Last night Tori and I went to see Sweeney Todd at the Ziegfield, the biggest “movie-house”-type theater in NY. Tori believes, and I concur, that all musicals should be seen here, and to be sure, we were in our element. Even the trailer for Mamma Mia (which looks like awesomely cheesy fun) drew hoots and cheers from most of those around us. As for the movie—I loved it. I don’t know how else to put it. I was completely, ecstatically riveted right from the gorgeously thundering opening sequence. I went in with some trepidation—Sondheim is my favorite composer (by a mile) and Sweeney is my favorite of all, so I *really* didn’t want to see a bad movie version. Also, I’m usually disappointed by filmed musicals—I think so much of the power of a great musical is dependent upon the collective energy of the performers and the audience. And I’m bored with watching famous actors try to sing scores that are beyond them, when I know how many lesser-known performers can both act AND sing beautifully.
That said, the singing in Sweeney isn’t great, but it worked for me anyway (with one major exception, which I’ll get to in a minute). Johnny Depp brought such intensity to his vocals that it was almost beside the point that they were a bit thin and harsh. The characters with the “pretty” songs (Johanna and Anthony) had voices to match, but were duller than dirt, making grateful for the grittier performances, warts and all.
Which brings me to Helena Bonham Carter…first off, she’s a weak singer. But worse was that, she was a *dull* singer—a wispy voice with no power behind it, totally ill-suited for Mrs. Lovett, the least wispy character I can imagine. She’s also far too young and beautiful. And yet, I think I liked her performance overall. A lot. She’s the first Lovett I’ve seen who seemed truly affected by Toby, and by having to sacrifice him for Todd—including Toby in her “By The Sea” fantasies was a lovely touch. I’ve never felt anything close to sympathy for her before, and it added a nice layer here.
Johnny Depp, however, was perfect in nearly every way. I loved his ability to shift so effortlessly from snarling rage to melancholy vulnerability, I loved the ferocity with which he tore into his songs, I loved his physicality as he prowled like a caged animal. My only quibble was his humorlessness, which ruined “A Little Priest” for me—at this point, I prefer to have Todd showing some manic glee in his planning. The way it was played here, with Todd dourly making jokes he didn’t even seem to be aware of, didn’t work for me at all.
I liked Alan Rickman’s Judge Turpin quite a bit—just the right combination of sicko-sadist and pathetic old man—but was distracted by Timothy Spall as Beadle Bamford. It was just too over-the-top and Igor-ish for me, and it didn’t meld with the rest of the movie.
But the real revelation was Sacha Baron Cohen as Senor Pirelli, a character I find incredibly tiresome onstage. Baron Cohen was amazing—hilarious when it was called for, and convincingly creepy and threatening when he switched gears. He also had a fine singing voice (at least, what could be found in his greatly abbreviated song).
I could go on and on, scene by scene, but I’ll spare you. I am just so thrilled and relieved that the combination of Sondheim and Tim Burton was as magical as I was almost afraid to hope it would be.
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