Sleepy Hollow

This bongwater bastardization of Washington Irving’s short-story jewel “The Legend of Sleepy Hollow” serves simply as an excuse for director Tim Burton (Mars Attacks!) to further indulge his arrested adolescent fancy for ghoulish EC-Comics camp, and for Red Death scenarist Andrew Walker (Seven, Fight Club) to gleefully lop off a grisly complement of 18 heads. The “plot” is nonsensical and the look of the film patently false—the thing almost boasts that it was shot on a cheesy lot, and the viewer will not encounter a larger collection of rubber bodies outside a porn shop. Decadence incarnate.