VID_20180428_193115.mp4
The video presents a stylized, lyrical performance that retells and expands upon the classic Sweeney Todd story. Two speakers, labeled A and B, alternate between narration, song‑like verses, and dialogue, weaving together familiar plot points—Sweeney Todd’s murderous barber shop, the pie shop run by Mrs. Mooney, the disappearance of cats, the tragic fates of Lucy and Joanna, and the corrupt Judge Turpin—with original, improvisational commentary. The piece oscillates between vivid descriptions of Victorian London’s grim atmosphere, reflections on revenge and social inequality, and meta‑theatrical asides that blur the line between storyteller and character. Repetitive refrains, fragmented monologues, and surreal interjections create a dream‑like, almost chaotic retelling that both honors and reimagines the original musical’s themes.
Chapters
Attend the tale of Sweeney Todd. His skin was pale and his eye was odd. Shaved the faces of gentlemen who never thereafter were heard of again. —kept a shop in London town, fancy clients and good renown. What if none of this holds to save me? My sweetie, my sweetie Todd, the Dean of Barbara King Street. Swing your razor wide, sweetie. Folded to the skies, freely flows the blood of those who were lies. The book of such an old man, the strong one. For neatness he deserves the nod. There's Sweeney Todd. The demon barber of Fleet Street. Inconspicuous Sweeney was. Quick and quiet and clean he was. Back of his smile, under his word, Sweeney heard music that nobody heard. Sweeney pondered and Sweeney planned like a perfect machine. Sweeney was smooth, Sweeney was subtle, Sweeney would flake and razz and scuttle.
Sweeney was smooth, he was sweet, he was subtle, Sweeney would grunt and rant and snarl.
Sweeney was big, he was skinny, he was hot, he was cold, he was round, he was flat. Sweeney was big, he was sunny, and Sweeney served it safe.
Attend to the tale of Sweeney Todd. Attend to the tale of Sweeney Todd. He served a dark and a vengeful god.
He served a dark and a vengeful god.
What happened then? Well, that's the play, and he wouldn't want us to give it away. I have sailed the world, beheld its wonders, from the Dardanelles to the mountains of Peru, but there's No place like London. I feel home again. I would hear the city bells ring whatever I could do. No, there's no place like London. Mr. Tolson! You are young. Life has been kind to you. It is here we go our several ways. Farewell, Anthony. I will not soon forget the good ship Bountiful, nor the young sailor who saved my life. There's no cause to thank me for that, sir. I would have been a very poor Christian indeed who, having seen you pitching and tossing on that raft, did not give the alarm. There's many a Christian who would have done just that, and not lost a wink's sleep for it either.
Wake up, you creepy frogs! Must you glare at me, woman?
Off with you! Off, I say!
Off I say! To the devil with you!
Pardon me, sir, but there's no cause to fear the likes of her. She's only a half-crazed beggar woman. London's full of them. I beg your indulgence, boy. My mind is far from me. Uneasy, for in these once familiar streets I feel the chill of ghostly shadows everywhere. Forgive me. There's nothing to forgive. Farewell, Anthony. Mr. Todd, before we part— What is it? I've honored my promise never to question you. Whatever brought you to that sorry shipwreck is your affair. And yet, during the many weeks of the voyage home, I've I think of you as a friend. And if trouble lies ahead of you in London, if you need help or money— No! There's a hole in the world like a great black pit. The vermin of the world inhabit it, and its morals aren't worth what a pig would spit. And it goes by the name of London. At the top of the hole sit the privileged few, making mock of the vermin. Burden in the lower zoot and beauty in the field and green. I too have sailed the world and seen its wonders, for the cruelty of men is as wondrous as Peru. But there's no place like London. There was a barber. And his wife, and she was beautiful. A foolish barb and his wife, she was his reason and his life, and she was beautiful, and she was virtuous, and he was Naive. There was another man who saw that she was beautiful, a pious vulture of the law, who with a gesture of his claw removed the bar of from his blade. Then there was nothing but to wait, and she would fall. So soft, so young, so lost, and oh, so beautiful. And the lady, sir? Did she succumb? Ah, that was Many years ago. I doubt if anyone would know. Now leave me, Anthony. There is somewhere I must go, something I must find out now and alone. But surely we will meet again before Master Clements. If you want, you may well look for me around Fleet Street, I will be there. Until then, Mr.
Topham. A customer! Wait! What's the rush? What's your hurry? You gave me such a fright, I thought you was a ghost. Offer me a cancha, 6.60 now, 6. All I meant is that I haven't seen a customer for weeks. Did you call me for advice? Sir, do forgive me if me head's a little vague. What is that? I do think we have the plague from the way that people keep avoiding our yada. Heaven knows I try, sir, but there's no one comes in even to inhale. Not too fast, I want your life and proper veil. Mind you, I can hardly blame them. These are probably the worst pies in London. I know why nobody cares to take them. I should know, I make them. But good, no, the worst boys in London. Even that's polite. The worst boys in London. If you doubt it, take a bite. Is that just disgusting? You want to, you can say it. It's nothing but crap. You'll need it. The worst pies in London. And no wonder, with the price of meat, what it is. When you get it, never thought I'd live to see the day that I'd think it was a treat to find a poor animal, what, dying in the street. Mrs. Mooney has a pie shop, does her business, but I've noticed something weird. Lately all the neighbors' cats have disappeared. Thought I handed you a— what's it called? Enterprise? Popping pussies into pies. Wouldn't do in my shop. Just the thought of it's enough to make you sick. And I'm telling you, their pussycat is quick. No denying times is hard, sir. Even harder than the worst boys in London. Only lard and nothing more. Is that just revolting? All greasy and gritty, it looks like it's molting and tastes like— well, pithy. A woman alone with a little tin of wit and the worst pies in London. Oh, sir. Times is hard, times is hard. Go on, dear, spit it out on the floor there. There's worse than that down there. That's a bigger weight.
Isn't that a room up there above the shop? If times are so hard, why don't you rent it out? That should bring in something.
Up there? No one will go near it. People think it's haunted. You see, years ago, something happened up there. Something not very nice. There was a barber and his wife, and he was beautiful. A proper artist with a knife, but they transported him for love. And he was beautiful. Barker his name was, Benjamin Barker.
Transported? What was his crime?
Foolishness. He had this wife, you see, pretty little thing, silly little nit, had her chance for the moon on a string. Poor thing, poor thing. There were these two, you see, wanted her like mad. One of them a judge, one of them a beetle. Every day they'd nudge and they'd wheedle. Still she wouldn't budge from the needle. Too bad. Your thing. So they nearly shipped the poor old lion off south, they did, leaving her with nothing but grief and a year-old kid. Did she use her head even then? Oh no, God forbid. Poor bull. Ah, but there was worse against her karma. Poor thing. Joanna, that was the baby's name. Crippy little Joanna. Go on. My, but you do like a good story, don't you? Haha! Well, Beetle calls on her all polite. Poor thing, poor thing. The judge, he tells her, is all contrite. He blames himself for her dreadful plight. She must come straight to his house tonight. Poor thing. Poppy. Of course, when she goes there, poor dear Poppy, there are then this ball all in mud. There's no One she knows therefore, dear, poor thing. She wanders tormented and drinks, poor thing. The judge has repented, she thinks, poor thing. Oh, where is Judge Curwen, she asks? He was there, all right, only not so contrite. She wanted no much for such cross, do you see? And everyone thought it so cruel. They figured she had to be daft, you see. So everyone stood there and laughed, you see. Poor soul. Poor thing. Would no one have mercy on her? So it is you, Benjamin Barker.
Not Barker, not Barker! Todd now. Sweeney Todd.
So changed. What did they do to you down in bloody Australia or wherever?
Where is my wife?
Where's Lucy? She poisoned herself. Arsenic from the apothecary on the corner. I tried to stop her, but she wouldn't listen to me. And my daughter? Joanna? He's got her. He? Judge Turpin? Even he had a conscience tucked away somewhere, I suppose, adopted her like his own. And you could say it was good luck for her. Almost.
15 years spent in a living hell on a trumped-up charge, hoping that maybe one day he might come home to his loving wife and child. Let them quake in their boots, Judge Turpin and the Beadle, for their hour has come!
You're going to get him? You? A bleeding little nobody of a runaway convict? Don't make me laugh. You'll never get his Iron Mightiness, nor the Beadle neither, not in a million years. You got any money? Hey, listen to me!
You got any money? No money.
Well, then how you going to live?
I'll live if I have to sweat in the sewers or the plague hospital. I'll live and I'll have them!
Oh, you poor thing. You poor thing. Wait, see, it don't have to be the sewers or the plague hospitals. When they come for the little Cracked in the head, wasn't I? Done as bad as they are, I could have got 5, maybe 10 quid for them any day. See, you can be a barber again. My, them handles is chased silver, ain't they?
Yes, these are my friends. See how they listen. See this one shine, how he smiles in the light. My friends. My faithful friend. Speak to me, friend. Whisper, I'll listen. I know, I know, you've been locked out of sight. All these years, like me, my friend. Well, I've come home to find you waiting. Home, and we're two. Together, and we'll do wonders, won't we? You there, my friend. I'm your friend too. Come, let's walk home. If you only knew, now with a You grow warm in my hand, my friend, my clever friend. Rest now, my friend. Soon I'll unfold you. —You know splendors you never have dreamed all your days, my lucky friend. Till now your shine was merely silver. Grand. You shall drip rubies. You soon drip precious rubies. At last, my right arm is complete again!
Lift your razor high, hear it sing, yes, streak it in the rose And how are they today? Hungry as always, Miss Joanna. Never taking wing. I see the sky awaits, beckoning, beckoning just beyond the walls. How can you bring me, staring at the rain, not invade the stars? How can you see Anything? How could you sing? Greeted each ending that night, and give a look, but how busy you sing! Whence comes this melody constantly flowing? Is it rejoicing warmly
