I suppose most of us know something of the story of Sweeney Todd, the demon barber of Fleet Street. I believe he shows up in James Joyce's "Finnegans Wake" as Swiney Todt. But I'm not sure that most of the youngsters of today, share less of our common data base, so I'd better spell it out. Sweeney Todd back in the mid-19th century was a barber who slaughtered some of his customers and gave them to the woman next door who chopped the cadavers into mincemeat and baked them into pies, sold at a penny apiece.
If Charles Dickens has had more of a taste for the macabre instead of just the Micawber, he might have written this. It has all the elements of early Victorian drama. There's the penniless boy from the poor house, apprenticed unwillingly to the most loathsome master any young lad ever had with the exception of a malignant boatswain's mate I once had the misfortune to serve under. Well, never mind that. There are greedy entrepreneurs, shady business dealings, blackmail, conflict with social classes, a horde of riches and the constant threat of abject poverty. Tell me that's not Dickensian.
Todd has a strange relationship with the bakery woman next door. He slips her the meat, the cadavers, through a secret passageway in the basement. They always seem at odd with each other, mostly over splitting up the profits, but then she's jealous as well because Todd is courting the daughter of a rich man that he's somehow got in his thrall.
To be brief, one of his intended customers escapes at the last minute and returns later to the barber shop where Sweeney Todd is poetically disposed of. There's no throat cutting and no blood.
Other commenters have shown a familiarity with the narrative's history and the people involved in the production, but I know nothing about either. As a thriller or melodrama, it's kneecapped by its production values. It looks almost like a staged play. The acting of the central figure, Todd Slaughter, is so outrageous this if it were meant as a joke it almost succeeds. He looks and sounds a little like Stanley Holloway gone bad. He fawns over his victims before dumping them unceremoniously into the cellar. When he's not being overly deferential, he cackles like a cartoon maniac and rubs his palms together. He wigs out merely in contemplation of his evil deeds.
There are some attempts at humor, mostly grisly. A handful of men stand around at the end, wondering what Todd did with his victims, while one of them munches on a mincemeat pie. And Todd advises his customers that he's going to do a nice job of "polishing them off." There is an "African scene" in which the natives -- genuine blacks -- have been directed to jabber in their "native language" by chanting "la la la la la" out of sync with each other. I could probably pull the movie's entire budget from my wallet if I could afford a wallet.
If Charles Dickens has had more of a taste for the macabre instead of just the Micawber, he might have written this. It has all the elements of early Victorian drama. There's the penniless boy from the poor house, apprenticed unwillingly to the most loathsome master any young lad ever had with the exception of a malignant boatswain's mate I once had the misfortune to serve under. Well, never mind that. There are greedy entrepreneurs, shady business dealings, blackmail, conflict with social classes, a horde of riches and the constant threat of abject poverty. Tell me that's not Dickensian.
Todd has a strange relationship with the bakery woman next door. He slips her the meat, the cadavers, through a secret passageway in the basement. They always seem at odd with each other, mostly over splitting up the profits, but then she's jealous as well because Todd is courting the daughter of a rich man that he's somehow got in his thrall.
To be brief, one of his intended customers escapes at the last minute and returns later to the barber shop where Sweeney Todd is poetically disposed of. There's no throat cutting and no blood.
Other commenters have shown a familiarity with the narrative's history and the people involved in the production, but I know nothing about either. As a thriller or melodrama, it's kneecapped by its production values. It looks almost like a staged play. The acting of the central figure, Todd Slaughter, is so outrageous this if it were meant as a joke it almost succeeds. He looks and sounds a little like Stanley Holloway gone bad. He fawns over his victims before dumping them unceremoniously into the cellar. When he's not being overly deferential, he cackles like a cartoon maniac and rubs his palms together. He wigs out merely in contemplation of his evil deeds.
There are some attempts at humor, mostly grisly. A handful of men stand around at the end, wondering what Todd did with his victims, while one of them munches on a mincemeat pie. And Todd advises his customers that he's going to do a nice job of "polishing them off." There is an "African scene" in which the natives -- genuine blacks -- have been directed to jabber in their "native language" by chanting "la la la la la" out of sync with each other. I could probably pull the movie's entire budget from my wallet if I could afford a wallet.