Night had fallen upon a gray and foggy Brooklyn Heights and as I stepped onto the street after seeing From Hell it was as if the darkness of the movie had attached itself to me and followed. Every face that passed was distorted and grimacing, every vagrant (and there are plenty in Brooklyn) leaning on a building for support was ready to erupt into fits of madness from the hopelessness of a tormenting existence. Truth be told, I had forgotten my glasses at home that day so I had been sitting in the front row of the theatre squinting and a garbage truck had its brights on in my direction.
The historical myth or truth of events taking place in the Whitechapel district of London in 1888 where a killer fed viciously and demonically on the local streetwalkers is the basis for the movie. It sounds even more enticing if you call it a retelling of the infamous criminal career of Jack the Ripper (what a name). Johnny Depp is the inspector, Abberline, tracking the killer – Depp playing consecutive British inspectors after embodying Washington Irving's Ichabod Crane in Tim Burton's Sleepy Hollow – Depp being talented enough however creates two completely different characters.
Heather Graham, an acting wasteland (sorry Graham fans, she is bootylicious though), adopts a cockney accent, tightens her bodice, and plays the cleanest, most radiant (her hair color proves that L'Oreal's Feria existed in the 17th century) homeless whore (or “unfortunate” as the film suggests)that has ever lived. Jack the Ripper is played marvelously by the actor – wait – none of this is important