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The Hughes Brothers are surprisingly conventional in their take on Jack the Ripper.
By STEVE PERSALL
© St. Petersburg Times, published October 18, 2001
Preview trailers for From Hell excited me like few movie ads this year. The prospect of another Jack the Ripper thriller wasn't as promising as the fresh perspective behind it. Allen and Albert Hughes, twin brothers with a singular filmmaking style, would turn this story on its mutilated ear.
The Hughes brothers are streetwise African-Americans who scorched a reputation with Menace II Society and, to a lesser degree, Dead Presidents. Both are contemporary urban dramas focused on thug life, sometimes celebrating it. Telling a Victorian-era story populated solely by white people seemed so out of their range that it might invigorate their skills. The preview's pulsating hip-hop rhythms contrasted with the starched setting, a daring cross-pollination that I couldn't wait to see played out for two hours.
From Hell turns out not to be the movie promised. The filmmakers treat this familiar material in conventional fashion right down to Trevor Jones' insinuating musical score. It's more graphic in depicting violence and seedy sex than any previous version, although that isn't much of a breakthrough. The movie never fails to entertain gruesome tastes, and the Hughes brothers' flair is evident. But this still feels like a missed opportunity.
Jack the Ripper has fascinated audiences in at least 20 previous films. From Hell is the most visually striking version of the vices involved: grisly murders, prostitution and drug addiction (although the time-travel fantasy of Time After Time is still tops). The Hughes brothers drench the screen in Grand Guignol horrors, twisting every shred of speculation about the unsolved mystery into alibis for explicitness.
This movie revels in the grotesque, even tossing in a meaningless scene with the Elephant Man simply to display his misshapen body again. If a throat is to be slashed, we may as well see it gurgle. If a heart is to be sliced out, the directors figure we're ready for a closeup. If we don't vomit, somebody on screen will do it for us. People die nasty in From Hell, and the Hugheses are gleefully precise about it.
The investigation isn't as carefully conceived as the crimes. Johnny Depp reverts to Sleepy Hollow deductions as inspector Frederick Abberline, who collects clues through psychic visions stoked by an opium pipe. His gift is our window to peep through as a shadowy gentleman stalks whores for thrill killing. Abberline and his partner (Robbie Coltrane) remain two steps behind, so we get a second look at the corpses.
One of Abberline's visions concerns Mary Kelly (Heather Graham), a hooker with a heart of gold. Their tentative romancing never matters much. From Hell stays focused on Jack, whoever he is, and the screenplay loads up with suspects carrying knives for one reason or another. The solution jumps out like a bogeyman, leading to a sensible compromise among the best Jack the Ripper identity theories.
From Hell looks terrific thanks to suitable dank cobblestone settings designed by Martin Childs, moody cinematography and whipsaw editing. The story wanders a bit and always leads back to carnage that may be too much for some viewers to handle. A hip-hop hybrid would be fresher, but old school works, too.
Grade: B
Directors: Allen Hughes, Albert Hughes
Cast: Johnny Depp, Heather Graham, Robbie Coltrane, Ian Holm, Katrin Cartlidge, Paul Rhys
Screenplay: Terry Hayes, Rafael Yglesias, based on the graphic novel by Alan Moore and Eddie Campbell
Rating: R; graphic violence, sexual situations, nudity, profanity
Running time: 123 min.