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Ithaca, 22 December 07 -- Heading into a feature film adaptation of the macabre Stephen Sondheim musical "Sweeney Todd," we have to imagine the filmmakers wondered two of the same things we did: Would Helena Bonham Carter be able to make Angela Lansbury's iconic role her own? Would Johnny Depp be able to sing? We're delighted to report the answer to both questions is "Yes."

For Bonham Carter, who's actually director Tim Burton's wife, approaching the role of Mrs. Lovett must have been quite daunting. Like Patti LuPone, who took on the role in the recent Broadway stage revival, she realized it was crucial not to try to be Angela Lansbury; there's no way that would work. I'm delighted with Bonham Carter's success in the new film. She brings a new and delicious sensuality to the character, alongside the optimistic romanticism that was always there, and her voice is up to the challenge.

Perhaps more surprising is that Depp, too, can sing up a storm. He may lack the resonant baritone with which Len Cariou originated the role, but he brings to bear a stark, honest, and surprisingly strong singing voice. Naturally, he's good at manic, and the vengeful glint in his eye is quite believable, poking as it does from the darkened, sunken sockets in Sweeney Todd's pale, gaunt face.

What happens, though, when Tim Burton adapts a stage production known for its minimalist sets and narrative style? There's been lots of talk over the last several weeks about how the show's Greek chorus has been excised, along with the trademark "Ballad of Sweeney Todd" that exhorts audiences to "attend the tale." As we figured would happen, orchestral remnants of this song are sprinkled liberally through the score, but this is but one of several songs we miss. We think the story misses them, too.

As for the sets, Burton has created a dark grey, soot-covered London. Despite the idealism displayed by Anthony, the young sailor, in his trademark song, "No Place Like London," we see the hind end of a dreary city in which we can easily believe everything is nearly monochrome -- everything, that is, except the blood.

Pirelli, the Italian barber, played well but not as roundly as one might imagine by Sacha Baron ("Borat") Cohen, is also quite colourful in his baby-blue (and form-fitting) outfit, but it's the bright red blood that really leaps out of the muted scenery and costumes. The brief spurts of fake blood you've seen on stage, or the nearly sterile lack of blood familiar to moviegoers, is replaced here with torrents of gushing vermillion. We're meant to be shocked, and after the movie's long build-up to its first gruesome death at Sweeney's razor, we are shocked, if not so surprised.

Other hints of colour appear in the attire of the young sailor, Anthony, and in the dresses and glittering "yellow hair" of Johanna, the long-lost daughter of Sweeney Todd and the object of Judge Turpin's affections. These two, played by young newcomers, are unfortunately as stripped down in this film version as is the score. Reduced to the bare minimum, they make little sense to us. Why are they attracted to each other? Right, Anthony thinks she's cute and blonde, and he feels sorry for her, and Johanna sees salvation in the first man other than the hoary Judge to take an interest. But the relationship gets short shrift -- a shame, since it's the only one that could possibly work.

Overall, this too-short movie is going to be most satisfying to those who already know the story, especially those who know the musical intimately. It's a good movie, and a good movie adaptation of a brilliant stage musical, but in abbreviating the story, and leaving out some of the narration that helps us get to know the characters, Burton and Sondheim may have stopped us from becoming invested -- from caring.

Speaking of invested, as if the character weren't repulsive enough, the movie adds an early scene between Turpin and Anthony in which we learn the Judge has a collection of pornographic drawings. Is that meant to affect Anthony's impression of the villain, played with just the right level of slime by Alan Rickman, or is it meant to affect ours?

One clear improvement from the stage production, though, comes in the iconic duet, "A Little Priest." I loved the way Burton was able to illustrate the lyrics by focusing on passersby Sweeney and Mrs. Lovett could see from the pie shop windows. This song, in which the pair figure out they can dispatch barber-shop customers who won't be missed and bake them into meat pies, is one of the few clear pieces of levity remaining from the stage show. (One that's been added is the priceless way Sweeney remains expressionless throughout Mrs. Lovett's "By the Sea.")

Does enough black humour remain in "Sweeney Todd" that moviegoers who don't already know the story can appreciate it? Yes, but anyone expecting a lighthearted romp, especially those who weren't paying particularly close attention to the "This Christmas..." commercials on TV, is in for a rude awakening.

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