Part of me really wants to cut Ebenezer some slack; to tolerate the gimmicky acting and admire how gorgeous the film’s look and feel are. But there’s so little here that justifies the film’s existence beyond one’s subjective enthusiasm for Depp as an actor.
I may as well acknowledge my biases: Johnny Depp, in my opinion, hasn’t given a good performance in nearly 20 years. Minus his brief 21 Jump Street cameo, the last time Depp genuinely mesmerised me was Sweeney Todd. Ever since, he’s been stuck playing grotesque Jack Sparrow-coded oddities, from Alice in Wonderland to Fantastic Beasts to the cinematic carcinogen that was Mortdecai. Ebenezer feels like a good fit for Depp’s repertoire, given the titular role’s larger-than-life persona. But the film’s strengths come largely from what surrounds him, not his own efforts.
As the title indicates, this is another take on Charles Dickens’ classic A Christmas Carol, adapted for different mediums well over a hundred times. The premise is the same: Ebenezer Scrooge (Depp) is an 1840s miser and businessman who treats everyone with contempt. He underpays his loyal employee Bob (Rupert Grint), despises giving to charity despite his enormous wealth, and keeps his distance from his nephew Fred (Sam Claflin). One Christmas Eve, however, three ghosts approach Scrooge, each warning him what will happen if he doesn’t change his avaricious ways.
Depp portrays Scrooge with the same grating, scene-chewing eccentricity that has defined most of his career since Pirates of the Caribbean. His inflexions are all over the place, his expressions are cartoonishly manic, and his line deliveries range from shouting to mumbling. If you liked his Mad Hatter or Lone Ranger, then you’ll probably enjoy this iteration as well. But this shtick of his is long since ancient, and it’s irritating to see it framed as Depp’s Hollywood comeback, only for it to be yet another fanciful farce. The peculiarities that form Scrooge’s foundations do allow for some theatrics, but you’re always painfully aware that you’re watching Johnny Depp rather than a new version of a timeless character.
Strangely, Depp is compelling at times. During pensive scenes where Scrooge has no choice but to watch and listen, Depp’s silence is quite poignant. Perhaps the best example is when he watches Fred and his wife Clara (Daisy Ridley) discuss why the former still holds out hope for his uncle. The words move Scrooge, but he can’t bring himself to be vulnerable, so he quietly asks to leave; Depp’s surprising control hints at cracks in Scrooge’s previous philosophy despite his stubbornness. The Depp that was capable of such poignancy in Edward Scissorhands reveals himself in these moments. More of this rugged humanism and far less pantomime cackling would’ve made a stronger performance and, subsequently, a better film.
Ti West, writer-director of the fun, campy X trilogy, helms Ebenezer. The horror aesthetics of those films beautifully inform this film’s mise-en-scène, creating gripping visuals and wickedly atmospheric production design. The Ghost of Christmas Past’s demonic bride look (Andrea Riseborough) adds pathos to the character, counterbalancing the horror trope that informs its visual style. The Ghost of Christmas Present (Tramell Tillman) is even better, with costuming and makeup that show a figure painfully aware of diminishing time, in contrast to the jollier portrayals of this role in other adaptations. Tillman’s sombre depiction might be the film’s best performance. Meanwhile, lurking shadows and jagged, muted set designs worthy of Tim Burton create the backdrop for these personalities to clash and revelations to emerge. West’s direction and his team’s efforts rivetingly capture the horror-genre elements of this timeless story, generating a spooky feel, even if Depp’s overacting undercuts it.
One wonders why the title needed to change, as very little separates this from other Christmas Carol adaptations beyond its impressive gothic look. Once you get past the visuals, the film starts to bore because its plot points are so firmly engraved in bibliophiles’ minds. Nothing about its craft screams that this story needs retelling. Even the scene where Scrooge is forced to look at Bob’s haggard face at his lowest moment feels like a pale imitation of the same scene in Robert Zemeckis’ 2009 version.
The only major change that comes to mind is the revelation that the charity Scrooge initially refuses to give money to is planning a conspiracy to swindle money from him anyway, through the scheming of a lawyer (Henry Lloyd-Hughes). This deviation undermines the original text’s message about generosity and the Christmas spirit. The film clearly lambasts Scrooge’s greed, as do all prior adaptations, but this addition undermines it completely.
When you add it all up, including the eye-rolling marketing prominently based around Depp, you’re forced to conclude this is little more than a vehicle for Depp’s vanity: an atmospheric and aesthetically creative vehicle, but a blatantly hubristic one nonetheless. It would certainly explain the title change, given how rinse-and-repeat its storytelling otherwise is. A great performance can be reason enough to indulge a film – look no further than Michael Caine’s own take on Scrooge in The Muppets Christmas Carol – but Depp lays it on so thick you’d need a machete to cut through it. With so little to distinguish the film’s take on the story beyond these love-it-or-hate-it histrionics, one is left more frustrated than entertained.
Part of me really wants to cut Ebenezer some slack; to tolerate the gimmicky acting and admire how gorgeous the film’s look and feel are. But there’s so little here that justifies the film’s existence beyond one’s subjective enthusiasm for Depp as an actor. Hopefully future roles will let him showcase range beyond the absurd. But until then, I’d advise dusting off your copy of The Muppets Christmas Carol instead.
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