Burton's 'Dark Shadows' is as cold and uninviting as vampire Johnny Depp (C-)

Warner Bros. Pictures/Peter Mountain

If you’ve seen the commercials, you’ve already seen most of the best parts of Dark Shadows, director Tim Burton’s much-anticipated take on the cult-favorite television show, which ran from 1966 to 1971.

The story, such as it is, starts in the late 1700s as the British Collins family arrives in Maine and starts building a fish-canning empire (how romantic!). When Collins family hottie Barnabas (Johnny Depp) spurns the love of local witch Angelique (Eva Green), she curses him to live as a vampire and promptly buries him, chained in a casket.

Fast-forward to 1972, when construction workers dig up Barnabas and he strolls into Collinswood, the decaying family manse (the fish-canning business having gone all stinky), determined to restake his claim on the Collinses and their fortunes. Too bad Angelique is still around, fretting, cursing and … well, cursing. Even worse, she’s the owner of the town’s more successful cannery, Angel Bay.

At home, Barnabas must deal with modern-day matriarch Elizabeth (Michelle Pfeiffer, looking hideously wan, even though she’s not a supernatural character); her brother Roger (Jonny Lee Miller) and his “troubled” son David (Gulliver McGrath, doing his best take on Damien from The Omen); and Elizabeth’s teenage daughter Carolyn (the fabulously sullen Chloë Grace Moretz).

Rounding out the household are drooling servant Willie (Jackie Earle Haley); David’s boozy shrink, Dr. Hoffman (Helena Bonham Carter); and his newly arrived nanny (Bella Heathcote), who bears a striking resemblance to Barnabas’ 18th-century love, Josette, who met a tragic end courtesy of the wicked Angelique.

The film gets some things right, particularly the melodramatic style of acting employed by Depp and the rest of the cast — at least I fervently hope that it was on purpose. Depp delivers his many one-liners with splendidly droll timing, and the sight gags are close to perfection (Barnabas tucked away in the higher reaches of a linen closet, Angelique spewing green vomit à la The Exorcist in one of many references to early 1970s pop culture and music).

When Barnabas spies Karen Carpenter on TV and screams, “Reveal yourself, tiny songstress!” the preview audience went into paroxysms of glee.

Alas, that’s just a one-liner that has nothing to do with the actual story. Writer Seth Grahame-Smith obviously has a thing for gimmicks and vampires; he’s the author of the successful novel Abraham Lincoln: Vampire Hunter, which is also being made into a film. Perhaps he’d best stick to the novel form, because he has no knack for screen storytelling, and he throws things into the mix that make no sense.

Why, for instance, must Barnabas murder entire groups of people when he needs a drink? Instead of just stealthily plucking one from the pack, as any self-respecting vampire would do, he makes a big show of taking out entire clans. Not very smart.

The film’s biggest disappointment is the utter lack of chemistry between Depp and either Green or Heathcote. Far from generating any heat, their embraces just left me wondering how the women would get all of Depp’s lipstick and makeup off their clothes. A sex scene between Depp and Green that leaves the room topsy-turvy and shredded would have been hilarious, if only we hadn’t just seen that in Breaking Dawn.

Cameos by Christopher Lee and original TV cast members including the late Jonathan Frid (he was the TV Barnabas) are completely wasted. Frid’s blink-and-you-miss-it nonspeaking role in the party scene might as well not be there. I know, because I blinked, and I missed it.


C- Directed by Tim Burton. Rated PG-13 (comic horror violence, sexual content, some drug use, language and smoking). 113 mins. In wide release.

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