Dark Shadows (Tim Burton)

Barnabas Collins.

If ever their continuous trio efforts have thought Johnny Depp, Tim Burton and Helena Bonham Carter anything, then maybe it is the reality that film collaborations can only last so much, quality-wise, if every new film they create won't end up to be more disappointing than the previous one. With the exception of the very good "Sweeney Todd: The Demon Barber of Fleet Street", the triumvirate has but recycled their seemingly manufactured comic sensibilities and staple gothic cum fantastical imagery to suit up and take on one project after another. Their previous film, the disappointing "Alice in Wonderland" proved that they are slowly running out of steam, and now, here in "Dark Shadows", a cinematic retelling of a classic '60s/early '70's TV series, they have presented quite an alarming fact that they just may need to take some time off and part artistic ways. Well, temporarily, at least.

Tim Burton, one of the most reliable filmmakers of our time in terms of gothic storytelling, especially with some added bits of deadpan humor that he can only call his own, is slowly becoming a passively commercial one. Although I have to say that there are still hints of faded greatness in "Dark Shadows", especially on how the film has introduced itself, it lacks emotion, a sense of purpose, and a pure narrative, with the latter being the thing that I question most about the film.

Yes, it's quite interesting to see how Tim Burton would interpret a TV series that has been aged by time, but then there's the thing we call a 'smoothly-told story', an aspect which, as we all know, is a staple Burton strength but has strangely gone AWOL here in "Dark Shadows". With a beautiful cinematography and set designs that have perfectly captured the atmosphere of the 70's which reminds me a lot of Hitchcock's "The Birds" (I know, it's a 1963 film, but still), all we need that can really put this film's engines into a creative high is a story that will be compelling and, at least, involving enough for 120 minutes or so.

Mentioning the introduction again, as we see Barnabas Collins (Johnny Depp) slowly transform from a mild-mannered heir to the Collins family business and fortune to a blood-thirsty vampire as a result of a curse, "Dark Shadows" has finely highlighted the classic elements of a great Burton film: A timeless and emotionally-charged gothic tale, some quirkily strange characters and a twisted take on history.

But as it proceeds to the narrative proper, which suddenly brings Barnabas and an old (and evil) flame in the guise of the beautiful Angelique Bouchard (Eva Green), both of whom have lived their mortal lives in the 18th century, into the 1970s, its middle part has somehow begun to dwell on nothing really important or integral to the story at hand. Some pointlessly brief 'blink or you'll miss it' comedic scenes from Depp's character, various beating around the bushes here, some '70s musical references there, and an awkwardly aggressive sex scene. It's as if the film's introduction and climax (specifically the last 5 minutes or so) are the only ones that are worthy of Burton while the whole segment in the middle are nothing but bitter-tasting nails that have sealed shut any traces of potential. Well, why bother to feed us frustratingly rusty nails when it could have been more than gracious, umm, cinematic pastries (or any, say, figuratively scrumptious cinematic delicacies. Well this is getting awkward) of some specific kind that "Dark Shadows" could have offered.

Also, what's with the whole fish-canning business rivalry that Barnabas and Angelique have ignited in the 1970s timeline? Maybe it's a thing of faithfulness to the original TV series, maybe it has worked before in the small screens because TV shows have better chances for stretched-out narratives, but for a film that can only tell a story within a limited time frame, it's just so hard to buy.

So, as what the film has suggested, if your cursed ex-darling has suddenly returned within your reach, a man which you have both despised and so passionately loved at the same time, the first thing you are going to offer him is a mutual business concession? Wait, isn't this supposed to be a fine semi-comic film about immortality, blood-drenched vendetta and vampires? And where are the emotions that have supported the film's opening scenes very well?

"Dark Shadows", instead of carrying the cult TV series in its shoulders to bring it into the high heavens of the big screens, has sadly succumbed to a lazy story and deficient character development. Great example: just look at how poorly handled the revelation about Chloe Moretz's character was?

While directing "Dark Shadows", Tim Burton should have retained within his line of thinking that what they're doing is a 2-hour film, not a long-running, 30-minute a week, boob tube show that can certainly afford a bush-beating or two; could have saved the story. But then again, maybe he did, and it's really the screenwriting department that is particularly at fault here.

The performances, however good they are, particularly those by Eva Green, Michelle Pfeiffer and even Jackie Earle Haley have been rendered quite pointless because of the film's strained storytelling. While Johnny Depp, well, what would you expect? Depp is his typical self here, which is not a bad thing, but perhaps a bit too 'typical' and a bit too 'himself'.

Started up like "Sweeney Todd: The Demon Barber of Fleet Street" and ended like "Edward Scissorhands", both of which are Tim Burton and Johnny Depp's prime works as creative collaborators, "Dark Shadows" ended up as a cluttered proof of what may appear as an artistic exhaustion on their part as far as actor-director partnerships are concerned. Add up Helena Bonham Carter in the mix and you got a panting little film begging for its creators to have some break.

FINAL RATING

Stardust (Matthew Vaughn)

Tristan and Yvaine.

"My dear, I will give you everything, even the stars, just for the sake of our love". From that romantically far-fetched a line that is oh so abstract a thought and all too hyperbolic a statement begins the startlingly original adventure of "Stardust", a film adaptation of the Neil Gaiman graphic novel of the same name that vibrantly tells of magical realms and transcendent love that may initially look as if we've seen it all before, but with a comedic execution that makes it seem fresher and genuinely a notch more enjoyable than any films of the fantasy genre had ever been.

It's like Tim Burton's fantastically twisted vision merged with bits of Monty Python and some conventional fairy tale staples. As the film starts, with that deep-voiced narration by Ian Mckellen, "Stardust" created a distinct universe of myths and magic with eager flamboyance and familiarity, visually decreasing the sense of otherworldly surprise (that is clearly present in "The Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe" via the wardrobe and in "Alice in Wonderland" via the rabbit hole) and minimizing the line that separates the human world from those of flying vessels and ambitious witches.

But this time, there's no spells to cast or tornadoes to be felt just to enter the land of whatever, but merely a wall to cross secured by a not so quick-witted a guard. Now there's Stormhold for you.

Matthew Vaughn, who previously directed the great "Layer Cake", captured the essence of the said parallel universe without any foreboding of age-long reign of darkness a la Sauron or suggestions of full-fledged random craziness a la Lewis Carroll. It walks along the fantasy land with Shakesperean opportunism (as to how the film has portrayed the ambition of power by means of the King's (the legendary Peter O'Toole) sons' struggle to possess the ruby that is the affirming object of kingship) and the commonly grim characterization of witches who want nothing but eternal youth and beauty.

They can separately try to get what they want and get done with it, right? Without getting on each others' nerves and may even inhabit two different films to isolate their goals, isn't it? But as it unfolds (effortlessly that is, thanks to Gaiman's source material), their goals manifest in the guise of Yvaine (played by Claire Danes), a fallen star that is as knowledgeable as she is clueless. But wait, there also enters our alliterated hero Tristan Thorn (played by Charlie Cox) who, based on the opening line of this film review, also strives to capture Yvaine and bring her to his true love as a romantic gift. And just like that, "Stardust", with a relentless but wholesome narrative pulse and high doses of magically bizarre slapstick, begins its rat race for a star that, in some ways, resembles that in "Maltese Falcon".

Now, if there's something I'll definitely remember in the whole film, it will be the 'characters' themselves and no, it's not Yvaine and Tristan. Michelle Pfeiffer and Robert De Niro, who gave unforgettably comic, over-the-top performances as Lamia the witch and Captain Shakespeare respectively, provide the sideshows that paint the world of Stormhold with contrastingly two-sided hues of eccentricity. With Claire Danes and Charlie Cox in the lead roles whose star powers and on-screen charisma (but based on what I've seen in the film, there's not much to scrutinize in their performances and formed chemistry) still isn't particularly tested that may also potentially give its studio a clunker of a film, veterans Pfeiffer and De Niro lend their shoulders for a share of the burden and oh what a support it was. "Stardust" just isn't the same without the presence of Pfeiffer's vain witch and De Niro's closeted pirate.

Add up Mark Strong, whose villainous roles in films bring him closer and closer on the verge of type-casting, portrays the sole-surviving prince Septimus (among his seven brothers) with that kind of vilely murderous instinct unforgettably displayed by Macbeth minus the downward spiraling insanity. Yeah, at first, I was quite unimpressed. Another antagonistic one for Mr. Strong, indeed. But all throughout his portrayal of the said character, one can sense his 'tongue-in-cheek' intent.

He bullies, brutalizes and kills anyone on-sight who hinders him in his goal for Yvaine and her ruby necklace. He renders anyone not on his side dead or dying, but he's deadpan in what he does. In this Septimus role, "Stardust" has immensely succeeded with its darkly comic tone. With the film being a fantasy picture, with such heavyweights as the "Harry Potter" and "Lord of the Rings" films serving as the genre's flag carriers, "Stardust" may have used some ideas that can easily be branded as repetitions.

But to what it is particularly disadvantaged, it makes up for its perfect approach for comedy. And to where it may look cliched (specifically in its magical and romantic elements), it makes up for its uniquely conveyed gallery of characters. "Stardust" is a beautiful, sometimes softly tender, sometimes ruggedly fast-paced and grotesquely overwhelming fantasy film that has achieved to leave a mark in such a conceptually-loaded genre.

By observation, after I watch some fantasy movies, there's always this recurring feeling of wonderment and awe mainly because of the visuals and nothing more. But after watching "Stardust", of course there's still the same feeling, but with a delightful smirk traced upon my face.

"My dear, I will give you everything, even the stars, just for the sake of our love". If that rings true to the one who promised the words and a place such as Stormhold a thing of reality, there will surely be a hundredfold of star-chasing adventures here and there. Yeah, right.

FINAL RATING

The Age of Innocence (Martin Scorsese)

two people consuming the fruits of forbidden love.

Film Review Archive (date seen: January 4, 2011)

Once again, Scorsese leads us through places almost bound with secrecy, wrapped in customs, littered with hidden scandals, and the people that inhabits them whose mastery of conversations, socialization, and even dining were too great in its artificiality that they almost looked like performance acts. No, it's not the Italian-flavored crimeland we're talking about here, but 19th century New York where high society dwells on everything material and excessive, where moral righteousness is not a code to follow but more of a trend to fashionably don.

At first, I had doubts if Scorsese's known visual compositions really belong to such a type of film set in an era of restraint and conservatism. But with his combination of attention to details and an inclined exploratory viewpoint of the social class' amoral gutters amidst its elegant vanity, he used a distinct style (at times, darkening everything on screen but a smooth-edged circle to contain the main subjects, or even letting a character face the camera and speak of a potentially saddening letter with great joy and eagerness) to really fit the film's grasp of irony. Those who accuse Daniel Day-Lewis as a scenery-chewing hack will be utterly disproved in his performance in this film, using the fine attitudes of an obligatory gentleman to depict the numbered movements of an 1870's society male while maintaining his attachment with controlled subtlety. With this type of acting approach, Day-Lewis has able to internalize and show on screen his character Newland Archer's episodic implosions about his clamor for freeing himself from the bondage of his class' norms about love.

Though "The Age of Innocence" had its moments of beautifying high society's excessive lifestyles, Martin Scorsese and Edith Wharton's novel (from which the film was adapted) have successfully portrayed an escapist love surrounded by eyes of the self-righteous ones, the impossibility of its fruition, and the beauty of its acceptance. Living the life of grandeur may be like lying in a bed of roses, but the occasional thorns sure do hurt.

FINAL RATING