Sweeney Todd, hmm...

I wasn't impressed with Sweeney Todd. Maybe it's my own fault. I don't like many musicals but I thought the combination of Johnny Depp, Alan Rickman and Helena Bonham-Carter et al would do the trick and make the annoying enjoyable (and, yes, the songs were very annoying).

Most people will know the plot (I didn't) but suffice to say, I was not convinced that Depp conveyed enough madness to successfully portray a man who'd lost his wife – and was about to lose his daughter for good – and behaved so amorally as a result.

Take Hannibal Lecter. You admire him in some way. He is intelligent – fiercely so. And he snaps with humour that doesn't spring from softness. Hopkins's flashing eyes, his thin smile: a proper demon. But Depp? Well, his performance reminded me of Russell Brand, Captain Jack Sparrow, Amy Winehouse, Mick Jagger and other glottally-stoppered folk who were simply in a terribly bad mood. He was flat, I thought. There was no menace there. I didn't like to look straight at the screen during the killing scenes but it wasn't through suspense, it was just that I don't like gore.

The film is literally colourless and the CGI made it flatter yet. London, referred to in the opening song (cringe) was wasted as a character. It's a gloomy film, left me wondering what all the fuss was about, and that was that. Average: C+. Could do better.

Anyway, en route to the cinema, S and I went into a tiny pub that was so small it was like being in someone's front room. A real fire burned. We had enough time to have a drink before Sweeney Todd started – a lovely forty minutes or so that helped to make the film worthwhile. And, on our way home, we both talked non-stop, agreeing with each other and with all of the above.