Unlike some people, I liked both the recent movie version of Sweeney Todd and the stage version. They accomplished different things, but they were both well suited to their media.

Netflix, though, in its eternal wisdom, alerted me to a recent BBC production of Sweeney Todd starring Ray Winstone, and I watched it a couple nights ago. For those of you who may be interested in hearing Ray Winstone sing: Sorry. It’s not a musical version, and the only music that can be found is the occasional, regrettable, clarinet solo on the soundtrack.

What this version of Sweeney Todd accomplishes that the other two versions never even attempts is believability: Winstone plays Todd like a psychopath, and, as a puppet to his psychoses, he’s almost sympathetic. Essie Davis’ Mrs. Lovett, too, is introduced to the meat-pie part of the plan in a way that seems almost believable.

The most exciting part of watching this Sweeney Todd is the differences in plot: Todd’s daughter either doesn’t exist or doesn’t fit into this version at all, for instance. The story is an old English folk tale that has almost as many variations as the John Henry story and with a movie like this, it’s the variables that make it a compelling film. It’s a creepy movie because it doesn’t fall back on black humor at all: It’s not unlike idly listening to someone on the bus and realizing, with a start, that they’re talking about killing somebody. If you have even a passing interest in the story of Sweeney Todd, you should put it into your queue.