Sleepy
Hollow
Rated R
Now showing
www3.sleepyhollowmovie.com
Sleepy Hollow is almost a horror masterpiece.
Despite the film's narrative flaws, it may very well be a
work of resonant power. Had it been made in the '30s for Universal
and starred Bela Lugosi, it would probably be considered a
classic. But one thing is certain: It is one of the most visually
ravishing films this year.
Rhapsodically shot, beautifully acted, exciting and funny,
Sleepy Hollow is a compelling movie, proving once
again that Tim Burton is one of the most distinct and personal
directors currently working. He seamlessly blends his love
for movies made the old-fashioned way, his unequaled virtuosity
with film and his constant chronicling of the freak outsider,
the little boy trapped inside an adult body. Burton has
a knack for touching the child within us, reminding us why
we love movies--for their power to inspire awe, fear, passion
and magic. To him, movies serve the same purpose as those
bedtime or campfire stories that simultaneously attracted
and repulsed us as children, conjuring dreams and nightmares
that never really went away.
It's only natural, then, that Burton's latest would be
inspired by Washington Irving's short story "The Legend
of Sleepy Hollow"--a mainstay of childhood horror. The film
begins in New York City in 1799, just days before the new
millennium. Constable Ichabod Crane (Johnny Depp) is sent
to a small, Dutch-settled town called Sleepy Hollow--partly
as punishment for his eccentric work in crime-solving--to
investigate three decapitation murders. On his first night
there, Crane learns from his landlord, the wealthy Baltus
Van Tassel (Michael Gambon), and the colorfully decrepit
town leaders--played by Jeffrey Jones, Richard Griffiths,
Ian McDiarmid and Michael Gough--that no mortal has committed
the violent acts. According to these terrified men, the
decapitations are the work of a demon from Hell, the Headless
Horseman. Once a bloodthirsty mercenary, this heinous warrior
(Christopher Walken, sporting a bushy mane and razor teeth)
has been haunting Sleepy Hollow ever since he was beheaded
himself and buried in the woods.
Though chilled by the story, the rationalist Crane sets
about solving the crime through logic. But when he witnesses
the horseman in action, he is enlightened by dream and reality.
Because of the Horseman's deeds, he recalls the true nature
of his mother's death (shown in a sublime dream sequence,
in which Lisa Marie plays young Crane's mother) and finally
understands why the horseman is so pissed off. Crane, it
turns out, must work equally with reason and faith--because
in Burton's world, the horseman is indeed a demon and no
mystery at all.
This revelation may annoy Irving purists (the story leaves
the question unanswered), but it shouldn't. Though the horseman
is seen in the very first sequence of the film, his reality
never negates the film's atmospheric power and purpose.
Burton is not merely retelling Irving's legend; he's making
an updated cross between an expressionistic James Whale
'30s horror film and a gory Hammer Films picture (Hammer
star Christopher Lee even has a cameo). In both areas he
succeeds wildly. With its skewed angles, misty nights and
mornings, gorgeous ornamentation and faded color scheme
of blacks, browns and luminous grays (reinforced by garish
blood-red splattered within the palette), the film is an
ethereal wonder of design. It is also one of the goriest
films Burton's ever made (heads definitely roll...often),
and thanks to scriptwriter Andrew Kevin Walker (Seven),
it's mordantly funny. There is a nice combination of old-fashioned
line delivery (some would say stilted, but just watch an
old horror classic and you can see what the actors and Burton
were getting at) and contemporary action--the most impressive
example being an Indiana Jones-style horse-and-carriage
pursuit.
The acting is all memorable--from the small character roles
(Miranda Richardson especially) to the leads--and nearly
everyone has the face and demeanor of a silent-screen star.
As Depp's love interest, Christina Ricci (whom Burton perfectly
describes as a cross between Bette Davis and Peter Lorre)
is more understated than usual. Her bizarre beauty--all
huge eyes and forehead--are almost enough to fill out her
rather paltry character. But it is the exceptionally photogenic
Depp who gives the film its soul. Depp's subtly nuanced
Crane is intelligent and not altogether brave (his scenes
of cowardice are hilarious); he is both snooty and sympathetic.
Unlike any other actor currently in cinema, Depp can do
a raised eyebrow with both hamminess and utter believability--much
as he did in Burton's Ed Wood, he creeps to the edge
of campiness without ever falling off. If DeNiro represents
the rage and turmoil boiling inside mild-mannered Scorsese,
then the rapturously beautiful Depp represents the gorgeous
oddball living inside film geek Burton. Like Burton, Depp
believes in a stylized performance and sensibility (see
his silent turn in Burton's Edward Scissorhands),
but he never forgets the humanity underneath the flash.
With Sleepy Hollow, both director and actor passionately
address that freaky little kid in all of us.
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Willamette Week | originally
published November 23,
1999
|
