It's an intriguing and ambitious bit of filmmaking, mostly because the true identity of Jack the Ripper remains a mystery and is the narrative drive for most of the movie. Adapted by Terry Hayes and Rafael Yglesias from the graphic novel serials of the same name, the story is admittedly not the film's most outstanding aspect -- at times it is as nebulous as its characters or as dusky as twilight in London -- but it gets the job done.

      It takes an entirely fictional twist on Jack the Ripper, the prototypical and arguably most famous serial killer. Investigating the matter of a handful of Whitechapel street whores butchered in grisly fashion (Jack the Ripper was known for extracting his victims' internal organs with surgical precision) is Inspector Abberline (Johnny Depp), an addict of several obscure opiates but nonetheless something of an intuitive success. He's sure to see a promotion with the speedy resolution of the Ripper case, but, aided by his faithful partner Sergeant Godley (Robbie Coltrane) and fragmented visions of the murderer and his victims, he begins to suspect there's more to the case than simply a group of unfortunates who've met their untimely demise. Soon Abberline is sucked into an investigation that involves deceit in the royal family and a secret order of freemasons who control the underworld of London -- nothing will be quite the same again for young Abberline.

      Of all of the characters in the film -- which, besides Abberline and Godley, include a headstrong street whore named Mary Kelly (Heather Graham) and the royal physician Sir William Gull (Ian Holm) -- none stand out as particularly memorable or enjoyable. In fact, directors Albert and Allen Hughes appear to shoot their film so as to divert the audience's attention away from the cast and toward the spectacle of serial killing. It's a wise choice, and one that pays off, because as far as Hollywood films are concerned, the focus is almost always on the killer as a memorable character (such as Hannibal Lecter in The Silence of the Lambs) or on the killer's specific methods (as in David Fincher's Se7en). It's rare to see a film that effectively captures social consciousness and moreover, uses it to power the story.

      The Hughes brothers' love of spectacle is evident in their depiction of both the Ripper's killings and in Abberline's dreamscapes. The former are bloody, messy affairs that are only "acceptable" in terms of the movie's scope because the film quickly immerses the viewer in the vulgarity of nineteenth century London. It was then the world's greatest city, but one whose size exceeded its means, and so the day-to-day existence of the metropolis is essentially a loosely ordered havoc (especially in the slums, like Whitechapel). The latter are chaotic, abrupt montages of raw imagery, but always tinted with a bright green to allow the viewer to quickly adjust. Complete with white flashes and high film speeds, Abberline's visions are as raw and jarring as the rest of the film.

      If nothing else, the rest of the film is worth watching because it is a fantastically crafted and extremely well shot period piece. Although initially the results are the same as most Hollywood period pictures -- the camera angles are low and cramped to compensate for the constructed sets -- the Hughes brothers and cinematographer Peter Deming vary their establishing shots as the picture progresses to give the impression that they've somehow discovered a model of nineteenth century London in which to shoot From Hell.

      The other cultural phenomenon which the movie embraces is the advent of the twentieth century and the technological revolutions it brings. Although Depp's last horror picture, Sleepy Hollow, played upon the same theme, it was to a lesser degree and not nearly so effectively. Here, fledgling institutions like medical and forensic science add to the picture's creepy atmosphere and cast shades of doubt on all of the characters. For instance, primitive lobotomies were performed with startling frequency as an aid to mental illness, and although it has little to do with the film's plot (the movie pays little attention the Ripper's motives or his mental health), it establishes the fact that many of the characters in the movie are operating all too eagerly on false pretenses.

      The Hughes brothers, however, are not. Although somewhat longish at 140 minutes, From Hell is a dark, original horror story that will be sure to engage the viewer on a personal level because of its willingness to operate on that level. It has a subtle interest in the human body -- one that is disturbing, but at the same time intriguing -- and though the viewer ought to turn his head, like Seltzer says, his gaze remains fixed on the screen.

Craig Roush, 2001