In the summer of 1985 I was eleven years old, and I desperately wanted to see Pee Wee's Big Adventure. I couldn't really tell why -- maybe it was the "nerd" craze that hit mid-decade, or my love of stupid humor, but Pee Wee was just the kind of wisecracking dork that I could relate to. And the film looked totally nuts. People payed adults to make this kind of thing?
What I would eventually find out was that this was my first exposure to Tim Burton, an artist I would grow to love, and then eventually loathe as the years marched on. To think it all started nearly 25 years ago when I saw those first commercials on the old Zenith at 7530 Cedar Street.
It turns out that Pee Wee's Big Adventure was everything it looked to be in the previews -- an irreverent film about an overgrown man-child, filled with juvenile humor. It still feels like a movie that was directed by a little kid. But underneath, it also was sincere and never sold out its main character for anything cheap or mean-spirited. And in this day of endless pop-culture references and vintage soundtracks, digital animation, it's easy to loose sight of just how original the retro atmosphere was at the time, at least in a major release.
1988's Beetlejuice also had its moments, but was marked by a more tedious plot with some annoying sequences and characters. Like many of my generation, I grew up watching it on cable and eventually came to like some parts. Michael Keaton was very funny. And one thing was undeniable -- no one else could pull off anything close to this director's style. It had the touch of the best creative 1980s music videos; so what if the story wasn't THAT great...
Before long, Tim Burton was being touted as one of the most promising directors to come out of the 1980s. Few disagreed. It was against this backdrop that we all first saw the trailers for what looked like a dream come true -- his directon of a new Batman film. Like many other kids, I had always "sort of" liked the old TV show, but for all of the garish theatrics, it was just too corny and chintzy to really deliver the goods.
For those who saw the first glimpses of what Burton had done with Gotham City (only a few million of us) it was hypnotic. It was immediately apparent that he had somehow managed to take his signature style and infuse it with a jet-engine powered Batmobile, legendary actors, and all of the other trappings of Hollywood blockbusters. Here was what had always been the promise of Batman but no one had ever delivered. It didn't even look like a real film; huge sets appeared as if they had been lifted out of old cartoon panels and reality had been totally suspended.
No matter what anyone says, Batman delivered. Was it perfect? Hardly. Was it overlong and mired in some lame performances? Can't deny it. But what Burton got right was spectacular -- such as the utterly brilliant and original opening credits sequence, filled with soaring Danny Elfman music while a swiftly tracking camera follows a labyrinthine series of shadowy tunnels that eventually reveal themselves to be the contours of a gigantic Batman symbol.
Other brilliant bits were interspersed throughout, from the inventively choreographed fight sequences to a marvelous scene where the Joker reveals himself to his traitorous kingpin boss. So while Batman was not everything perhaps that everyone had desired, Burton had proven himself up to the challenge. It still remains a remarkable achievement in fantasy filmmaking, for its singularity of vision and as one of the final entries from the miniature and optical special effects era.
As it turned out, Batman was released the summer after my Freshman year, which found me switching schools and entering a huge public institution where daily fights were the norm, and jocks ruled every hallway. It was a change. I learned to keep my mouth shut and blend into the background having seen what they did to anyone who incurred their wrath. It was soon after that my friend informed me of this goofy-sounding movie Tim Burton was shooting called "Edward Scissorhands." He kind of snickered as he told me about it, also having been a Batman fan. The name alone seemed kind of cheesy. And Johnny Depp -- the pretty-boy from 21 Jump Street -- he was going to play the lead? It wasn't sounding good.
But all that changed the moment I saw the first trailer in the movie theater. I was bowled over by the art direction, and it was immediately apparent that this film was going to have a great sense of humor, while at the same time it came across as some kind of bizarre 1950s fairy tale. Soon, I wouldn't stop talking about the fact that Edward Scissorhands was going to be the best movie of the year. I ripped out the full-page ads from "Premiere" magazine and taped them inside my locker. And of course, on the opening day, I went to the first show after school with some friends , on December 7, 1990.
Edward Scissorhands immediately became one of my favorite films of all time. It was not just about loneliness, but about the corruption of innocence, telling an absolutely charming and heartfelt love story. It was also was a hilarious satire of suburban life, bloodsucking neighbors, all presented like a 1950s Douglas Sirk melodrama. Quite simply, I was utterly captivated and moved by the entire experience, due in no small part to many of the similarities the film had with my own life.
My friends also enjoyed it, although it wasn't too long before some of them started ribbing me about my affection for what they considered a somewhat effeminate movie. When a local DJ made fun of Edward's voice, I wouldn't here any of it and got pretty annoyed. The following spring, I counted the days until the Laserdisc was issued and was quite disappointed when Fox released it only in a non-letterboxed, rather lackluster pressing. Still, it was watched many, many times.
As 1992 approached, I saw the first posters for the next Tim Burton film: Batman Returns. they were beyond cool: a huge snow-swept bat symbol was its only graphic, much like the opening credits to the first film, with the tagline "The Bat, The Cat, The Penguin". It was too good to be true. It was if the poster had been covered with the very snow from the ending of Edward Scissorhands -- perhaps symbolizing a much more personal, undiluted take on these characters. As such, my expectations for Batman Returns became boundless. The overall production design was very dark and gothic, almost monochromatic with a blueish tint. Even in those days, I could tell that they were paying homage to old German films, particularly The Cabinet of Dr. Caligari. And Michelle Pfeiffer looked unbelievable in her latex cat suit. By the time I saw the previews I could barely contain myself. Yes, there were some goofy things like Danny Devito riding around on a big rubber duck, but I had faith in Tim Burton's artistic vision.
Opening day arrived. The Warner Brothers logo appeared on screen, beneath a flurry of snowflakes. We all cheered. This was it! But from the first sequence, it was apparent things were not going to be quite what I expected.
To begin with, the opening scene immediately struck the wrong chord. It sarcastically portrayed a sadistic act of infanticide, culminating in a preposterous biblical analogy of a baby basket floating down an elaborate sewage system to be found not by the princess of Egypt, but a group of quacking penguins. Congo drums could be heard on the soundtrack. It was utterly grating -- and that was just the first five minutes.
The sets and costumes were overdone. Christopher Walken looked ridiculous in his Don King hair extensions, and Danny DeVito was simply odious and irritating. Instead of enhancing the film, the comedy seemed to undercut the action and draw attention to the cleverness at every turn. The entire affair chugged into an utterly depressing third act, featuring a baby kidnapping, a brutal electrocution, one seriously deranged Catwoman and culminating with the inane and gruesome death of The Penguin.
This was such a jarring experience that I tried to "learn to love" Batman Returns for its strengths and ignore the weaknesses. There is no doubt that the arrival of the Batmobile at the beginning of the film is first-rate, with some fabulous stunts and action. Selena Kyle's transition into the Catwoman is carried off extremely well, with a magnificent theme by Danny Elfman. Unfortunately, excepting these brief moments the film is an agonizing, pompous, and misguided effort.
From there, it has been very sad to watch this once promising director sink deeper into desperation with each passing film. With the exception of Ed Wood, which was a pretty straightforward comedy, Tim Burton's work of the past fifteen years has ranged from overrated to absolute dreck. Yet watching his downward spiral has been morbidly fascinating; this man has come to direct some of the worst films I have ever sat through.
In the winter of 1996 I returned to my hometown of Portland, Oregon from college. One of the first things I did was head out with some friends, get some drinks, and see Mars Attacks! Although it featured some funny gags, overall it was a slog to get through, filled with needless cameos and some incredibly sadistic aliens and condescending caricatures. Worse still, it was a conventionally shot film with almost none of the fun or wonderment of Burton's first work; I found myself confused to see how low-brow and pedestrian his sensibilities had become. Was it the pitcher of Bud Light I just drank?
Sleepy Hollow was to be the big return to form. But instead of the glorious suspension of disbelief I had felt in his earlier work, the cutesy, patronizing tone of the film seemed to be telling the audience: "I know you know I'm clever". Another thing that really surprised me was that Tim Burton cast the atrocious lead from the film Starship Troopers in one of the roles. Not only was he a terrible actor, but his buffed-up physique and mannerisms were the epitome of the Anthony Michael Hall character from Edward Scissorhands. This was the type of actor who would have been made a total fool of in Pee Wee's Big Adventure.
Sleepy Hollow would establish what would become the defining elements of Tim Burton's middle career; jaw-dropping production design, a fabulous ensemble cast, all in the service of an uninspired and cliched Hollywood screenplay directed by man hiding behind the cloak of digital eye candy.
Things took a big turn for the worse with the movie that decisively made me a Tim Burton hater: Planet of the Apes. It's difficult to know where to begin in describing this moronic ego trip, but how about the fact that the film obliterates the entire science fiction premise of both Pierre Boulle's book and Rod Serling's original screenplay? If this was to be a more sophisticated, adult reinterpretation of an iconic film from Burton's youth, it is a miserable failure on all counts. Once again -- beyond the pathetic screenplay and "reinterpretation" was Burton's choice to feature the worst actors Hollywood has in their stables. Mark Wahlberg is the poster-boy of the asshole jock from my high school; he is the Anthony Michael Hall character from Edward Scissorhands. I've been around enough of these guys to know all of the signs, and in film after film Wahlberg has shown that he has none of the range or humanity to act with even a modicum of sincerity.
The insipid Big Fish, pointless Corpse Bride, abysmal Willy Wonka, overwrought Sweeney Todd...I have suffered through them all. But now I have just seen the trailer for Alice in Wonderland online and this is the final straw. Tim Burton is actually destroying one of the films I grew up with, an iconic 1950s Disney classic. From what I can tell, he has taken the gorgeous, lush, and charming world of Wonderland and turned into a nightmarish creepshow of disturbing CG monstrosities. And for all of Burton's Anglophilia, this grotesquery runs counter to the spirit of Lewis Carrol's original work; artistic desperation is often marked by a retreat into vulgarity and outrageous caricature. Comics do it all the time and so do filmmakers.
It would appear that the once inspired mind that created the world of Pee Wee and Batman, and the magnificent Edward Scissorhands, has turned into the slavish prostitute of Robert Iger and his minions at Buena Vista. Disney should be ashamed for profaning yet another one of Walt's productions, but for Tim Burton to do this as an artist is unforgivable. Instead of a creator of new myths he has become a destroyer of old, something that even the most vile of studio executives cannot accomplish without a willing executioner.
At the very least, Tim Burton has squandered his immense talents on subpar projects, films that from their very conception have been built on little more than the most superficial aspects of his artisitic abilities. This approach has seen dwindling returns, and as of 2009 it seems the only route left is to craft over-top-top visuals and in the process overwhelm and pillage other people's creative work. I do not think this is the only way forward for a director with such gifts. Similar to the case of Geroge Lucas, it would seem I am now more of a defender of this man's art then the man himself; no one will ever be able to take away some of Tim Burton's greatest moments, like Peg Boggs driving her canary yellow Dodge Duster past the edge of the Cul-De-Sac, into a fantasy world that only could not have been created by anyone else.
