Sleepy Hollow runs a close second to Ed Wood as my favorite Tim Burton film so far, and represents perhaps the quintessential "Tim Burton-as-brand-name" experience. To date it is his only genuine horror film, though it tends to run much closer to tongue-in-cheek black comedy, and as such serves as something of a coat rack onto which Burton hangs the dark fabrics of horror films stretching back a full century. The (rather obvious) use of sound stages and the economy of imagery reminds one of silent films such as Nosferatu or the John Barrymore version of Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde, along with a visual scheme that is often almost monochromatic in its use of sepia tones, dark blues, and blacks and whites. The copious, and sometimes ludicrous, splattering of blood against pretty much every clean surface brings to mind the orgiastic excess of grue that characterized slasher films of the eighties. The lavish set design and the abundance of fog and mist, along with the "inspector" element of the story (and the casting of Christopher Lee in a minor role), pay tribute to the Hammer films of the fifties and sixties, particularly those helmed by stylish Technicolor maven Terence Fisher.
Probably the biggest influence on Burton's style, however, is the late Mario Bava, a cult figure whose visually sumptuous low-budget films of the sixties and seventies have been worshiped by filmmakers as diverse as John Landis, Dario Argento, Edgar Wright, Joe Dante, and Quentin Tarantino (but is otherwise relatively, and regrettably, unknown, even in his native Italy). Most apparently reflected in Sleepy Hollow are Bava's Gothic chillers, Black Sunday and Kill, Baby...Kill! Bava, often criticized as a "style over substance" director who cared more about the way his films looked than about story or characterization (a charge often, and probably not coincidentally, leveled at Burton), was a master of mood, with the ability to charge even the most heinous act of murder with a psychosexual beauty, and the knack for soaking even the thinnest plot in an atmosphere that is erotic, gorgeous, and unnerving.
Bava's sensibilities are also reflected in the film's quirky sense of humor as well, which makes use of a fantastic cast. Michael Gambon, Ian McDiarmid, Michael Gough, Jeffrey Jones, and Richard Griffiths, as key members of the community who have a connection with the mystery at the heart of the Headless Horseman murders, all turn up the eccentricity level to 11, with Johnny Depp fearlessly leading the way as the strangely effeminate inspector, Ichabod Crane, sent to investigate the rash of recent murders in a superstitious New England town. Crane is certainly an unconventional action hero--he faints no less than four times throughout the film--and yet his squeamish prissiness works superbly within the off-kilter execution of this dark fairy tale. Who else but Johnny Depp could have played this role? Katrina Van Tassel, as portrayed by Christina Ricci, is a somewhat underdeveloped love interest, but she's got enough courage and heart to keep from fading into the background, and her purity and virtue actually keep her sympathetic as opposed to boring or self-righteous. Another stand-out is Marc Pickering as Young Masbath, sort of the Robin to Ichabod's Batman. A preteen sidekick could have potentially become a desperate and annoying bid for the attention of the high school demographic, but the character both as written and as played by Pickering steers clear of the usual clichés to become just as interesting, funny, and worthwhile as everyone else. And, needless to say, Miranda Richardson and Christopher Walken are equally fascinating and fun to watch in their respective roles, and former Burton fiancée Lisa Marie has just the right "Women of '60s Horror" look to her in a small but pivotal role as Ichabod's mother.
Odds and ends: Kevin Yagher's special effects work here is astonishing. The decapitated heads, even when seen in close up, are phenomenally realistic, more so even than in many films that have come out in the decade since. (Yagher, incidentally, was on board to direct the project in its early stages.) Danny Elfman's score, as usual, is fantastic, hitting all the right notes of portent, eerie grandiosity, and excitement. The cinematography, by frequent Alfonso Cuaron collaborator Emmanuel Lubezki, is gorgeous, and Colleen Atwood does her usual stellar work as Costume Designer. Stunt coordinator Nick Gillard, most famous at the time for his choreography on The Phantom Menace, helps bring to life some fantastic action set pieces that somehow manage to stay within the boundaries of a Gothic horror piece. And of course, I would be remiss if I didn't mention the script by Seven scribe Andrew Kevin Walker. Of course, fans of Washington Irving's original short story may not share my enthusiasm, since Walker discards Irving's themes and decides that the Headless Horseman really is supernatural (and who can blame him, since most of us forget the bones of Irving's story anyway and only remember the ghostly apparition that didn't actually exist).
All in all, Sleepy Hollow is a supreme fright flick, entirely appropriate for any rainy day or spooky night.
Probably the biggest influence on Burton's style, however, is the late Mario Bava, a cult figure whose visually sumptuous low-budget films of the sixties and seventies have been worshiped by filmmakers as diverse as John Landis, Dario Argento, Edgar Wright, Joe Dante, and Quentin Tarantino (but is otherwise relatively, and regrettably, unknown, even in his native Italy). Most apparently reflected in Sleepy Hollow are Bava's Gothic chillers, Black Sunday and Kill, Baby...Kill! Bava, often criticized as a "style over substance" director who cared more about the way his films looked than about story or characterization (a charge often, and probably not coincidentally, leveled at Burton), was a master of mood, with the ability to charge even the most heinous act of murder with a psychosexual beauty, and the knack for soaking even the thinnest plot in an atmosphere that is erotic, gorgeous, and unnerving.
Bava's sensibilities are also reflected in the film's quirky sense of humor as well, which makes use of a fantastic cast. Michael Gambon, Ian McDiarmid, Michael Gough, Jeffrey Jones, and Richard Griffiths, as key members of the community who have a connection with the mystery at the heart of the Headless Horseman murders, all turn up the eccentricity level to 11, with Johnny Depp fearlessly leading the way as the strangely effeminate inspector, Ichabod Crane, sent to investigate the rash of recent murders in a superstitious New England town. Crane is certainly an unconventional action hero--he faints no less than four times throughout the film--and yet his squeamish prissiness works superbly within the off-kilter execution of this dark fairy tale. Who else but Johnny Depp could have played this role? Katrina Van Tassel, as portrayed by Christina Ricci, is a somewhat underdeveloped love interest, but she's got enough courage and heart to keep from fading into the background, and her purity and virtue actually keep her sympathetic as opposed to boring or self-righteous. Another stand-out is Marc Pickering as Young Masbath, sort of the Robin to Ichabod's Batman. A preteen sidekick could have potentially become a desperate and annoying bid for the attention of the high school demographic, but the character both as written and as played by Pickering steers clear of the usual clichés to become just as interesting, funny, and worthwhile as everyone else. And, needless to say, Miranda Richardson and Christopher Walken are equally fascinating and fun to watch in their respective roles, and former Burton fiancée Lisa Marie has just the right "Women of '60s Horror" look to her in a small but pivotal role as Ichabod's mother.
Odds and ends: Kevin Yagher's special effects work here is astonishing. The decapitated heads, even when seen in close up, are phenomenally realistic, more so even than in many films that have come out in the decade since. (Yagher, incidentally, was on board to direct the project in its early stages.) Danny Elfman's score, as usual, is fantastic, hitting all the right notes of portent, eerie grandiosity, and excitement. The cinematography, by frequent Alfonso Cuaron collaborator Emmanuel Lubezki, is gorgeous, and Colleen Atwood does her usual stellar work as Costume Designer. Stunt coordinator Nick Gillard, most famous at the time for his choreography on The Phantom Menace, helps bring to life some fantastic action set pieces that somehow manage to stay within the boundaries of a Gothic horror piece. And of course, I would be remiss if I didn't mention the script by Seven scribe Andrew Kevin Walker. Of course, fans of Washington Irving's original short story may not share my enthusiasm, since Walker discards Irving's themes and decides that the Headless Horseman really is supernatural (and who can blame him, since most of us forget the bones of Irving's story anyway and only remember the ghostly apparition that didn't actually exist).
All in all, Sleepy Hollow is a supreme fright flick, entirely appropriate for any rainy day or spooky night.