Sweeney Todd has everything—rape, murder, cannibalism, more murder—and whoever decided to open it around the holidays is a marketing genius. Tim Burton's film of Stephen Sondheim's Broadway musical is by no means perfect; Helena Bonham Carter can't sing, for starters. But you couldn't ask for a better antidote to compulsory holiday cheer than Burton's nightmare vision. London is a grim and grisly grindhouse. It's hard to argue with Johnny Depp's Sweeney when he decides that the "lives of the wicked should be made brief, for the rest of us death will be a relief," or Mrs. Lovett's suggestion that they're going to "save a lot of graves, do a lot of relatives favors." (See movie times for details.)