Yes, Tim Burton is God, in my very humble opinion.

I’ve been an admirer of his stylishly quirky grunge-goth movies since I saw Beetlejuice as a kid, when I educated myself on being as angst-ridden and sombre as Winona Ryder’s death-obsessed oddball Lydia.

Three years later I adored them both all over again, when Ryder embodied teenage sexpot Kim in Burton’s enchanting pastel/punk picture Edward Scissorhands: a Frankenstein-esque fairytale with shadowy undertones about a shy suburban outsider persecuted by society.

Johnny Depp starred as the sallow, scissor-handed outcast, in what was the first of six collaborations with the director (including Ed Wood, The Legend of Sleepy Hollow, Charlie and the Chocolate Factory and The Corpse Bride), in a creative partnership that would span 17 years.

Sweeney-mania is now storming the UK in the build-up to the release on January 25 of the of the widely anticipated Sweeney Todd: The Demon Barber of Fleet Street. Having already experienced this blood-soaked sing-a-long/slasher flick first hand, I’m pretty adamant it’s going to triumph, both commercially and critically, despite the fact that there’s barely a spoken word in close to three hours. But then I like musicals; unfortunately some don’t. Needless to say they might soon be swayed.

The film’s present status as an Oscar front-runner should surely secure its success at the box office, as will the devotion of die-hard Burton buffs, and Depp’s loyal league of lady admirers. Fanbases aside, this is a brilliant work of art. Todd has everything you could want in a feature (forbidden love, lost love, lust, blood, throat-cutting, cannibalism, deception, and reprisal), spanning several genres simultaneously (comedy/horror/musical/romance). It’s a beautiful and brooding, ghoulish gothic masterpiece, with bold performances amid velvety Victorian colour.

I’m in London’s Berkeley Hotel, Knightsbridge, where Burton, Depp, Helena Bonham-Carter (Burton’s girlfriend and Mrs Lovett in the film) et al are gathering to promote their grisly latest venture. The only cast member missing out on the festivities is Sacha Baron-Cohen (otherwise known as the neon-swimsuit-wearing Borat), who gives a hilarious turn as hair product salesman Signor Adolpho Pirelli in the film.

Alan Rickman (who plays paedophilia-provoking Judge Turpin) is in attendance, as is Timothy Spall (Beadle Bamford), but despite the fact that these are two very esteemed actors in their own right, it’s Depp, Bonham-Carter, and Burton everyone wants a piece of. And they make for a riotously fun afternoon.

For Bonham-Carter, it wasn’t easy procuring the part of pie-making Miss Lovett, despite the fact that she’s the director’s partner. She says, “I had to be righter than right. I mean for my sake, I didn’t want to just feel like I got it because I slept with him. But at the end of the day, Stephen Sondheim, he has final say. And I definitely didn’t sleep with him.”
Burton: “That’s not what he said.”
Bonham-Carter: “He wasn’t meant to say.”
Depp: “I haven’t slept with anyone.”
Bonham-Carter: “Ever.”
Depp: “No. But I’ve shaved a few men.”
Burton: “He’s going to be doing the Village People story next.”

Fun and gags aside, Sweeney Todd tells the tragic tale of a man who appears from the shadows, to a sooty-skied, 19th century London, to seek revenge for the death of his wife. Burton himself transcended as a virtual unknown from the world of animation, to become the visually-driven director we know today, and you can’t help but detect a glimpse of the director himself in Todd: all dishevelled salt-and-pepper hair and pallid features. Could he have played the part better himself? “I said to Johnny if I was an actor this would be the perfect film, because you don’t have to talk you just look out the window and brood and be angry. We saw him (Todd) as a sad character. He’s tragic…basically when you meet him he’s a dead person really. The only thing that’s keeping him going is one single-minded thing, which is, you know, tragic.”

Much has been said about Depp’s singing role, his very first to date and one that, I would say, is wholly successful: “Tim Burton’s the only one brave enough to actually let me try to sing. I would never even sing in the shower, too mortified. Once I got over the initial fear, it was kind of enjoyable. Sondheim’s melodies and lyrics were a real pleasure. Some really beautiful stuff, I enjoyed it. Would I ever do it again? No. I doubt it.”

Hmmm, no chance of a sequel then (shame, with lyrics like: There's a hole in the world/like a great black pit/and it's filled with people who are filled with shit). Nevertheless, it’s transparently clear that everyone involved in this feature is immensely proud of their efforts and the finished product, no one more so than the director himself: “We didn’t want it to be a traditional musical where there’s a lot of dialogue. It’s like a silent movie with music. When I first saw the (stage) show, the imagery, which is quite dark and harsh, set with the music which is quite rich and beautiful, was like nothing I’d ever seen before, and was the reason I wanted to do it. Every day on set was a very special thing for me. I don’t know if I can ever have an experience like that again.”

A radical, creative, quirky visual genius, Burton is one of the greatest directors of our time. Not the conventional crowd-pleaser like Spielberg, or the cryptic surrealist à la Lynch; his work is not as in-your-face as Tarantino’s, nor as severely American as Scorsese’s. Burton is a dark and talented force who allows us access to bleak and twisted dream worlds of fantasy, humour and escapism. He offers the viewer leftfield alternatives to the traditionally slick, money-churning Hollywood productions we’ve mind-numbingly come to endure. He crosses boundaries and takes risks, and no one makes movies quite like him.

By Abbey Stirling/MOLI