Sleepy Hollow (1999) 111m
Did you ever see that short Disney cartoon when you were a kid, the one about the Headless Horseman? Do you remember the wild finale, a mixture of scary slapstick, which had Ichabod Crane galloping for dear life towards the bridge that marked that essential piece of childhood myth, the Line Of Safety. Tim Burton remembers, and I find it perfectly suitable that the former (though briefly-tenured) Disney animator should produce a live-action elaboration of that short piece. Here's another gem from the Burton repertoire, and one which few others would have attempted in this day and age: a good old-fashioned horror film.
Set firmly in the 18th century and occupying a universe all of its own (although strongly derived from the Hammer films of the late 60s and early 70s), SLEEPY HOLLOW succeeds because it refuses the self-deprecating concessions film-makers almost seem obliged to put in their films nowadays. No one-liners. No provision for a sequel. Its only nudge to the audience is a well-timed millennium reference (and, intentionally or not, a couple of images from THE NIGHTMARE BEFORE CHRISTMAS and PEE-WEE'S BIG ADVENTURE, the visages of Jack Skellington and Large Marge respectively) and state-of-the-art FX notwithstanding, the end result could pass muster as some sort of lost classic unearthed in the Hammer Studio vaults - it even has that distinct indigo hue and those washed-out faces. This movie is so out-of-era that it's simply wonderful: not exactly a homage, not even a revision - it's just a crackling good Gothic Yarn. New York constable Ichabod Crane (Johnny Depp), is sent to the small agrarian township of Sleepy Hollow to investigate a recent spate of decapitation murders. The townsfolk blame a local legend, which Depp airily dismisses - at first. A first-hand encounter with the Horseman quickly turns him into a believer. Depp's transition from rational scientific enquiry to supernatural and arcane lore works seamlessly into the story: it doesn't seem wrong to us that he should 'switch sides' so easily, integrating a little of both into his investigation. The seeds have already been planted, after all, in the skewed flashbacks to his childhood (although that haunted child reminded me more of a young Burton than a young Depp), so the appearance of Crane as a well-attired adult investigator poking around crime scenes in gloomy forests is no more peculiar to us than it would be if we were watching an episode of a protean X-FILES.
The concerns of the plot are duly interspersed with Horror intrusions (and how Burton loves to see those severed heads roll!) but by its finale SLEEPY HOLLOW has let slip its full melodramatic glory. The usual lightning flashes and explosions of shattering glass easily become the type of genre standards that are included only because they're expected, but by the time you have sat through ninety minutes of SLEEPY HOLLOW, the clichés are no longer clichés. Every swirling mass of leaves and gout of blood conspires to produce a cinematic, gothic opera: the Headless Horseman is brutal and frightening; the sky is perpetually grey or stormy; the trees are black and twisted; everything outside is muted with dampness; the scenes of the countryside, the feasts, the cornshocks, the windmills and the kitchens are reminiscent of Dutch and Flemish masters; similarly the striking faces of the cast could also have been lifted from portraits (although I wish Christina Ricci had been left with her raven tresses instead of those blonde curls), indicating that Burton's visual sense of the film was inspired by paintings. Irrespective of its reference points, SLEEPY HOLLOW is its own entity. But if it's "supposed" to be a Hammer film, a recreation of 17th-century art, or post-Disney trauma, then I'll vote for the last on that list - if only to tantalize myself with the possibility that Burton might have something to say about the shooting of Old Yeller or the death of Bambi's mom in his future projects.
sburridge@hotmail.com
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