Dark Shadows is the eighth collaboration between Messers Burton and Depp, but don’t expect it to be heavy on the kooky factor. The movie is actually a surprisingly restrained offering for the pair. On some level, this is no bad thing - I must confess to some relief that Burton's new movie was rather more subdued than we’ve come to expect. I’d been a mite worried that he and Depp risked major self indulgence regarding their new project, a vampire-themed comedy/horror, and was concerned that their characteristic quirkiness would tip over into self-parody. Thankfully, that wasn’t the case – their partnership remains unblemished, if not augmented by their latest release.
Depp plays Barnabus Collins, a man cursed to live as a vampire by Eva Green’s Angelique, a witch he spurned in love two hundred years ago. Buried alive since their last spat, he escapes his prison only to return to the 1970s and reunite with his dysfunctional descendants (one character, not to be named here, is revealed to be a werewolf; another sees dead people. You know the drill). On his return, he and does battle with Green’s femme fatale all over again – hoping to save the family home and business from extinction in the process. It’s a tidy enough story, with a deftly moving plot which will neither tax or bore, and there’s a very enjoyable musical montage midway through the movie. The seventies references are funny enough and the time travel element of the story proves gently entertaining – Barnabus’ first sight of a neon McDonalds sign is predictable but no less funny, and his confusion over the television (‘Reveal yourself, tiny songstress!’) also elicited some chuckles.
As you’d expect from Burton, the movie’s aesthetic is beautiful – aided in no small part by Bruno Delbonnel’s sumptuous cinematography, which calls to mind the richly hued palette he employed for Amelie. However, the film feels less recognisably Burton-esque than usual and I’ve yet to put my finger on why that is exactly. Yes, the same collection of freaks and weirdoes are assembled for our viewing delectation, ready and waiting to find somewhere they belong. Just as Edward Scissorhands was out of step with suburbia, Ed Wood with Hollywood, and Willy Wonka with grown ups, Barnabus is a man alone in the world and desperate to beat the odds. But unlike his predecessors, his character elicited less empathy or humour than I’d expected; I found myself wanting to like the character more than I really did. And whilst the fairy tale slant Burton so often gives his movies is still there, it felt a bit formulaic, perhaps because of the fact the story is a remake of a ‘60s TV show.
The marionette-like, artificial blondes are also present and correct, complete with the deathly pallor and dark rimmed eyes one comes to expect from Burton heroines. And it’s actually the female contingent of the cast who excel. Post Stardust and Hairspray, Michelle Pfeiffer has carved out an entirely new niche for herself as she enters that difficult age bracket for former Hollywood sex sirens, and is fabulous as the family’s controlling matriarch (I’m not sure many other actresses do scornful with such comedic aplomb), and Helena Bonham Carter is also great as the family’s alcoholic shrink. But it’s Eva Green’s demented witch who chews up the scenery – I didn’t know she had it in her! Green’s heaving bosom combines with rolling eyes and demonic smile to be sexy and freaky in equal measure, making her the perfect Burton woman. The men are less memorable. Depp is great, but we’ve seen him do this schtick before and his performance felt like he was going through the motions. I was also nonplussed by Johnny Lee Miller’s involvement – bland, bland, bland – a bland parody of seventies bland if you will.
I feel disloyal to Burton in writing this review, as I’ve always adored his work. Please don’t feel I totally hated the movie though – it’s a gentle enough comedy about family values (something Burton has become increasingly interested in since having kids of his own) which won’t offend anyone. It’s just not dark enough for me – either that, or I’m just too old for Burton these days, and demand more from something which has the tag ‘horror’ slapped on it. Diverting enough, but not different enough for my taste.
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