Let‘s be clear. I am a massive Tim Burton fan. I have enjoyed the auteur’s macabre imagination ever since his 1982 short Vincent. His sensibilities have always lent an enjoyable atmosphere to his quirky creations. Beetlejuice and Edward Scissorhands were delightful examples of where style met substance. There’s no doubt that Tim Burton has plenty of talent as he is one of my favorite directors. That’s what makes his latest picture such a major disappointment. Every single one of the filmmaker’s hallmarks are here: Johnny Depp and Helena Bonham Carter? Check! Heavy makeup? Check! Bizarre fantasy world? Check! Dark Humor? Check! Everything in place would seem to guarantee a splendid night at the cinema. Yet this is one thoroughly tedious affair. Dark Shadows is grossly lacking in coherent or, even more surprising, entertaining storytelling.
Tim Burton has been responsible for misfires before (Planet of the Apes), but at least they were still interesting on some creative level. For the first time he has directed a virtually unwatchable film. The expository intro unfolds like an entire TV season condensed into 15 minutes. In rapid fire succession we’re introduced to the Collins family, their colossal 200-room mansion called Collinswood and a headache inducing backstory that has more twists and turns than the subsequent movie that follows. Yes all this precedes the opening credits. Once the actual drama begins it grows tiresome. Oh there’s a few jokes – most of them having to do with an 18th century vampire who views the modern conveniences of the 1970s as satanic magic. That might have been amusing had we not already seen all of those bits in the trailer. What remains, is a lot of boring conversation serving what basically amounts to an unfunny SNL skit. There is no depth to these individuals, just hollow shells designed to recite campy dialogue and nothing more. By the time the climatic battle arrives as a stale rewrite of the fight scene from Death Becomes Her, I had already checked out.
Dark Shadows is a slapdash mess of unfocused incoherence. Any director that could mishandle a production with a cast that also includes Michelle Pfeiffer, Eva Green, Jackie Earle Haley, Jonny Lee Miller and Chloë Moretz, takes real expertise. This actually marks Tim Burton’s eighth collaboration with Johnny Depp. The lazy work here is the product of artists who simply aren’t trying anymore. The drama is nonexistent, the characters uninvolving. They appear to be merely going through the motions. This isn’t a movie, it’s a flimsy sketch stretched out to unendurable length. It’s pretty insulting. Given this rambling collage of a film, perhaps these two should part ways and start anew. I’ll admit the whole project has great set design and some lush and atmospheric music. Rick Heinrichs and Danny Elfman earn their salaries. But without fascinating people we care about, what’s the point? It’s an empty parade of fantastic costumes and retro hairstyles in search of a plot.
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