Cineplexus

Sweeney Todd ★★★★

I'll be honest. I struggled a bit with rating Sweeney Todd: Demon Barber of Fleet Street. Perhaps it's a testament to my descent into total critical mindset, because while I loved Sweeney Todd, during the film I was keenly aware of how singularly affected it was. Therefore, I deliver my 4 of 5 stars with a short set of qualifiers:

1. Don't see this movie if musicals make you want to puke.

2. Don't see this movie if blood and knives make you want to puke.

3. DEFINITELY don't see this movie if the dramatic visual stylizations of Tim Burton stir up a desire within you to...well...puke.

That ought to do it. Why the warnings? Quite simply, Sweeney Todd is a masterwork in each of the rarely-merging worlds of showtunes, gore-fests, and Scissorhands-level Burtonica. (Just for fun, see this one with the idea that Sweeney Todd is Edward Scissorhands' great-grandfather...it's seriously not a stretch.)

With under-eye circles and pale skin that would make Jack Skellington jealous, the cast of Tim Burton's latest film aptly embody what might be musical theater's most macabre work. One can't underplay the importance of Steven Sondheim's original product, but Burton's broad and creepy tendencies highlight the show's manic ethos as if they'd written it together. On stage, Sweeney Todd is dark; here, it's an honest-to-goodness horror movie.

If you're not familiar with the musical, be prepared for a weird one. If you know the original, just imagine everything darkly intensified, as if a flashlight had been placed under the show's chin. This provides an even greater contrast with the film's many comic moments (Sacha Baron Cohen is hilarious, but even his character is a child-beater and a criminal). The black humor of "A Little Priest," in which Todd and his new partner Mrs. Lovett (Helena Bonham-Carter, of course) sing about potentially eating the people they see outside, only enhances the creepiness of what's occurring.

Those who want someone to relate to in their movies might struggle with this one, as pretty much everyone is evil, crazy, or both. Alan Rickman as Judge Turpin makes you want to pee your pants without lifting a finger, and Timothy Spall as the Beadle might actually make you want to puke, despite all my warnings. Only the orphan boy in the film (Ed Sanders, quite a little soprano) is truly loveable, and even he makes you a bit nervous from time to time.

No one gets away without his or her comeuppance, so to speak, so your stomach will likely settle before too long. But perhaps I should offer one final warning, just to be safe: for God's sake, before and after this one, steer clear of any and all meat pies.

Once ★★★★

(Orginally reviewed June 2007)
d. John Carney.

The movie musical. It is a creature that I've always loved, but whether it's a stalwart classic (The Sound of Music) or a daring rock opera (Tommy), musicals always have one thing in common: when the characters' mouths open and that first song starts coming out, your brain has to high-tail itself to fantasy land, or you'll never be able to get over how bizarre the prospect of a singing, dancing, Universe really is. One might say it's Hollywood's oldest magic spell: an entire genre that viewers flock to not just in spite of its impossibility, but because of it.

Hollywood, it would seem, has never met the director, cast, and crew of Once.

From main character's first street performance as the movie opens to the magical recording session that is the movie's climax, not a note of Once's music - which incidentally, is truly stunning - seems impossible or ingenuous. It might be a cinematic miracle.

Spanning the first few days after its two main characters meet, the film watches an unnamed man and woman in Dublin, Ireland as they begin to unlock one another's immense potential. The pair is played by real-life friends and musicians Glen Hansard (of Irish band The Frames) and Markéta Irglová, and is done so with an unassuming simplicity that is nearly impossible for professional actors to achieve.

The story of Once's protagonists is at once simple and complex. Their romance is ambiguous, their careers are mundane (he's a vacuum repairman at his father's shop, she does odd jobs). They meet in the simplest way possible, when she sees him singing and playing his guitar for passing change on the street. Underneath every conversation and situation the film depicts, however, looms a fuzzy pathos that is never quite spelled out by either character. Never, that is, except in song. It sounds cheesy, but seriously, it is really, really not.

It is difficult to explain the sensation that came over me when I realized how good this music really was, but I can tell you exactly at what point it hit me. When the woman reveals to the man that she plays the piano, she entices him to join her at a local music shop where she is allowed to practice on the instruments on display. After quickly showing her the basic melody of a song he's written, the two start playing and singing together. It is nothing short of tearjerking. In fact, even as I write this, all I can think about is going back to the theater so I can experience the moment again. As the film goes on, we have the delightful experience of watching the faces of several other listeners who are experiencing this same realization, that this music is mindbendingly good. In the lyrics and chords is the story of two people's desperation and pain, but neither character will reveal this acute angst in any way other than music. In real life, I might find that unhealhty, but as an audience member, I'm pretty pleased with this arrangement.

There are elements of Once that are confusing and maybe a bit frustrating. Nothing is black and white, nowhere the characters go is particularly thrilling, and sometimes we're not totally sure why they're their. The hand-held camera is sometimes jerky or sporadic. But all of these things add up to a movie that is not just the most realistic musical ever, but possibly the most realistic love story ever filmed. Really, what in life is black and white? What relationship isn't ambiguous? In real life, there's no such thing as a happy ending, because the only ending we get is the Big One. It's crazy, but by breaking every rule in the cinematic playbook, Once is able to say much more about life and love than any amount of narration, budget, or big-name talent in recent memory has been able to.

Watch out, Hollywood. Your magic spell might be losing its effect.