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Tim Burton
delivers a movie about a father and a son, about the mirror we each
hold to the world and about the only thing that allows true love to
live in this world, forgiveness.
The theme permeates
the quiet moments of all Burton's work, when you think about it. There
is the magical figure, indulged by everyone around him, his status as
a fool ending up the engine for truth in the lives that don't appreciate
his joy of life. The real Tim Burton version of Planet of
the Apes would have to feature a talking human from the future/past
who is thought to be a freak by the apes and other humans, not a violent
threat.
But in Big Fish,
Burton reaches beyond his youthful ideas of the outsider hero. Albert
Finney's Edward Bloom is in many ways a small man. He doesn't always
do what's right. He doesn't always pay attention. His real life could
never match his imagination.
Where Burton shows
his maturity here is that he doesn't need to give his heroic lead a
pair of sharply misformed hands or a black & white world where he
is King Freak or enough make-up to cover a 5 o'clock shadow or a mask
and multimillions or a scientific world to hide in before being overwhelmed
by the mythological layer of life. Edward Bloom is just a man. Only
his stories seem outsized.
As in all fine drama,
the great question is not the boundaries that circumstance creates,
but the heart and soul of the man (or woman, of course) making the journey.
What defines truth other than perception? We are each the hero of our
own story. But does that make us truth tellers? Who gets to decide?
No one.
In the end, there
is only love. Love is the human fuel that can never quite be comprehended,
like God or luck. None of us can live without that fuel. It's
not an issue of romantic love versus familial love versus the love of
your friends. It is my considered opinion that the most dangerous threat
to the human spirit is the inability to appreciate being loved. It is
expressed in the cry of the baby, the desperation of teenagers, the
pain of divorce, the loneliness of old age. Though we live in a world
of intellectual perversions, the desire to know that we are loved is
not frivolous. it is as necessary as air.
Big Fish
is the story of two men, a father and a son. The son doesn't understand
his father's expressions of love and has been building a rage about
it for decades. But now, in crisis, he will try to allow his father's
love, flawed though it is, to touch him with all the power of his big
fish tales.
The great beauty
of Burton's film (credit for which must be shared with novelist Daniel
Wallace and screenwriter John August) is that both men make
truly human choices as they dance this dance. There is no easy answer.
There is no cheat. The only thing that changes is perception. The only
tool that this father's son has is to grow up a little more and to offer
his father the generosity of spirit that so many never get around to
until after their parent has passed.
On top of that,
there is the magnificent filmmaking that we all know Burton can deliver.
Philippe Rousselot's cinematography is breathtaking. The work
of production designer Dennis Gassner and his team of Jack
Johnson, Richard L. Johnson and Nancy Haigh will never be
appreciated quite enough, as Burton will get credit for the vision,
but stunning work there. Colleen Atwood did a great job costuming
a film that has to wander between truth and magic over and over without
ever calling attention to itself.
But in a weird way,
Burton's big fish directing is as much of a distraction as Edward Bloom's
stories. and as much his reality. Edward Bloom can tell a story of great
beauty and vision, even though he loves that big flourish. And Tim
Burton can too. It was impossible not to feel Edward Scissorhands'
pain and sweetness. He was a freak who had a beautiful soul. Tim
Burton pulls off a tougher trick here.
Burton gives us
a regular man, albeit with a gift for gab, who has a beautiful soul.
He gives us a son who, like so many, has moved on with his life, compartmentalizing
his disappointment with his father, but clearly a little incomplete.
He gives us a wife who feels the power of her husband's love, no matter
how much shadow his ego creates. And he gives us the son's young wife,
who loves her man enough to wait for the clouds to pass to get to the
sun she knows is there.
We all know a big
fish. And each of is is seen as a big fish by someone else, even if
we never can see ourselves through those eyes. We see what we choose
to see. Who is to say what's right?
It is too early
to mark Big Fish as a true masterpiece. That distinction is not
something best made quickly, no matter how fine the work. But it is
a truly wondrous film of love and renewal. It may take a few looks to
see past Tim Burton's big fish tales to see the heart of the
film. But it is there. And it beats strong.
-
David Poland