his added dialogue is very welcome, and his vocals are a fine supplement to his character work. Timothy Spall delights as Beadle Bamford, and his awkward singing style is fortunately kept to a minimum. Sacha Baron Cohen's attempts at singing are similarly kept short, and his acting is disconnected, vague, and ultimately inconsequential.

Neither Johanna nor the Beggar Woman are given enough screen time to garner our interest, and so the potential romantic and tragic elements of the story are largely discarded. Even Sweeney occasionally loses our interest: his spoken "Forget my face" and sparing of Johanna in the final scene is laughably stupid and wildly uncharacteristic. In conclusion, I find that this film limits its revenge-narrative scope to vague social commentary, stereotype-laden tropes of mental disorders, and a reinforcement of our culture's revulsion of bodily fluids. Do yourself a favor and watch the filmed national tour, with George Hearn and Angela Lansbury, or the recent concert production with Bryn Terfel and Emma Thompson.

IMDb: Sweeney Todd, the Demon Barber of Fleet Street