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Chipmunks/Sweeney Todd: A Movie Review for Movie-Hoppers By: Josh Adachi At first it seemed like a ridiculous, nay, a stupid idea to pay 10 bucks to watch Alvin and the Chipmunks. In fact, one of our group proclaimed that she would stick with the original plan and watch Sweeney Todd, even if she had to go it alone. To the rest of us however, the idea of 3 anthropomorphic, color-coded pop-stars became increasingly alluring. "What if it's just like the cartoon!?" I mused from the drivers seat. "What if it's just like watching one long episode of the Chipmunks!?" I was referring, of course, to the 80's sitcom-toon, which provided a rather effective way to pass the time before any cool cartoons came on. Alvin and The Chipmunks was a program that a young boy would probably be ridiculed for watching by his peers, despite the fact that his peers were almost certainly watching the same cartoon line-up. At least the show was breezy and unpretentious and ingrained some classic pop-tunes into young minds, even if it did so with those ridiculously high vocals. Although I couldn't say that I was impressed by anything in particular about the show, the intro sequence always gave me a good vibe, and seemed to trigger the release of some addictive relaxant into my pre-teen cortex. It became apparant to me that I didn't need a Chipmunk movie to be mind-blowing, spectacular, or even particularly good. I just wanted it to kill time in that same way that only the cartoon could. I wanted to do that which was entirely unenviable, and yet wholly enjoyable. I wanted to be seduced by a benign and innocuous force, while allowing my responsibilities to stack dangerously high at the edges of my periphery. I wanted one lazy afternoon at 9:45, please. "Besides, it's got Jason Lee in it." I continued, "He was a professional skater and then was in Mallrats. How can you be cooler than that?" How indeed. I began to wonder if Jason Lee's presence in this movie was a cue to anybody who felt the residual effects of their childhood embarrassment- if Jason Lee can be in it, maybe we no longer have to feel better than it. Granted, the group's hesitations were not soley based on the nature of the Chipmunks, specifically, but on every terrible movie adaptation we've ever seen. In earlier experiments of the nostalgia-inducing format, we were guaranteed an endless slew Smash Mouth music montages, and unforgiveable asides about the sex lives of ex-presidents. If Mike Myer's The Cat in the Hat and Bill Murray's Garfield taught us anything, it was that Hollywood did not trust source material, no matter how hallowed it may be. Moviemakers would rely, instead, on the tastelessness of its older audience, and its younger viewers' penchant for certain color schemes, using the source material mainly for name-recognition. How odd, then (or telling), that they invested in the integrity of source material as banal as weekday afternoon filler. Surprisingly, 2007's Alvin and the Chipmunks graciously avoids the trappings of its predecessors, and is exactly the kind of movie that I had optimistically prospected to our group. In fact, it's probably better. The movie opens with a lilting, wordless acapella a'la chipmunk, as a camera pans over some trees. Immediately, I got the sense that the filmmakers were sensitive to, while not catering to, a hip audience. The chipmunks, themselves, sounded like a synthesizer, that say, Of Montreal would put to good effect. The arty feel of the intro falls out once it becomes apparant that our heroes are actually singing "You Had a Bad Day," but it's kind of glorious when it does. The cartoon was never bashful about it's mainstream intentions, and we are given a healthy reminder that we are not watching the Chipmunks to be edgy. And yet, throughout the movie, the hip-factor returns in subtle ways. Their first hit somehow gets a nice indie aesthetic when surrogate father, Dave, provides the sole accompainment for it on his electric piano. The song eventually morphs into a Sum-41ish power-pop-punk-whatever thing, but again, that's okay. After all, let's not forget the world that we live in. Besides, this review isn't about the tasty bits. I cannot recommend this movie because it's artful and awesome, because it is definitely not. It is, however, breezy and unpretentious in the same way that the cartoon was. A post-modern self-awareness does appear from time to time in the occasional nod to the over-arching ridiculousness of the premise, but these instances are funny and appropriate enough to side-step any subversive effect. We are allowed to enjoy the Chipmunks for what they are, and without any betraying snarkiness. There is a scene early in the movie that is particularly a gas. It's the Chipmunk's 1st morning at Dave's house. Theodore is sleeping on an unconscious Dave's face. Simon and Alvin come barrelling into the bedroom with some ridiculous purpose, waking Dave much earlier than he's used to (the Chipmunks are on forest time, after all). Instead of the opening chords of "Semi-Charmed Life" to accompany this fun-filled scene, our ears are greeted to a bouncy score that may have been lifted directly from the actual cartoon for all I can tell. I am informed by the members of my group who got to watch the film in its entirety, that it really was like watching 3 mini-series episodes of the cartoon. I wish I could confirm this first-hand, but as I said, we had one member of our group who would not, under any circumstances watch Alvin and the Chipmunks, and in the interest of group dynamics, I went to watch Sweeney Todd as soon as the Alvin's conflict kicked off in a predictable trajectory. So I guess my review only really pertains to the first two-or-so "episodes" of the Alvin and the Chipmunk "mini-series". When I entered the already darkened theater for Sweeney Todd, I found that my friend had purchased a large popcorn and a Dr. Pepper bigger than her head, so it was a good thing I showed up. I also found out that Johnny Depp can't really sing, and that Tim Burton hasn't lost his fascination with shades of grey. Tim Burton's seal of quality lost it's authority for me midway through 199?s Sleepy Hollow, which was perhaps inarguably cool, but fell short of providing any transcendant movie joy. That being said, Sleepy Hollow and Sweeney Todd display the most beautiful pallet of greys ever put to film (probably). If to watch Alvin and the Chipmunks is to watch a movie that you have no excuse for liking, but do anyway, then to watch Sweeney Todd is to watch a movie that gives you every reason to like it, and yet, you kinda don't really. Objectively, it should be mind-blowing to watch a man sing gaily, while slicing people's necks. Theoretically, it should be unsettling to have the same man's lover happily prepare and serve the victims as meat pies. That everybody is wearing GREY, I suppose, should add an excruciating sense of bleakness. All of this should come across as dark. And yet for all its attempts to rouse our morbid sensuality, the film comes across as somehow brutal and unnecessary. Which is not to say that the movie won't hold your interest. The music is lush, the visuals are well-crafted, and the actors are very snuggly in-character. It's just that nothing really falls together in an altogether meaningful way. Perhaps it was the film's intention to reveal the shallowness of its being dark for dark's sake. In fact, one of the most engaging scenes in the film is one in which the titular character and his lover go on holiday, prompting an entirely new set of visuals. Suddenly, the sky is pale-blue, the grass is a verdant green, and for a few minutes it's as if the roof has been lifted off the cineplex. Burton's keen eye extends far beyond the subtleties of grey, and with this scene, we are gifted with a landscape at once expansive and nostalgic. Yet, within this landscape, on the green green grass, sits a grumbling Sweeney Todd, clad in grey, unable or unwilling to be one and part of the life around him. He is itching to return to his world of emptiness and death. At his will, (and perhaps not at the filmmakers') there shall we return, for a final onslaught of gory visual details that only Burton can muster. Then again, perhaps Sweeney Todd is a commentary on the insatiable bloodlust of the moviegoer. Judging from the audible groan the audience gave to punctuate the film's end, Sweeney Todd succesfully provides the overload. The members of our group who had seen Alvin and The Chipmunks in its entirety were waiting for us at the car, electing to stand in the cold rather than watch Sweeney Todd, which they had walked in on for a few minutes. They had chosen to allow their lazy afternoon continue into the night, rather than take on the responsibility of following Tim Burton's experiments in moroseness. My utterly dissapointed friend and I walked quietly to the car, and suddenly, spending an hour and a half with these furry rascals was enviable indeed.
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