But, are you a Tim Burton fan?

This was the question that hit me as I recently criticized the latest version of Alice in Wonderland. I do wonder if I consider myself a Tim Burton (as director) fan. I suppose so. Of his twenty-one or so films listed in the Internet Movie Database, there are several that I haven't seen, including The Island of Dr. Igor, Stalk of the Celery, Doctor of Doom, Hansel and Gretel, Luau, Vincent, Frankenweenie, Ed Wood, Stainboy (not sure if this is a film or a series of shorts), Big Fish, and Corpse Bride. I'm not even sure that his first six or seven films are available online. With this kind of discrepancy, I can't really say for certain whether or not I am a fan.

I was kind of a goth-lover when I was younger, so I have a quaint little affinity for Burton's penchant for the darker side of things. Still, what I like most about his cinematic explorations is the way he pushes the boundaries of our expectations. We don't expect to like Beetlejuice, but, really, we do. In most of his movies, Burton emphasizes kindness over fear, but isn't unrealistic about the journey. I like this. It's fairy-tale -- but the juicy and terrifying parts are left in, way in.

When I examine the list of films I have seen, it looks something like this:

Pee Wee's Big Adventure -- 1985: When I first saw this film, Large Marge facinated me. As an adult, I relate more to Pee Wee's outsider status, as well as his glee at being in on all of his own jokes. Also, when Pee Wee is uncomfortable, it strikes a pretty big chord in me. His experience in the biker bar has resonated with me all of my life. The only problem I have with using this movie as an example of Burton's work is that Pee Wee as a character was already well established by the time the film came along. Yet, I think there are classic Burton touches -- especially in the photography, use of extended long shot to show the individual character being affected by his suroundings (his characters are so often very innocent victims of a threatening environment), and the usual kind of collapse of all known structure which leads to eventual reconciliation of the main character to his calling. So, I do think PWBA is in favor of Burton, but not really the strongest evidence of his ability.

Beetlejuice -- 1988: I put this on the list of "seen" Burton films, but really, it has been quite some time since I've seen this film. I do love Michael Keaton,I must have watched Mr. Mom a thousand times on VHS, but this film was scary to me as a child (I was only nine when I came out), and I don't think I even saw it until I was maybe sixteen. So, I think I'll have to admit that I don't recall enough about this film to really put it in either category. My husband really likes this movie, especially the dialogue. What I do remember is that the little girl is awfully lonely and misunderstood. Quite the Burton characteristic. **Update: I have now seen Beetlejuice, and I must say, although I think it is a little too campy for me, I like the overall premise. I think Keaton's performance is the best thing in the movie, and Alec Baldwin and Geena Davis are delightful.

Batman -- 1989: Of course, Burton's choice hero would be a night-loving orphan with a conflicted personality. Burton's Bruce Wayne is not only unsure how to be happy and have meaningful relationships, but he is truly a hero in existential crisis. I say Burton's Bruce Wayne, and not Sam Hamm or Warren Skaaren's (the writers), because it's not really the dialogue that I remember from this film as much as particular shots. There is a scene in which Bruce Wayne is attempting to interact with Alfred, and the look of almost amnesia-like confusion on his face is heartbreaking. It's the perfect look of someone who is not frustrated with being unable to remember something, but is deeply troubled with the concept of remembering. I give Burton kudos on this one, because he acknowledges that the reaction to the trauma that shapes Bruce Wayne into Batman can be described as an emptiness just as much as vengeful anger. Although the superhero movie genre has evolved considerably since 1989, I think Burton's work with the emotionally complex character Bruce Wayne set the bar, and left us wanting more.

Edward Scissorhands -- 1990: Well. This is the film that tips the scales far, far into Burton's favor. ES is emblematic of Burton's style in more ways than the music of Danny Elfman, encroaching twisted dead trees, and the repeated use of highly romantic actors, like Depp and Ryder. I appreciate ES conceptually. The typical fairy-tale setting, including the quaint village and the high, brooding castle, is replaced with suburban Los Angeles and, well, the high, brooding castle remains, but one could argue that it's the creepy haunted hills of Silver Lake or Hollywood, that loom over the pastel neighborhoods. There is something so inherently frightening about the nuclear suburbs, and Burton emphasizes its freaky menace, but also shows that hope shines brightly (or, darkly, even) amid such grandiose domestic facades. I like to think of those little pink houses and their housewives as a metaphor for drab, formulaic films. Burton uses the heroes of the film to prove that even though there are overwhelming odds, variety and creativity can grow and learn amid a mob mentality. This undermines traditional thinking that a mob cannot be stopped, or has no individual merit. In fact, a mob can be unpredictable, as shown by moments when the housewives recognize a world outside their own seashell pink and coral creation, and of course, in the torn passions of Ryder's character, Kim. It must be said, though, that my favorite moment is when Edward pokes a hole in Kim's waterbed. Depp absolutely shines in this role. Alan Arkin is also a hoot as the flat, predictable father.

Batman Returns -- 1992: I can't recall much of anything compelling in this film, except for that outrageously sexy Catwoman. I remember this movie as big mess, with penguins.

Mars Attacks! -- 1996: I think this is a visually interesting film, but in the end came off as a hastily thrown together homage to Ed Wood. Sometimes homage works, sometimes it falls flat.

Sleepy Hollow -- 1999: I didn't see this movie until just recently. I'm conflicted about it. There are certain aspects of it that found very compelling. I love American Gothic, and Washington Irving. I liked the analysis of early America's particular brand of mysogyny. However, I feel that there is much awry about this adaptation. Ricci was terribly miscast, and Depp's was not given enough to work with, or not enough screen time. I have one favorite part in this film, when Depp is performing the autopsy. He is truly gifted. The photography is good in this film, owing to the work of Emmanuel Lubezki, who, after some research, I'm not surprised to find photographed other films I have deeply appreciated, like Y Tu Mama Tambien, and, most brilliantly, The New World. This one, I'm afraid, had potential to be great, but collapsed under the weight of too many miscasts and just plain bad ideas. Christopher Walken as the demented Hessian rider? The bloody tree/portal to hell? So close, but so far.

Planet of the Apes -- 2001: I have no words for this needless remake.

Charlie and the Chocolate Factory -- 2005: While Planet of the Apes was I think technically Burton's first large-scale remake of an earlier iconic film, CCF truly feels like the beginning of the effort of Burton to brand movies with his particular kind of camp/'80s goth/comic-horror style. It came off brilliantly in Edward Scissorhands, but only because that story and concept was very fresh, and revealed much about Burton as a developing artist, willing to acquiesce to some conventions, while completely blowing through others. Now, Roald Dahl's original children's story is compelling. This is true. It's bizzare, it's shocking, and the addition of the sugary wonderland is dizzying. There is a lot of material in this book for another movie to be made. Yet. The 1971 film Willy Wonka and the Chocolate Factory, in my opinion, stands alone. So, it would seem needless, foolish even, to remake the film, and not create a new movie based on or adapted from the book. I believe Burton attempted to make somewhat of a different movie. And there are artistic aspects of it that are wonderful. I love the scenes in Charlie's house. I love when Wonka tells Mike Teavee that he shouldn't go around mumbling all the time, little boy. I saw promise. But Christopher Lee's scenes with the braces? Self-reference can be fun, but often only when winked at, not displayed in fireworks. When it came to the Oompa Loompas -- disaster. And the character of Charlie, well, that little actor Freddie Highmore, has very nice shiny eyes, but it was just too soon since he and Depp moved me in the J.M. Barrie pic, Neverland. CCF felt kind of like a film for people who like to fix things up with glitter and references to other good things. Not unbearable, but ultimately, not memorable, surely not as memorable as Gene Wilder's psychotic Wonka taking Veruca Salt by her arm and reprimanding her with, "We are the makers of the music, and we are the dreamers of the dream."

Sweeny Todd: the Demon Barber of Fleet Street -- 2007: Making a movie out of musical is a Hollywood concept almost as old as filmmaking itself. Before seeing this version, I had never seen nor read the play, nor heard the music. So I had the advantage of Burton's film being my first exposure to the musical. I was a bit put off by the reviews which kind of wobbled at the film's profuse demonstrations of blood -- Todd does slit throats, after all. Also, I was a bit miffed at the thought of another Burton film in which Depp would play a palid anti-hero with crazy black hair and sharp instruments in hand. But in the end, I was lured in by Victorian (or is it Edwardian? I always get them confused) London, and, well, I kind of like musicals. I must say, I think Burton got this one right. There is campiness in Todd's troubled humor, as well as a general campiness associated with musicals, which is by this time emblematic of Burton's style. Although not included in this list, The Nightmare Before Christmas was a great, original kind of film, and is so brilliant largely in part to its songs. The songs in Todd make the movie really great. I know he didn't write them, but I enjoy his direction in the singing. Helena Bonhan-Carter was great, and Depp, as usual, didn't disappoint. Contributing to the great entertainment of the film are Alan Rickman, and Sacha Baron Cohen. I want to add that costuming and set decorating had a lot to do with the appeal of this film for me, and the credit goes to Colleen Atwood and Francesca Lo Schiavo, respectively. It's a strangely moving film, as Todd's revenge is so beautifully sad. This is most eloquently expressed by Depp, as usual. And let's just say I have a slight affinity for a salon worker who has the gall to slit his client's throats. Snip.

Alice in Wonderland -- 2010: I saw Alice in what I thought was cleverly described as "classic 2-D." I didn't have incredibly high hopes going into the film. From the trailer I gathered that there was going to be far too much computer generated animation, and too much gimicky acid trip scenery (which, I know, is rather pop-culturally relevant, but just not to my taste), and not enough emphasis on Alice's internal journey. In the end, I thought it terribly too long, overblown, disjointed, and too liberal with the story. There is a reason I love Lewis Carroll's story: it challenges so-called mature concepts of time, responsibility, education, class, gender, and revolution, and deals with them mostly by calling attention to the language used to describe and explain such ideas. Alice's true frustration is not only with the physicality of Wonderland, but the utter breakdown in communication she experiences there. Burton's Alice is flat, flat, flat. Depp's Hatter is brilliant. But, Depp's Hatter's dance is so astonishingly terrible I couldn't believe I was really seeing it. It actually made my stomach hurt.

I had a very hard time with Alice's return to the real world, where she basically told everyone around her that she loved to take a hike, and then embarked on an imperialist march to China. I don't know if Burton was being intentionally ironic -- I mean you could argue that the feminist movement has largely failed to liberate humans, but has just set up women to make the same mistakes with their power as the men before them, which actually makes sense when you think of how that logic could be applied to the movie making methods of Burton himself. When he attempts to remake something, the result tends to look like a well intentioned, but ultimately bad dye job. His best work is from the heart, when he is interpreting various genres, and not simply retelling a story in a different style.

For as much as I criticize Burton, there are several aspects of his style that appeal to me. He focuses on the outsider, often, and highlights tender moments of compassion that are unexpected and touching. The change in demeanor of the creature in Alice, the one with all the shark teeth, the way that Edward touches the lives of those around him, the amusing sqeamishness of Ichabod Crane, these are all cinematic heartbeats that I believe Burton is responsible for. He seems to shine best in small moments, within the subtleties of compassion, or empathy. Sometimes I think he is a little too much like his hero Ed Wood, and can't manage to pull the film together. Yet, I wouldn't give up Edward Scissorhands, Nightmare, or Pee Wee's Big Adventure, just because Alice in Wonderland wasn't as brilliant as I wanted it to be.

I have my own peculiarities, and perhaps, as a good friend said to me this afternoon, I might need to "just sit back and be entertained." While that sounds tempting, I can't help hoping that he will deliver me something just right, something that pushes all the right buttons for me. Well, that good friend also made we watch Surrogates with her. So, I think I'll keep my standards high, and expect growth from the talented and lucky Tim Burton, who may not yet be done showing us his full potential.