Little Barber Shop of Horrors

Recently I checked out not one, but two gruesome but dramatic movies in a slightly cavalier vein.  They have some familiar elements in common:  poking light at unusual murders, even musically.

 Little Shop of Horrors.  The first incarnation I witnessed was the 1960 black & white movie by Roger Corman.  The most famous actor in here was Jack Nicholson, playing the masochistic dental patient, Wilbur Force.

            A modest flower shop, hard on luck and deficient in business, experiences a dramatic turn for the better – at least in income – when its meek and lowly assistant, Seymour, puts his man-eating plant, Audrey II, on display in the window.  The plant feeds on blood and meat, and gradually grows larger: it demands to be fed.  After initially feeding the plant his own blood, Seymour eventually winds up feeding people to the plant, who he has accidentally killed, including a sadistic dentist.  Its appetite only whetted, not sated, the plant compels Seymour to do its bidding.  He begins actually killing people to feed the plant, before finally being eaten in turn himself.  The plant, before dying, displays buds with the faces of its victims.  Gruesome indeed.

            Much later, in 1982, the story resurfaced as a musical stage show, followed by a musical movie version in 1986, which appears to be the “standard” variant most of us know of today.  Rick Moranis plays Seymour; Steve Martin plays the dentist; and Bill Murray takes Nicholson’s role as the dental patient.  Much of the plot was changed around, including the ending:  Seymour manages to defeat Audrey II and survives to marry Audrey.  Of course, the major change is the addition of various musical numbers.  Flowers, plants, love, life, and death are all the ideas which swirl around in music and song in this cynical but entertaining story.

 Sweeney Todd.  The version I’m referring to here is the recent Tim Burton film with Johnny Depp in the title role (“Edward Razorhands”?), Helena Bonham Carter as Mrs. Lovett, and Alan Rickman as Judge Turpin.  The story has been around since the early 19^th century, immensely popular among jaded London audiences hungry for lurid tales of crime and debauchery in their midst.  Yet again, Burton – whom I might describe as the Syd Barrett of contemporary film-making – provides a fantastic, whimsical, yet comically dark and cynical world and story.  He manages to make late 19^th century London look just as strange and alien as Wonka’s Chocolate Factory or Alice’s Wonderland.  It’s his style, whether you like it or not.

            Todd is a barber in late 19^th century London, with a beautiful wife and pretty daughter.  A nasty, corrupt judge (Turpin), who wants Todd’s wife for himself, has Todd unjustly convicted of a bogus offense and sent off for 15 years (the appellate system seems to be flawed).  His wife refused to marry the judge and took poison – but Mrs. Lovett is vague about her true fate.  His daughter (Johanna) has been adopted by Turpin, who then sets about to marry her.  A young androgynous sailor, Anthony, wins the heart of Johanna. 

            Todd returns from exile and finds a pastry shop on Fleet Street, run by a malicious widow, Mrs. Lovett.  Up until now, her pies haven’t been selling too well.  Moreover, she’s very lonely and has eyes for Todd.  She tells him what happened since he left, though in a somewhat misleading fashion.  Todd sets up his barber operation upstairs, rigging the barber chair to combine with a trap door leading to the basement of the pastry shop.  Luring unwitting customers to their doom (“the closest shave they’ll ever know”), Todd slits their throats with his silver razors and dispatches them into the cellar, where Mrs. Lovett feeds the corpses into a huge meat grinder to make filling for her meat pies.  The recipe is a winner; no one realizes the true ingredients of the pies.  His first victim was a competing barber, Pirelli (yet another Boratesque role from Sascha Baron Cohen), and despite a false start at defeating the judge, Todd does manage to finally overcome his nemesis.  In this film version, at least, several other deaths occur which twist the plot substantially into grave tragedy.  But still very worthwhile.  Did I mention – it’s a musical…and Depp, Carter, and Rickman all sing in their own voices!  Remarkable.

            Extra features to the DVD include an intriguing documentary on the character:  a semi-mythical figure who appears to be fictional after all.  Of course, leave it to Burton & Depp to bring the character to life extravagantly.  Be afraid, but also be very entertained.

SCTV

“…Thursday at 9!”

 I suppose this entry could be called “Canadian TV”, although it only concerns one particular variety thereof.  I mentioned earlier that American TV and movies are the only ones in the world with any reasonable expectation of being exported to foreign markets.  The TV industries of most other countries, even England and its BBC, are primary inwardly-oriented with little pretense of appealing to foreigners as a broad category (leaving aside foreigners with some particular preference, e.g. married to a Brazilian so you watch TV Globo novellas). 

 I’ll also leave aside Canadian TV actors: Michael J. Fox and William Shatner being the big two.

 So SCTV is arguably Canada’s most important TV export.  It ran from 1976 to 1984, for six seasons, and was eventually picked up by NBC.  It pretended to be an independent network.  Some of the “sketches” (which I found the weakest) were intra-studio politics between Johnny LaRue (Candy), Guy Cabellero (Flaherty) and others.  If you watch closely, you’ll notice that practically every preview for a show promises the show’s airtime to be… Thursday at 9 p.m.

 Cast: John Candy, Joe Flaherty, Eugene Levy, Catherine O’Hara, Andrea Martin, Dave Thomas, Rick Moranis, Tony Rosato, Robin Duke, Harold Ramis, and Martin Short.  These names probably sound familiar!

 I liked Mel’s Rock Pile, featuring Levy as a hilariously unhip music show host (similar to his dad role in the “American Pie” films) – and the Russian TV spoof.
 Another survivor: Martin Short’s Ed Grimley character made the transition to Saturday Night Live.  Tony Rosato and Robin Duke also went on to SNL. 

 They sometimes parodied Hollywood types, with O’Hara as Lola Heatherton, Flaherty as Sammy Maudlin, and Levy as Bobby Bittman.  I thought these were just as weak as the intra-network dramas.  The impressions were the best: Dave Thomas as Lee Iacocca and Bob Hope, Andrea Martin as Barbra Streisand, Rick Moranis as Dave Cavett, Merv Griffin, or Woody Allen (surely his talents were wasted in the “Honey I Shrunk…” movies), Joe Flaherty as Gregory Peck (in “Taxi Driver”: Are you talking to me?).   Despite the low-budget look – which was all part of the charm and fun – the cast was incredibly talented and the writing was quality, in fact competitive with SNL.

 By far the most famous “skits” which survived were the Bob & Doug McKenzie “Great White North” segments, which even resulted in a full movie, “Strange Brew”.  Bob (Rick Moranis) and Doug (Dave Thomas) sat on a couch drinking Molson and generally acting stupid.  They had their own Canadian equivalent of Valley Girl slang, mainly to end sentences with “eh”, greet each other with “Good day”, and accuse each other being “hosers”.   The funny thing about this was that at the time (early 80s) we were going to high school in Paris, and several of our best friends were Canadian (all from Ottawa).   They did not talk like this, but they did find B&DM to be amusing anyway…so long as we didn’t let on that we thought these were typical Canadians (…eh).  Geddy Lee ended up helping them do “Take Off”. These skits were due to Canadian TV regs requiring “Canadian” programming.  Aside from Mounties and lumberjacks, what more could they do?  Well, they also parodied Canadian TV with such items as Monday Night Curling and Magnum P.E.I. (Prince Edward Island).