Dark Shadows (2012)
Why do I do this to myself? The omens were clear when dragging my weary old bones over to the cinema that this was a vampire movie that was going to suck, and it was going to suck almost as badly as that pathetic pun. This augury was evident in the blatantly unfunny, CGI embalmed trailer for Dark Shadows, the latest tirade of the tiresome triumvirate* of Johnny Depp, Tim Burton and shivery composer Danny Elfman whose more recent collaborations have not wierded well, yet I still devoted two hours of my inexorably declining presence in this realm to this movie – what the hell was I thinking? Well, truth be told I am aiming to get as much use out of my Cineworld card as I can at the moment whilst I’m in-between assignments, I was at something of a loose end on Friday and a modicum of exercise can only help my recovery, and most importantly I haven’t actually given Burton the benefit of the doubt cinema visit wise since his Planet Of The Apes remake failure back in 2001. Say what you will of his recent output and believe me I will, but Burton is a talented designer and his films are usually a pleasure to imbibe from at least a visual perspective, his skills at conjuring an eerie, gothic cinemaspace through which his outcasts and outsiders travail their manifest destinies are second to none, even if he seems to be working on autopilot these days whilst churning out ‘Burtonesque’ pieces on a conveyor belt of commercially endorsed quirk. His latest film is a necrotic valentine to a beloved TV series he leeched as a child, the strange sounding gothic soap opera Dark Shadows which ran during the mid-sixties to the early seventies, here’s a quick peek at the original to whet your appetite;
Compare and contrast with the trailer which I’ve posted at the foot of the review and I think we can detest detect a slight change in tone and atmosphere. So Johnny Depp is Barnabos Collins, a somewhat eccentric Nosferatu who has been entombed for two hundred years in the Maine coastal town of Collinwood, named after his capricious family whose pilgrim forebears established the hamlet with the wealth of their fishing empire. Barnabos was cursed to his undead limbo after he spurned the advances of sultry witch Angelique Bouchard (Eva Geen) in favour of the chaste charms of relative newcomer Bella Heathcote in the role of Josette DuPres, an enchanted paramour who leaps to her death under Bouchard’s orders onto the windswept rocks of Collinwood in the films fairly promising prologue. Now pay attention because here comes the comedy premise, we cut to 1972 and the young Victoria Winters – Heathcote again so I think you can see where this is going – is en-route to Collinwood to take up a job as a nanny to the family whose fortunes have waned over the centuries, their mansion decayed to an echoing husk and the descendants a mere shadow of their ancestors eminence. The current matriarch Elizabeth (Michelle Pfeiffer) is struggling with the families declining fortunes and is plagued by the strange demeanour of her impudent daughter Carolyn (Chloë Moretz who compounds her poor presence in Hugo) and son David (Gulliver McGrath) for whom she has retained the erratic services of headshrinker Dr. Julia Hoffman (Helena Bonham Carter), because clearly this is the planet’s only destitute family that can afford a live-in psychiatrist. The arrival of Victoria coincides with the exhumation of Barnabos by a rather unlucky construction crew, entombed in a coffin for two centuries he sates his thirst and retires to the family domicile, vowing to return his dynasty to their long eclipsed prestige, and maybe his feminine nemesis may have also cheated the icy clasp of the reaper as well…
Now first things first, I am not a fan of the original TV series and it pains me to admit this as a self championed spooky genre expert, but I’d never even heard of Dark Shadows until this film was announced. That’s quite a confession but what can I say, it simply was never mentioned in the numerous horror media textbooks I collected and read as a kid when of course the likes of the other US TV genre brushing fare such as The Addams Family, The Munsters, Night Gallery, The Outer Limits, The Twilight Zone etc. all got their column inches and in most cases airings on terrestrial UK television. My point is that I have no stake to grind, there are no fond memories of the show shrouded in a misty nostalgic bliss, I went into this with an open chest cavity and a vain hope that Burton would be able to wield some of the old magic that graced many of his earlier efforts, before his movies got lacquered in that glossy, syrupy finish that has embalmed all the fun, originality and grotesque charm out of his effigies. We can consider that flickering candle of hope well and truly extinguished, as Dark Shadows is a toothless, neutered corpse of a film which could have been shot on the moon for all the atmosphere it contains.
What in the nine hells has happened to the man who made the delicious Beetlejuice, a genuinely resuscitating, stitchmarked assembly blend of macabre humor and eccentric ghouls, alas there’s not a shroud of that entertainment in this visually sumptuous but exceptionally expensive folly. The problems are multiple, to begin with Victoria Winter is initially set up as a main character of the film – and evidently Christina Ricci’s agent needs exorcising since she should have been a shoo-in for the part – whom is sidelined for the rest of the film in favour of Depp’s maudlin mugging , a mistake which evaporates any sense of urgency or potential catharsis for Barnabos or his families central fate. Scene after scene hangs lifeless on-screen like the grim portraits that litter the Collinwood mansion, two-dimensional, haughty and stuffed with their own smug satisfaction. But the final nail in the coffin is the ultimate damnation – it simply isn’t funny which is kind of a problem for a purported gothic comedy, not even the rather weak premise of a culture clash between an eighteenth century hellion transported to a twentieth century environment provokes as much as a wry smile. There is not one, I repeat not one, single, solitary laugh to be had in the entire two-hour picture, and if you don’t believe me then ask the few dozen or so people I saw it with who retained a mortuary level of silence throughout this unholy communion, apart from the chap who started snoring behind me around about halfway through it’s insipid run-time – alas no I’m not making this up.
Any residual affection that Depp generated throughout his sterling work in the nineties is now fully eroded after this horror and the aquatic monstrosities of the Pirates franchise, doesn’t he even read his scripts anymore? Anyone who has actually seen The Tourist would have to conclude not. His prancing and preening Barnabos is a gluttonous embarrassment and he needs a sabbatical amongst the likes of Jim Jarmusch, a Von Trier or even a Haneke to cleanse his soul, he’s been typewriting it in for far too long now and I’m not even talking about the disappointments of The Rum Diary. Eva Green vamps it up as best she can given the limited material, I’m a big fan of her icy charms but she’s not the worlds finest actress, in fact none of the cast distinguish themselves in any way, shape or form, and not even the likes of a Christopher Lee cameo – and I love Chris Lee – can salvage this baroque squib. Why does Tim Burton keep making the same god-damn movie? At the risk of repeating myself yet again, it’s a crying shame that anyone who can craft such a unique, unadulterated, perfect paen to cinema and the artistic impulse in Ed Wood can go on to utterly squander his talents on remake after ‘re-imagining’, I must confess to being shocked at the performance of Alice In Wonderland, pushing aside my reservations it was staggeringly lucrative as the tenth eleventh highest box office movie of all time, and with all this clout and commercial freedom what does Burton do? He remakes old TV series and his next project is a remake of his student film? This truly makes me gloomy. The movies finale which has no build up or sense of anticipation does slightly raise the hackles in terms of a lightning strobed pulse of excitement, not dissimilar to the frantic deflibration of a corpse the more I think of it, but we’ve kinda seen this before in the climax of Death Becomes Her twenty years ago, thus Dark Shadows is one film that needs to be dismissed back from whence it came, and the celluloid salted to be sure that it never rises again;
*Apologies, it appears I’m still writing like a 1970’s Marvel comic book author, I thought I got this out of system with The Avengers review.
Dark Shadows (2012) Trailer
Yes, I know this trailer has been out for a while now but like a wobbly tooth it continues to irritate me, and I need to get something off my chest;
I think this trailer pretty much encapsulates Tim Burton’s disappointing career to date. For the first half it’s a visually seductive, arresting vision that appeals to the genre connoisseur, a nefarious melange of mystery and gloomy gothic idiosyncracies, infused with a genuine affection with the outsider, the outcast and the worlds they occupy. Then the alleged quirky humor kicks in – we can roughly parse this to 2001 in his career – and it all goes to pieces with groan inducing mugging from his usual repertoire of A-List ‘freaks’, soaked in the utility of unearned camera flourishes and a prancing Danny Elfman soundtrack which is indistinguishable from the last choir led aural assault, all centred on a corporate mandated version of ‘dark’ and ‘quirky’ which is about as interesting or edgy as a Disneyland park ride based on the Manson slayings. I’m reminded of the observation that Depp and Burton really need to be split up like unruly, disruptive school children and sent to different ends of the classroom and forced to engage with other kids until they can learn to behave properly. Quite how an immensely talented director can go from producing absolute gems such as Edward Scissorhands and Ed Wood to remake after retrofit after re-imagining is a cautionary tale for the business, although I guess the enormous box office receipts he has generated over the past decade puts me on the wrong side of history…
The Imaginarium of Doctor Parnassus
I like how the posters for the film are in no way appealing to the Harry Potter crowd eh? Heath Ledgers final film got a preview at the wonderful Curzon Mayfair last week, as you’d expect with these things London based Terry Gilliam was on hand to provide a typically ebullient and enthusiastic Q&A after the screening, a session that was immensely more entertaining than this sorry mis-fire of a movie. Yes, it pains me to say it but this is one 
of those Gilliam projects where his fevered imagination has been permitted to spin out of control, there are moments and sequences to admire in ‘Parnassus’ but ultimately it’s an unwiedly, amorphous blob of a film. When a film featuring Tom Waits as the devil fails to arrest your attention, to project any sense of presence beyond its wild imagery then you’re in trouble.
The plot is perhaps one of Gilliams most fantastical and that’s saying something. Doctor Parnassus (Christopher Plummer) is a mysterious magi who sold his soul some 1,000 years ago to the devil in return for 
immortal life and his magical mirror – the Imaginarium – which leads patrons into an alternate dimensional representation of their dreams and desires, a hallucinatory experience that transforms their lives forever. Parnassus travels the world with his fanciful band of outcasts including his 16-year-old daughter Valentina (model Lily Coles screen debut), clown Anton (Andrew Garfield) and vertically challenged Percy (Verne Troyer). The rogues stumble across a body hanging from London Bridge, the white suited and mysterious Tony (Heath Ledger) who soon falls under the spell of the travelling lifestyle whilst secretly harbouring a dark past. Parnassus is in trouble as his contract with Satan is due to expire in three days, the price of which will be the immortal soul of his daughter unless he can best the devil in a competition to save five mortal souls in his Imaginarium, subjects that old nick will be tempting to the dark side with promises of their darkest desires against Parnassus celebrations of human life and hope.
First things first – I was in a foul mood when I saw the film, a mood not exactly assisted by the horrendous downpour that I endured to get over to Mayfair and this of course has coloured my opinion of the movie. If you’re in the mood to wallow in a visual spectacle, something like a recent Tim Burton movie say, at the expense of all other considerations then this is worth a cinema visit. If you’re looking for anything approaching a coherent story and plot, a satisfactory conclusion to a tale well told then you’d best look elsewhere. It’s another paean to Gilliam’s beloved notion of the transformative power of the imagination to bring light and joy to the world, a noble sentiment to be sure but all Gilliam has constructed is a big, empty soufflé of a movie which while visually sumptuous is hollow and un-nourishing. When asked what mythological and legendary ideas Gilliam bought to the film during the Q&A his answer was quite revealing – all of them. He has thrown in unused and half-baked ideas from his previous realised and unrealised movies and the subsequent effect is alienating. There’s a shard of Faust in there of course with the contract, a sprinkling of Biblical elements and as pointed out by another questioner the finale is reminiscent of the climax of ‘Les Miserables’ -it’s a blend which is more confusing than compulsive.
The trailer has done a great job of selling the movie as a sprawling, visual epic when in fact the project is much more restricted and modest on screen, Imaginarium sequences excepted. I was pleased to see various London locations (including a fairground scene that was shot directly opposite my current office location on the Southbank between City Hall and Tower Bridge) emerge as I wasn’t aware the film was set here, as well as the convenience of his home town Gilliam chose London due to its immense sense of history and antiquity, as explained during the Q&A ‘you can turn a street on Soho or the outskirts of the City and be transported back to the 16th century, it’s so textured and steeped in layers of time..’ which nailed one of the reasons why I love living here. During the fantasy sequences Gilliam’s enormous imagination is allowed to run riot which naturally leads to the best and most memorable scenes in the movie, there is a very pythonesque tone to the proceedings with enormous stone effigies of talking policeman erupting from the ground, psychedelic landscapes of diamond encrusted shoes, elongated and ludicrously proportioned landscapes all assaulting your cerebellum.
And so finally to the substitution of Jude Law, Colin Farrell and Johnny Depp for the deceased Heath Ledger whose untimely death almost sabotaged the entire project. They all serve their purpose, given the confusion that runs rampant throughout proceedings by this point in the film it’s not too hard to accept such a potentially fatal leap of imagination. Fortunately most of the material shot of Heath in the ‘real’ world was completed prior to his death which almost conveniently left his friends to step in for the fantasy sequences alone where the surrogancy is digestible, the performers only mildy winking to the audience with a few well timed lines that reference the films wider production difficulties. Gilliam revealed how Tom Cruise no less had been in touch to express an interest in stepping in as well, an offer Gilliam immediately rejected as he wanted performers who knew and were friendly with Heath as they would simultaneously be able to mirror some of his mannerisms and body language as well as providing an appropriate tribute to their sorely missed friend. Thus Gilliam becomes one of the only film-makers on the planet who has turned Tom Cruise down for a part. Despite my reservations I do hope the film is succesful and pillages the pocket money of the Potter brigade so Gilliam can support his next project, it certainly has the best commercial possibilities of anything he’s made for years. A hesitant good luck to him.
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