Everything considered, the Keane art grift could not have been more apposite. The period, the social themes, the personal and creative struggles, the loopy aesthetic- all potential Burtonic gold. Why then, when so many have declared their impatience with his filmic rut would Burton squander the chance to exonerate his infamous stylings with a story for once so fucking suited to their expression? Christ only knows. Instead of showcasing maturity and assurance, Big Eyes is a half-arsed dead drop exemplifying all his usual (and by now unaccountable) deficiencies and throwing in a few new ones for darn good measure.
Big Eyes fails, both as visual exposition and exploratory vehicle; it is a half-finished clown car that never backs out of the fucking driveway, pusillanimous, pedestrian and borderline boring. If this is Tim grinding down through the gears toward adult tales adultly-told, I prefer the lurid charms of his previous overindulgence.