I've been excited about Tim Burton's Sweeney Todd for months, and last weekend, I finally saw it. The film was true cinema escapism, a fusion of some of my favourite things; Johnny Depp, dark comedy, singing, and London. 

But as we learn in Todd's opening song, this story is hardly a celebration of England's capital.

"There's a hole in the world like a great black pit

and the vermin of the world inhabit it

and its morals aren't worth what a pig could spit

and it goes by the name of London."

And it got me thinking about the city. I've always loved London, and this fondness seems to grow with each visit. On my first solo backpacking trip, at the age of 20, London was my first stop, and the first city I ever explored entirely on my own. All the landmarks I had learned about my whole life, Westminster Abbey, Buckingham Palace, Covent Garden, were finally accessible. I remember walking around the city, filled to the brim with excitement. Then, I was a bright-eyed, neophyte backpacker, and London was as foreign to me as any Asian metropolis or African village. I remember being absorbed in all the tiny differences between this new city and my home. The crosswalks were different, the eaves on buildings were different, the car horns were a different pitch. For me, London was a symbol of the whole world that I had yet to explore. As a traveler, it was the mouth of the river. 

Sweeney Todd would not agree with me. In the musical, London is a debauched city, with a sinister elite, starving masses, moral corruption, and no justice for good people. 

On my last visit to London, I met up with a girl I had traveled with in Vietnam. She was now working for a recruitment agency, wearing a smart black pantsuit, commuting every day by tube and train. Before we met, I had spent the day strolling the city. While she had been at work, I had been losing myself in a daze of peoplewatching, and smitten all over again with the energy of the city. 

"I envy you," I told her over in a bustling little pub. "London is such an active city, so many important things are happening every single day, and you get to be in the middle of it."

She looked at me as though I had just eaten a kitten. "Are you serious?" She motioned to the suit-and-tie crowd around us, chattering over pints and getting drunk with determination. "I was traveling to escape all this. It's just routine. The city has everything you need, but nothing is exotic anymore."

I know we'll never see eye-to-eye on the matter. To me, London will always be exotic. Though I've been back many times, it's never familiar enough to feel like routine. When I commute into the city, tired from long plane rides and jet lag, I still feel a flashback to my 20-year-old self, buzzing with excitement, viewing London as a gateway to the rest of the world. While Sweeney Todd can sing of the city's filth, while my friends can feel nonplussed by the routine of their city lives, I'm keen as ever to sing London's praises.